She was standing on the stage for her engagement, heartbroken but pretending to smile—when the man she thought had disappeared from her life forever walked in with bodyguards, revealing a truth that shook her world.
When Harsh had told Isha that Alex had already left, she had felt something inside her break beyond repair. She had no idea how to cry anymore; it was as if the tears had frozen in her chest. So, with a shattered heart and crushed hopes, she had flown back to India, thinking she would never see Alex again.
Two weeks passed in a blur. Her engagement had been fixed before, and now the day had come. She stood on the stage, wearing a pastel pink lehenga, lights shining on her like she was in a dream she didn't want to be in. People were clapping, cameras flashing, but inside she was empty.
And then—it happened.
Out of nowhere, the guests turned to look towards the entrance. A low murmur spread across the hall. Isha looked up in confusion, and her breath caught.
There he was.
Alex.
No, Harsh.
Or maybe both?
He was walking through the crowd like he owned the world, dressed in a sharp black suit, flanked by bodyguards. For a second, Isha couldn't breathe. Was she hallucinating? Or was this really happening?
Whispers filled the hall. "That's Alex Shekhawat!" someone gasped.
Vikram, the man she was supposed to be engaged to, looked confused. But before anyone could react, Harsh walked up to the stage and without a word, stood in front of Vikram. One cold stare. One subtle but powerful message. And Vikram... stepped back.
Everything else happened in a blur.
Isha's head spun, and before she could ask anything, darkness took over.
When she opened her eyes, the soft humming sound of a plane engine greeted her ears. Confused, she blinked and sat up slowly.
The seat she was on wasn't a regular airplane seat. It was like a mini bed, reclined with cushions and a silk blanket. The interior around her was luxurious—soft golden lights, wooden panels, and a faint fragrance of lavender.
"You're awake," a deep voice said beside her.
She turned her head and saw Harsh sitting next to her, reading some documents.
Isha's heart raced.
"Where... where am I?" she asked, panic rising.
He looked at her calmly. "In my private jet."
She stared at him in disbelief. "What? Why?"
Harsh gave a small smile. "Because you fainted. And I wasn't going to leave you there."
Memories rushed back. The engagement stage. Him walking in. The chaos. And then, this.
"So you ARE Alex?" she asked, eyes wide. "Then who the hell is Harsh?"
He leaned back in his seat. "I'm both. Harsh... and Alex Shekhawat."
"You lied to me," she said, her voice trembling with emotion.
"I never said I wasn't Alex," he replied coolly. "You assumed."
"Oh come on! You literally told me Alex had left half an hour ago! You made it sound like someone else entirely!"
He sighed, looking out the window. "Alright, fine. I'm sorry."
That was unexpected.
Isha didn't know why, but despite everything, a small smile tugged at her lips. She quickly looked away, trying to hide it.
"And my sister?" she asked suddenly.
"Safe. Don't worry."
She relaxed a bit, finally letting herself breathe. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you so much... Harsh, or Alex, or whatever your name is."
"Hmm," he replied, eyes still on his papers.
She noticed he wasn't talking to her the same way he used to back in the garden. There was a strange coldness in his voice now.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"To my place," he replied.
"No, no, no! Please drop me somewhere else. I'll manage on my own. I'll go back after a few days when everything calms down."
He turned to her, his expression unreadable. "Do you really think your fiancé won't find you? He may not be as powerful as me, but he's a rich businessman too. His contacts will trace you easily."
Isha went silent. That made sense. She hated it, but it made sense.
"So... what do I do now?" she asked.
"Stay with me. As my cook."
She blinked. "What?!"
"Yes. Cook for me. Three meals a day. That's your job."
"But I don't even know how to cook properly! I just make things to survive! Not tasty food!"
"Then learn. Watch YouTube. Experiment. Just cook something edible."
Isha wanted to scream. But she looked at him, then thought about her sister, her situation, and decided to stay silent.
She nodded slowly. "Fine."
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. For a second, something softened in his expression. But it vanished quickly.
Hours later, they landed at a private airport. She didn't even know which country they were in. Long lines of black luxury cars waited outside. They exited not from the main gate, but a private terminal.
She sat in the backseat of a Rolls Royce, staring out as the roads turned from city to countryside, and finally towards a mountain road.
And then—she saw it.
Her mouth fell open.
The mansion stood tall on a hilltop, surrounded by gardens that looked like royal Mughal-style lawns—marble fountains, peacocks roaming freely, and trees trimmed in perfect shapes. The building itself looked like a modern-day palace, with giant domes, glass balconies, and golden detailing that shimmered under the sunset.
"This... is your house?" she whispered.
"Welcome to your new home," Harsh said, already walking ahead.
She followed him inside, heart still pounding.
The interior was even more stunning. Cream and gold walls, chandeliers that looked like they belonged in a museum, fresh lilies in every corner. Staff members stood lined up, bowing slightly. Everyone greeted her in polished English.
A woman in a neat uniform came forward. "Good evening, sir."
"Show her to her room," he said, handing his coat.
"Yes, sir."
The woman turned to Isha with a warm smile. "Please come with me, ma'am."
Isha felt awkward being called that but followed quietly.
The room she entered was no room. It was a personal suite. Bigger than her entire flat back home. A balcony with a private pool. Floor-to-ceiling windows with a mountain view. A bed that looked like it belonged to a queen.
"This... this is for me?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am. Sir's orders."
"But... I'm just a cook."
The staff lady smiled. "Still your room."
Isha nodded slowly, overwhelmed.
"If you need anything, just call me."
"Please, don't call me ma'am," Isha said softly. "Just call me Isha."
"I can't do that, ma'am," she said, gently.
"Okay, at least when he's not around, just say Isha."
The maid smiled and nodded.
Isha walked to the balcony and looked out. For the first time in days, she felt something shift inside her. Calmness, maybe. Or something else.
Meanwhile, in the study room of the mansion, Harsh sat with two men—his childhood friends, Varun and Prithvi, both from powerful families.
"Are you sure you want to keep her here?" Prithvi asked.
Harsh looked at the window, his voice firm. "I need to protect her. If she's with me, I know she's safe."
Varun raised an eyebrow. "You're not falling for her, are you?"
Harsh didn't answer. Just kept looking at the horizon, lost in thought.