Chapter 3: Shadows in the Background

Ira’s Point of View

The mansion felt colder than usual that morning.

Ira had just finished tidying the breakfast dishes—though Aarav hadn’t even touched the toast she left. He probably didn’t even notice it. The clatter of cutlery echoed too loud in the emptiness of the kitchen, and she sighed, wiping her damp hands on her apron before walking into the guest room-turned-office that she now occupied.

She missed her father’s voice.

Even in his illness, he always had something kind to say. “One day, someone will love you just because you smiled,” he used to tell her. But smiles were harder to fake these days.

Her mother had passed away when Ira was just ten. Since then, her father had raised her single-handedly, sacrificing career opportunities and social ties. A quiet man, yet fiercely loving. The illness came suddenly—a failing heart, the doctor said. And the bills came even faster. Her extended family offered little beyond sympathy. Her relatives had long labeled her a “soft burden”—too emotional, too naïve, too devoted to a man who wouldn’t live long.

She wasn’t desperate when she walked into Aarav’s building. She was drowning.

And he... was the last raft.

Aarav. He was a storm inside a well-cut suit. Cold, unreadable, meticulous. But something about the way he looked at the world told her he had stories too.

She hadn’t learned much about his family—except what the tabloids said. That his father, Richard Knight, was a ruthless business mogul who built an empire and broke everyone in the process—including his own son. Aarav rarely mentioned him, and when he did, his jaw would clench ever so slightly.

He spoke once, just once, about his mother.

“She left when I was twelve,” he said, eyes fixed on the glass in his hand. “Said she wanted peace.”

Ira didn’t push. But she understood. Everyone left eventually.

His sister, Olivia, called occasionally. Sweet on the surface, but Ira could sense the sharpness underneath. She was polite to Ira, overly so. Like someone too aware of the lines not to cross. No one in his family had welcomed her, not even out of formality. It was clear they thought she didn’t belong.

Maybe she didn’t.

Still, Ira tried. She made tea when Aarav worked late. Left lights on in rooms he often forgot he’d need. Picked up his dry cleaning. And sometimes, when he returned from work with tired eyes and the knot in his shoulders too tight, she’d watch him silently from the hallway and wish she could ease his day.

Once, she found a photo in a drawer. Aarav, much younger, smiling—really smiling—with a girl beside him. Blonde, with bright blue eyes.

Rhea.

The name etched in the corner.

Ira had touched the edge of the photo with trembling fingers, then quietly put it back.

That was the day she began to wonder: Was she just a shadow in someone else’s story?

Was she here to help him forget—or simply to fill in the gaps until she was no longer needed?

And if so… why did it hurt this much?

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