The Billionaire's Forgotten Wife

Chapter 3: The Last Goodbye

The morning light in the hilltop villa seemed softer than usual, as if the sun itself was reluctant to fully rise on this bittersweet day. Golden rays filtered through the sheer curtains of the master bedroom, casting a warm glow over the rumpled sheets where Aarya and Rishaan had spent their last night wrapped in each other's arms. The air carried the faint scent of jasmine from the vines outside and the lingering trace of Rishaan's cologne. Aarya lay awake, her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Three days. It was only three days, she told herself. Yet why did it feel like the weight of the world was pressing down on her chest?

Rishaan stirred, his strong arm tightening around her waist instinctively. "Subah ho gayi, jaan?" (Morning already, my love?) he murmured, his voice husky with sleep. He tilted her chin up, capturing her lips in a slow, tender kiss that spoke of reluctance to leave their cocoon.

Aarya smiled against his mouth, but her eyes betrayed the quiet ache. "Haan, aur tumhe taiyaar hona hai. Par pehle breakfast. Main banaungi." (Yes, and you need to get ready. But first breakfast. I'll make it.)

They moved to the kitchen together, the villa's open layout making every moment feel intimate. The infinity pool outside sparkled under the Aravalli sun, the lake below a calm expanse of blue that mirrored the fragile peace in Aarya's heart. Rishaan, dressed in a casual white shirt and trousers for the journey, helped set the table on the terrace. Their final breakfast was a feast of love: fluffy aloo parathas sizzling on the tawa, fresh yogurt raita dotted with mint, a bowl of vibrant fruits—mangoes, strawberries, and pomegranate seeds—and steaming adrak chai infused with cardamom.

Aarya watched him as she served, her ivory saree from their wedding day now replaced by a simple yellow salwar kameez that glowed like sunshine. She had chosen it deliberately, wanting to leave him with a bright memory. As they sat across from each other, the breeze playing with her dupatta, playful arguments began almost immediately.

"Teen din? Bilkul nahi. Main akeli yahan mar jaungi bore ho kar," (Three days? Absolutely not. I'll die of boredom here alone,) Aarya teased, poking his arm with her fork. Her tone was light, but her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. She fed him a piece of paratha dipped in raita, her fingers lingering near his lips.

Rishaan caught her hand, kissing her fingertips one by one. "Drama queen. Sirf teen din, Aarya. Wapas aate hi main tumhe itna pyar karunga ki tum bhool jaogi main gaya bhi tha." (Drama queen. Just three days, Aarya. When I return, I'll love you so much that you'll forget I even left.) He pulled her chair closer, his hazel eyes softening in that way only she could make them. The cold billionaire was gone again; here was her Rishaan—playful, devoted, vulnerable.

"Miss karogi mujhe?" (Will you miss me?) he asked, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he leaned in, their foreheads nearly touching.

Aarya pretended to think, biting her lip. "Shayad nahi. Main toh yahan books padhungi, lake pe walk karungi, aur tumhare bina maze karungi." (Maybe not. I'll read books here, walk by the lake, and enjoy myself without you.) But even as she said it, her voice cracked slightly. She reached out, tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "Lekin sach mein... har pal miss karungi. Tumhare bina yeh villa sunsaan lagta hai." (But truthfully... I'll miss you every moment. This villa feels empty without you.)

He laughed softly, but there was a depth of emotion in his eyes. "Main bhi. Board meetings mein tumhara chehra yaad aayega. Tumhari hasi, tumhari ungliyan mere haath mein... Sab." (Me too. In board meetings, I'll remember your face. Your laughter, your fingers in mine... Everything.) They fed each other bites between words, the breakfast stretching longer than planned. Rishaan recounted a funny story from his last trip, making her laugh until tears formed. She retaliated with memories of their secret dates, how he once burned toast trying to impress her in a tiny apartment kitchen.

Yet beneath the laughter, emotional foreshadowing hung heavy in the air like the morning mist over the lake. Aarya felt it in the way the temple bells from their wedding echoed faintly in her mind. The mysterious phone call at the temple—"If you don't leave her now, she'll regret it"—replayed unbidden. She pushed it away, focusing on the warmth of his hand in hers. But something whispered that this goodbye carried more weight than three short days.

Unbeknownst to Rishaan, Aarya had been secretly planning a grand surprise for his return. While he was in the shower earlier, she had made hushed calls to the villa staff. A small celebration: fairy lights strung across the terrace, his favorite dishes prepared—butter chicken, naan fresh from the tandoor, and a decadent chocolate cake with their initials carved in icing. She had even ordered a custom playlist of their favorite songs and bought a new kurta for him, wrapped in red paper with a love note tucked inside: "Welcome home, my forever." It was her way of saying their love could thrive even in secrecy. She imagined his face lighting up, the way he would pull her into his arms and spin her around. The thought brought a secret smile to her lips as she cleared the breakfast plates.

"Ab packing complete hai?" (Is the packing complete now?) she asked, following him to the bedroom where his suitcase lay open. Designer suits, crisp shirts, and his laptop were neatly arranged—reminders of the empire he carried on his shoulders.

Rishaan zipped it shut, turning to her with a sigh. "Haan. Lekin dil yahan chhod kar ja raha hoon." (Yes. But I'm leaving my heart here.) He pulled her into a loose embrace, swaying gently as if dancing to silent music. The villa's large windows framed the lake and hills, a picturesque backdrop that made their parting feel cinematic, almost too perfect.

They talked more as he prepared—dreams of the future, of revealing their marriage when the time was right. "Jab main wapas aaunga, hum plan karenge ki family ko kaise batayein," (When I return, we'll plan how to tell the family,) he said, his fingers combing through her hair. "Maa ko samjhaunga. Tum meri patni ho, Aarya. Koi nahi badal sakta yeh." (I'll make mom understand. You are my wife, Aarya. No one can change that.)

Aarya's heart ached with love and a quiet dread she couldn't name. "Haan, Rishaan. Hum saath mein sab jeet lenge. Bas safe rehna. Phone pe baat karte rahna." (Yes, Rishaan. Together we'll win everything. Just stay safe. Keep talking on the phone.)

The moment of departure arrived too soon. Rishaan stood at the helipad adjacent to the villa, the rotor blades of the private helicopter already whirring softly in preparation. The staff had discreetly retreated, giving them privacy. He turned to her one last time, his tall frame casting a protective shadow.

"Aarya..." His voice broke slightly. Without another word, he pulled her into a tight, desperate hug. His arms enveloped her completely, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other pressing against her lower back as if he could imprint himself on her. She buried her face in his chest, inhaling his scent, memorizing the steady thump of his heart. Tears welled up, but she held them back.

"Main tumse bahut pyaar karta hoon, meri jaan. Hamesha. Chahe kuchh bhi ho jaaye." (I love you so much, my life. Always. No matter what happens.) His words were a solemn vow, whispered into her hair. He kissed her forehead, then her lips—deep, lingering, filled with all the unspoken promises of their short marriage.

"I love you too, Rishaan. Come back soon," she whispered back, switching to English in their most intimate moments.

He stepped away reluctantly, his eyes locked on hers until the last second. The helicopter lifted off, carrying him away into the blue sky over the Aravalli Hills. Aarya waved until it disappeared, the wind whipping her dupatta like a farewell banner. The villa fell silent once more, the lake's surface undisturbed.

Alone now, she busied herself with the surprise preparations. The staff helped string the lights, and she arranged flowers—marigolds reminiscent of their wedding temple—on the dining table. She practiced the love note in her head, imagining his reaction. "Yeh teen din guzar jayenge," (These three days will pass,) she told herself, lighting a diya in the small puja corner of the living room. But the emotional foreshadowing lingered: the way his hug had felt almost final, the unexplained chill in the air despite the warm sun.

Hours passed in a blur of anticipation and quiet longing. Aarya sat on the terrace with a book, but her eyes kept drifting to the horizon. She checked her phone repeatedly, smiling at the text he had sent upon landing: "Pahunch gaya. Miss you already. <3" (Reached. Miss you already.)

The sun began its descent, painting the sky in oranges and pinks that mirrored their wedding sunrise. She was in the kitchen, tasting the surprise cake batter, when her phone rang. An unknown number flashed on the screen.

Curious, she answered. "Hello?"

There was a pause, then a frightened voice on the other end—shaky, young, perhaps a woman's—crackled through.

"Ma'am... there's been an accident."

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. Aarya's heart stopped. The spoon slipped from her hand, clattering to the floor. The cake, the lights, the dreams—all faded into a haze of icy fear.

"Kaun? Rishaan? Kya hua? Batao mujhe!" (Who? Rishaan? What happened? Tell me!) Her voice rose in panic, the villa's luxurious walls suddenly closing in.

The line went silent for a terrifying second before the voice continued, barely above a whisper.

To be continued...