The Billionaire's Forgotten Wife

CHAPTER 27: CLOSE PROXIMITY

The conference room on the 42nd floor of Malhotra Group headquarters felt smaller than it should have. Sunlight streamed through the glass walls, illuminating the long mahogany table where architectural renderings, 3D models, and project files were spread out. Aarya Sharma sat poised at one end, her cream silk blouse and tailored trousers exuding professional elegance. Across from her, Rishaan Malhotra occupied the head seat, his commanding presence filling the room. Between them sat three senior executives, but the real conversation seemed to flow only between the two of them.

“Miss Sharma, your concept for the central atrium is innovative,” Rishaan said, his deep voice measured as he leaned forward to examine the holographic model. “But I want it to reflect more of our Indian roots. Something timeless.” (Miss Sharma, your concept for the central atrium is innovative… But I want it to reflect more of our Indian roots. Something timeless.)

Aarya met his gaze steadily, though her pulse quickened. “Mr. Malhotra, that’s exactly what I intended. The jali-inspired lattice work will allow natural light while maintaining privacy and cultural resonance. Dekhiye,” (Mr. Malhotra, that’s exactly what I intended. The jali-inspired lattice work will allow natural light while maintaining privacy and cultural resonance. Look,) she said, zooming into the digital model. Her fingers moved gracefully across the tablet.

For a moment, their eyes locked. The air between them thickened with unspoken tension. Rishaan nodded slowly, a strange sense of familiarity washing over him. “Haan… yeh bilkul sahi lag raha hai. Jaise maine kabhi socha ho.” (Yes… this feels completely right. As if I had thought of it before.)

The executives exchanged glances, sensing the unusual energy in the room, but said nothing.

Over the next two weeks, their collaboration intensified. Daily meetings became the norm. Aarya would arrive with fresh concepts, and Rishaan would challenge them with sharp, insightful questions that pushed her creativity further. What surprised both of them was how naturally they communicated — finishing each other’s sentences, understanding subtle cues, anticipating concerns before they were voiced.

During one late-evening strategy session, only the two of them remained in the boardroom. The city lights sparkled outside like scattered diamonds.

“Raat ho gayi hai, Miss Sharma. Aap thak gayi hongi,” (It’s gotten late, Miss Sharma. You must be tired,) Rishaan said, noticing the faint shadows under her eyes. He pushed a cup of hot chai toward her — exactly the way she liked it, with extra adrak, though he didn’t know why he remembered that detail.

Aarya accepted it with a small nod. “Thank you. Aapko bhi rest karna chahiye. Kal site visit hai.” (Thank you. You should rest too. There’s a site visit tomorrow.)

They reviewed the latest blueprints side by side. As Aarya leaned in to point out a structural detail, her shoulder brushed lightly against his. Both froze for a fraction of a second. An old habit surfaced unconsciously — Rishaan’s hand moved slightly as if to steady her, the way he once had in another life.

“Maaf kijiye,” (Sorry,) he murmured, pulling back. But the brief contact sent a jolt through him.

Aarya’s heart raced. She remembered those same protective gestures in the villa — his hand on her lower back as they walked by the lake, the way he would instinctively reach for her when she stumbled. She cleared her throat. “Koi baat nahi. Yeh column alignment ko thoda adjust karna padega.” (No problem. We’ll need to adjust this column alignment a bit.)

The tension simmered beneath every interaction. Rishaan found himself noticing small things about her — the way she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear when deep in thought, the quiet determination in her voice when defending her design choices, the subtle jasmine scent that seemed to linger even after she left the room. These details felt hauntingly familiar, stirring emotions he couldn’t name.

On the first major site visit, the tension reached new heights. The vast empty plot in Navi Mumbai was bathed in golden afternoon light. Aarya walked the grounds in practical flats and a simple kurti, pointing out natural contours and potential green spaces. Rishaan stayed close, listening intently.

“Yahan se view bahut accha aayega,” (The view from here will be very good,) she said, gesturing toward the distant hills. “Hum ise open amphitheater bana sakte hain jahan employees relax kar sakein.”

Rishaan nodded, standing just behind her. “Perfect. Aapka vision bahut clear hai, Miss Sharma. Jaise aapne yeh jagah pehle se dekhi ho.” (Perfect. Your vision is very clear, Miss Sharma. As if you’ve seen this place before.)

Aarya turned slightly, their eyes meeting again. For a heartbeat, the professional mask slipped. She saw the man she had once loved — the softness hidden beneath the billionaire exterior. Rishaan felt it too — that strange comfort, like slipping into a favorite memory.

During lunch at the temporary site office, they sat across from each other. The conversation drifted from project details to lighter topics. Rishaan found himself asking personal questions without realizing it.

“Aap Mumbai mein kab aayi?” (When did you come to Mumbai?) he asked, genuinely curious.

“Paanch saal pehle,” (Five years ago,) Aarya replied softly, her eyes lowering to her plate. “Zindagi ko nayi shuruaat dene ke liye.” (To give life a new beginning.)

Rishaan felt an inexplicable pang. “Aur family? Koi support hai?” (And family? Any support?)

Aarya’s fingers tightened around her spoon. “Mera beta. Woh mera sab kuchh hai.” (My son. He is my everything.)

The word “beta” hit Rishaan strangely. A flash — blurry but warm — of holding a child’s hand crossed his mind before vanishing. He shook it off.

As days turned into weeks, the proximity became both torture and addiction. In one late-night virtual call, Rishaan noticed Aarya rubbing her temple tiredly. Without thinking, he said, “Aapko rest karna chahiye, Aarya.” (You should rest, Aarya.) He used her first name for the first time. The slip felt natural.

Aarya froze. “Thank you, Mr. Malhotra. Main theek hoon.” (Thank you, Mr. Malhotra. I’m fine.)

But old habits kept surfacing. During a site walk, when the ground was uneven, Rishaan instinctively offered his hand to steady her. She took it for a brief second — their palms fitting perfectly — before pulling away as if burned. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Another time, while discussing color palettes, Aarya absentmindedly said, “Yeh shade tumhe pasand tha na?” (You liked this shade, right?) before catching herself. Rishaan looked up sharply, a strange warmth blooming in his chest.

One evening, after a particularly long and productive meeting, only the two of them remained in the boardroom reviewing final adjustments. The city lights twinkled outside like silent witnesses.

“Aap bahut talented hain, Aarya,” Rishaan said quietly, using her name again. “Yeh project aapke bina adhura lagta hai.” (You are very talented, Aarya. This project feels incomplete without you.)

Aarya looked up, her eyes meeting his. The tension was palpable — years of love, pain, and forgotten memories crackling in the space between them.

As they reached for the same blueprint sheet at the same moment, their hands brushed — fingers touching fully.

A powerful flash of memory struck Rishaan like lightning.

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Golden sunrise. Marigold garlands. A woman in an ivory saree with pearls. His hands tying a mangalsutra around her neck. Her tear-filled eyes full of love. “Ab tum meri ho…” (Now you are mine…)*

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Rishaan jerked back, his breath catching sharply. The image was vivid, overwhelming. He stared at Aarya, heart pounding, as the fragment burned behind his eyes.

To be continued...