The silence that followed was absolute.
‘What are youtalking about?’ Ayaan’s voice was strangled. He was gripping the armrest so hard that his knuckles went bone-white. ‘I don’t ... You sabotaged Jai because ofmoney?’
‘It’s not just money!’ Her voice rose, trembling with desperation. ‘It’s everything. That money, in this day and age, is seventy per cent of our liquid capital. It’s money your father and I deserve to spend on our retirement after working hard our whole lives. And spending crores to buy back what should alreadybe Ayaan’s – what islegallyhis birthright – would cripple us.’
‘Mybirthright?’ Ayaan stared at her, horrified. ‘You destroyed Jai’s work. You blackmailed someone. You tore this family apart over—’ His voice broke. ‘God, Jai, I didn’t know. I swear to you—’
‘I know,’ I said steadily, and meant it.
Ayaan was a lot of things. Spoilt. Carefree. Oblivious. But malicious and two-faced weren’t among them.
He turned back to Rekha. ‘How could you do this to him? You raised him. He’s my brother.’
‘And you’re my son.’ She faltered mid-sentence, unable to continue. ‘I … I couldn’t let you lose what should be yours. What you’ve earned—’
‘I haven’t earnedanything.’ Ayaan’s laugh was bitter and broken. ‘That’s the whole problem, isn’t it? You’ve been clearing the path for me my entire life. And now I find out you did it by sabotaging Jai?’ He shook his head.
Rekha’s face crumpled.
‘If you’d told me,’ I said into the heavy silence, my voice barely above a whisper, ‘I would have stepped away. I would have given it up. All of it.’
The words settled between us – simple, honest, undeniable.
Rekha seemed to crumble, barely holding herself together. ‘I wanted to tell you. Both of you. But Vikram—’ She looked at Dad, accusation darkening her face. ‘He had this misguided notion that he owed you something. That he hadn’t been present enough when you were growing up. That his grief, his work, his absence had damaged you.’ Her voice turned sharp, bitter. ‘Never mind that he was absentfor Ayaan, too. Or for me.’ She shook her head. ‘He refused to tell you the truth. He insisted on giving you both an equal shot at something that was never meant for you.’
I felt Ananya’s fingers tighten around mine. An anchor in the storm.
Dad sat perfectly still, staring at his hands like they held answers.
‘And you didn’t know? What was she doing?’ I asked. A large part of me knew he didn’t, but I needed the confirmation.
Dad looked up, his face stricken. ‘No.’ He glanced at Rekha, caught between betrayal and devastation. ‘I thought if I gave you both a fair chance, the most deserving person would win.’
Ayaan looked away.
All of us knew it was me. But I knew my little brother. The potential he had.
I swallowed. ‘Then why didn’t you tell us?’ My voice cracked. ‘About the will? About what was at stake? Ayaan would’ve worked harder. He—’ I shook my head. Nothing about this was fair.
‘I didn’t want to put that pressure on you two. And didn’t want you to feel like you had to step aside to make it easier for us,’ Dad said. ‘The money … it was a price I was willing to pay.’ He looked at Rekha. ‘I–I knew Rekha wasn’t the mother you deserved. I saw how you suffered. But I was too afraid to stand up to her back then. Afraid she’d leave. Afraid it’d all go away.’
Rekha flinched.
The pressure inside me became unbearable.
‘By the time I found the courage to do something about it, you were already gone,’ Dad continued.‘So far away I couldn’t reach you anymore.’ He looked at me, his eyes shining. ‘I thought this was my chance to make it up to you.’
He’d known. He’d known what I was going through, but chose to remain silent for fear of losing his money and status.
Something within me fractured.
The three-year-old who’d lost both his parents in every way that mattered.
The ten-year-old who’d believed that love was earned.
The twenty-one-year-old who’d thought he needed to work at his family company to have a relationship with his father.
They all went silent.
