The Billionaire's Forgotten Wife

CHAPTER 26: UNFINISHED BUSINESS

The soft glow of the night lamp illuminated Aarya’s living room as she sat curled up on the sofa, Aarav’s small head resting peacefully in her lap. The six-year-old had fallen asleep while she read him a story about a brave princess who built her own kingdom. His breathing was steady and calm, a reminder of the beautiful life she had fought so hard to create. Yet tonight, peace felt impossibly far away.

The email from Malhotra Group still glowed on her laptop screen, open on the coffee table. They wanted her. Not just any firm — *her* firm, Aarya Designs, for their flagship headquarters annex project. A project that could redefine her career, bring in crores, and secure Aarav’s future beyond anything she had imagined.

But it would also bring her face-to-face with Rishaan Malhotra again.

Aarya gently stroked her son’s hair, her heart twisting painfully. “Beta, yeh faisla sirf hum dono ke liye hai,” (Son, this decision is only for the two of us,) she whispered, even though he was fast asleep. The internal conflict raged inside her like a storm. One part of her — the successful, confident architect — knew this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The Malhotra project would open doors to international clients, elevate her reputation, and allow her to expand her team and take on more meaningful work for underprivileged communities.

The other part — the woman whose heart had been shattered five years ago — screamed at her to run. To reject the project and protect the fragile peace she had built. How could she work with the man who had forgotten her? The man who had once said, “I never loved you,” while she carried his child?

She carefully lifted Aarav and carried him to his bedroom, tucking him in with a soft kiss on his forehead. “Mummy hamesha tumhari raksha karegi,” (Mummy will always protect you,) she murmured. Back in the living room, she paced slowly, the city lights of Mumbai twinkling mockingly through the large windows.

Reject kar do, Aarya. Tumhe uski zarurat nahi hai, (Reject it, Aarya. You don’t need him,) her heart pleaded. But her mind countered fiercely: Aur Aarav ka future? Tumne itni mehnat ki hai. Yeh project tumhe woh sab de sakta hai jo tumne sapna dekha tha.

The debate consumed her. She made herself a cup of adrak chai and sat on the balcony, the cool sea breeze doing nothing to calm her racing thoughts. Flashbacks kept assaulting her — the temple sunrise, Rishaan’s tender touch, the way he had looked at her in the boardroom today. That intense, searching gaze. He hadn’t recognized her, yet something in his eyes had stirred. Or was she imagining it?

Hours passed. Sleep refused to come. Aarya tossed and turned in her bed, memories playing like a cruel film reel. The hilltop villa. His laughter. The way he had held her before that fateful trip. “Main tumse bahut pyaar karta hoon… chahe kuchh bhi ho jaaye.” (I love you so much… no matter what happens.) Then the hospital. The cold rejection. “I never loved you.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks as she clutched her pillow. “Kaise kaam karun main uske saath?” (How can I work with him?) she whispered into the darkness. The fear of seeing him every day, of hiding the truth about Aarav, of reopening wounds that had barely healed — it terrified her. Yet walking away meant turning down a project that could change everything for her son’s future.

Her phone buzzed on the bedside table. It was nearly midnight.

Rishaan Malhotra: Miss Sharma, I hope I’m not disturbing you. I reviewed your preliminary concepts again. They are impressive. Looking forward to our follow-up discussion tomorrow. — RM

Aarya stared at the message, her heart skipping. He was reaching out personally. Why? Professional courtesy, or something more?

She didn’t reply.

Another message came twenty minutes later.

Rishaan Malhotra: Also, if you have any specific requirements for the project brief, please let me know directly. I want this collaboration to be seamless.

She set the phone aside, but sleep still evaded her. The internal war continued. Protect yourself. Protect Aarav. Reject it. But then she imagined her son’s bright future — better schools, security, opportunities she had struggled for. “Mummy strong hai na?” (Mummy is strong, right?) Aarav had asked her once. She had promised him she would build a life they would never be ashamed of.

By 3 AM, exhaustion and determination collided. Aarya sat up in bed, wiping her tears. She opened her laptop and began drafting a professional response.

Meanwhile, across the city in his penthouse, Rishaan couldn’t sleep either. He paced his luxurious bedroom, the same strange restlessness from earlier refusing to leave. He had already sent two messages to Aarya, finding flimsy excuses each time. Something about her pulled at him — a comfort he couldn’t explain, a sense of unfinished business that gnawed at his soul.

He picked up his phone again, hesitating before typing another message.

Rishaan Malhotra: Miss Sharma, apologies for the late hour. One more thing — your approach to blending heritage with modernity in the Rajasthan resort project was brilliant. I believe you are the right person for our vision.

He sent it, then stared at the screen, wondering why he felt this urgent need to connect with her.

Back in her apartment, Aarya read the new message. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. The emotional struggle reached its peak. She thought of Aarav sleeping peacefully in the next room — the little boy who carried his father’s eyes and smile. She thought of the woman she had become — no longer the broken girl who fled Delhi, but a force who had survived and thrived.

With trembling hands, she typed her reply.

Aarya Sharma:Thank you, Mr. Malhotra. After careful consideration, Aarya Designs would be honored to collaborate with Malhotra Group on this project.

She hit send before she could change her mind.

The message delivered with a soft ping.

Aarya closed her laptop and lay back, staring at the ceiling. She had agreed.

The unfinished business had officially begun.

To be continued...