Taran Singh, the owner of Singh Builders, raised a toast in his elegantly appointed drawing-room, his family gathered around him. A palpable sense of elation filled the air – Singh Builders had secured the coveted Malhotra Project.

"I'm incredibly proud of both of you," Geeta, Taran's wife, beamed, her smile reaching her eyes. She leaned down, bestowing a kiss on each of their children, Ishan and Saakshi. Their teamwork, Saakshi's persuasive pitch, and Ishan's unwavering support, had clinched the deal.

The celebratory mood pervaded the room as Ishan clinked his glass with their parents. Yet, amidst the joyous chaos, a flicker of unease crossed Saakshi's features.

Ishan, noticing his sister's untouched drink, inquired, "Everything alright, Saakshi? You usually join in the celebrations."

"I don't feel quite myself," Saakshi confessed, pushing the untouched drink away.

Ishan's brow furrowed. "Not celebrating with us? That usually means something's bothering you."

Hesitantly, Saakshi voiced her concern. "It's about I don't know. I can't shake this feeling – a nagging sense of foreboding, like something might go wrong."

This unexpected revelation cast a momentary shadow over the celebratory atmosphere. The weight of Saakshi's intuition, a gut feeling honed by years of experience, demanded attention.

The clinking of Taran's glass against his water goblet echoed through the dining room, momentarily halting the clatter of forks and the murmur of conversation. All eyes turned to him, anticipation flickering in their depths.

"Family," he began, the word heavy with a meaning that extended far beyond blood ties. It encompassed the shared ambition, the burning desire that bound them together. With a satisfied smile, he tapped his glass against the table again. "I can't wait to see the look on Amarjit's face when the news hits. Sharma Constructions going down? That'll be a sight worth savoring."

A collective smirk played on the faces around the table. Geeta, Taran's wife, leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with a malicious glint. "And let's not forget that insufferable Shyamla," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "I can practically hear the screech of her fake sympathy at the next social gathering. But not this time, oh no. This time, I'll be the one delivering the delightful news."

Ishan, their son, chimed in, a hint of bravado lacing his tone. "And Shubman," he declared, referring to Amarjit and Shyamla's eldest son. "Leave him to me. A little friendly chat, a reminder of whose name holds more weight in the business world – Singh Builders, of course"

Saakshi, Taran and Geeta's daughter, sat quietly through the exchange, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach. Despite the shared animosity towards the Sharma's, a dark cloud seemed to settle over her whenever the topic of their downfall arose. "Was it all worth it?" she thought, the question echoing silently in her mind.

Breaking the silence, she turned to Ishan, her voice a touch strained. "I think I'll step outside for some fresh air," she announced, her gaze lingering on her parents for a fleeting moment. They were too engrossed in their venomous plans to notice the turmoil brewing within her.

Saakshi pushed back her chair, the scrape a jarring sound against the celebratory atmosphere. As she stepped out onto the porch, a cool breeze washed over her, momentarily soothing the disquiet within. Yet, the air still felt heavy with the weight of their animosity, and she couldn't help but wonder if victory, when it came, would truly taste as sweet as they all seemed to believe.

------

The opulent living room of the Sharma household hung heavy with a suffocating silence. Amarjit, the patriarch of the family, sat ramrod straight on the plush sofa, his face etched with a mixture of disbelief and fury. Shyamla, his wife, perched beside him, mirrored his expression, her perfectly manicured nails digging into the armrest.

Shubman, their eldest son, stood awkwardly behind the sofa, his usually confident posture replaced by a slumped form. Sana, his wife, mirrored his stance, a worried frown creasing her brow. Dev, the youngest, occupied a chair on the periphery, his youthful face pale and drawn.

Across from them sat Vaidehi and Abhishek Kapoor, their daughter and son-in-law. Vaidehi, usually the picture of composure, seemed to shrink under the weight of the atmosphere. Abhishek, normally jovial, wore a grim expression.

The air crackled with tension until Amarjit finally exploded. "Someone care to explain what the hell just happened?" His voice boomed through the room, sending shivers down everyone's spine.

Shyamla chimed in, her voice laced with icy contempt. "Yes, how did we lose such a crucial project to those Singhs? Did complacency cloud your judgment, Amarjit? Or perhaps," she turned her sharp gaze towards Shubman, "was it your arrogance that cost us this deal?"

Shubman flinched under his mother's scrutiny but remained silent, his jaw clenched tight. Sana squeezed his hand offering a silent show of support.

Dev, however, was the focal point of Amarjit's ire. "Dev!" he roared, his voice laced with barely contained rage. "You were the point man on this project! Where was the Sharma magic? We entrusted you with a golden opportunity, and you..." He trailed off, searching for a scathing enough word, but finding none that wouldn't wound his youngest son too deeply.

Dev shrank further into his chair, his face flushed a deep crimson. Shame gnawed at him, a bitter aftertaste to the crushing defeat. He had poured his heart and soul into the pitch, strategized for weeks, and countered every anticipated point from Singh Builders. Yet, something had gone terribly wrong.

He opened his mouth to defend himself, but the words wouldn't come. The disappointment in his parents' eyes, the silent judgment hanging heavy in the air – it all choked him up. He stole a glance at his siblings. Shubman, usually his biggest Supporter, looked at him with a mix of disappointment and a flicker of something... was it pity? Vaidehi, ever the voice of reason, kept her gaze neutral, but a crease of worry marred her forehead.

Despite their usual competitive spirit, a pang of sympathy shot through them both. They loved Dev and seeing him bear the brunt of their father's anger was painful. Still, the sting of the loss was fresh, and the petty part of them couldn't help but relish a small, shameful victory over their usually successful younger brother. It was a fleeting feeling, quickly overshadowed by the looming shadow of their family's setback.

After nearly an hour of relentless lecturing from Amarjit and Shyamla, a suffocating silence had finally descended. The weight of the lost project pressed down on them all, a shared burden that promised a long night ahead.

As if on cue, a clinking sound announced the arrival of dinner. Relief flickered across the faces of the younger generation – anything to break the stifling atmosphere. With a collective sigh, they rose to their feet. Shubman, his usual swagger dampened by the recent events, turned towards Sana. They exchanged a hesitant look, their eyes reflecting the turmoil within. Despite the tension at home, a silent understanding passed between them.

Sana, her hand still firmly clasped in Shubman's, reached for her phone. With a swift movement, she snapped a picture, capturing the image of their intertwined hands. Shubman raised an eyebrow in question, a flicker of confusion crossing his features.

"See my story," Sana replied, her voice laced with a hint of defiance. Shubman unlocked his phone and opened Instagram. There, on his wife's story, was the picture she had just taken. A caption, simple yet powerful, accompanied the image: "Im here for you."

Shubman's lips twitched into a wry smile. The forced marriage, a strategic alliance orchestrated by their parents, often left them navigating a sea of unspoken emotions. "Was this necessary?" he asked, his voice barely a murmur.

Sana shrugged, a hint of bitterness tinging her reply. "Well, I have to be the perfect wife, don't I? The media loves a good love story." The word 'love' hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the reality of their situation.

Despite the underlying tension, Shubman felt a surge of warmth towards Sana. He squeezed her hand gently, a silent gesture of appreciation for her unwavering support. He then turned his gaze towards Dev, who seemed lost in a world of his own.

"Come on, Dev," Shubman called out, his voice gentle. But Dev remained oblivious, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Dev? Dinner is ready," Sana chimed in, hoping to break through his self-imposed isolation. Still, there was no response.

Shubman nudged Dev's shoulder lightly. The sudden touch jolted Dev out of his reverie. He looked up, his eyes filled with a mix of shame and defiance.

"I'm gonna go," he mumbled, his voice barely audible. Before anyone could react, he turned and walked out of the house, the heavy oak door slamming shut behind him with a finality that echoed through the silent room.

Sana instinctively reached out to stop him, but Shubman placed a restraining hand on her arm. "Let him go," he said softly. "He needs some time alone."

Sana slumped back against the doorway, a wave of helplessness washing over her. The weight of their defeat, coupled with Dev's obvious despair, cast a dark shadow over the prospect of dinner. The once-vibrant household now felt like a battlefield, the silence heavy with unspoken hurt and the uncertain path that lay ahead.

-----

As Abhishek steered the car away from the Sharma household, the weight of the evening settled heavily upon him. The opulent dinner, overshadowed by the crushing news of the Malhotra project, had done little to lift his spirits. His mind replayed the events on a loop, each iteration etching a deeper line of worry onto his forehead.

The loss of the project had been a double blow. Not only did it deal a significant financial setback to Kapoor Architects, the firm he co-owned with Vaidehi, but it also threatened the very foundation of their already strained relationship. The Malhotra project, with its promise of a hefty architectural contract, had been their lifeline – a way to weather the storm of their impending separation.

Abhishek had envisioned a clean break, the project cushioning the financial fallout. Now, with Singh Builders at the helm, that possibility evaporated. Singh Builders, their in-laws' arch-rivals, were an impossible recourse. The thought of Vaidehi's tear-streaked face, etched with the despair of their previous loss, flickered in his mind. He couldn't bear to see her cry again.

Gripping the steering wheel with such intensity that his knuckles turned white, Abhishek fought the rising tide of panic. He stole a glance at Vaidehi beside him. Her gaze was fixed out the window, the city lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of colors as they sped past. He knew the weight of the loss burdened her too, yet she remained stoic, a silent pillar amidst the wreckage of their hopes.

A wave of helplessness washed over him. He yearned to offer her comfort, a solution, anything to alleviate the shared burden. But the path forward was shrouded in uncertainty. The once-bright prospect of a clean separation now loomed as a financial precipice, threatening to swallow them whole.

The car pulled into the driveway of their once-shared haven, the silence within mirroring the quiet desperation gnawing at Abhishek. He stole a glance at Vaidehi, her head resting against the window, the city lights casting an ethereal glow on her face. Sleep, a temporary escape from the harsh realities, had enveloped her.

With a sigh, Abhishek shut off the engine and carefully unbuckled Vaidehi's seatbelt. He hesitated for a moment, the familiar urge to reach for her hand fighting against the invisible barrier that now separated them. A soft whimper escaped her lips, and Abhishek knew he couldn't leave her like this.

Gently, he scooped her up in his arms, the familiar scent of her lavender perfume triggering a bittersweet pang in his heart. He carried her inside, their footsteps falling silent on the plush carpet. They had long moved into separate bedrooms, a physical manifestation of the emotional chasm that had grown between them.

Reaching her room, Abhishek laid her down on the cool sheets, the tenderness in his movements a stark contrast to the turmoil within. He knelt beside the bed, carefully removing her shoes and the delicate jewelry adorning her wrists. Memories flickered – happier times when these gestures were met with a loving smile, a playful swat at his hand.

A faint memory surfaced – Vaidehi, ever the meticulous one, reminding him of the importance of removing makeup before sleep. With a heavy heart, he grabbed a pack of wet wipes from the nightstand and began the familiar ritual. Each swipe, a silent apology for the dreams they could no longer share.

As he finished, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture so intimate it felt like a betrayal of their new reality. Yet, he couldn't resist the urge to offer some form of comfort. Pulling the blanket up to her chin, he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "I'll make everything right, Vaidehi. I promise. The future... it will be better."

His words hung in the air, a fragile hope battling against the storm of uncertainty. Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, the lingering warmth a silent goodbye. With one last lingering look, Abhishek rose to his feet, the weight of his unspoken promise heavy on his shoulders.

He turned and walked out, leaving Vaidehi to the solace of sleep, a temporary reprieve from the harsh realities that awaited them both. As he closed the door behind him, the hollow click echoed in the silence, a stark reminder of the fractured life they now led.

------

Dev entered the club, the music a relentless assault on his eardrums. It was a welcome assault, a necessary one. Loud enough to drown out the relentless echo of failure in his head, the constant replay of the presentation that had cost him the Malhotra project. He pushed through the throng of bodies, the dim lights casting a hazy glow on the dance floor, the air thick with sweat and spilled drinks.

At the bar, a lone figure perched on a stool caught his eye. It was Saakshi Singh, her fiery mane catching the strobe flashes. Anger, a simmering ember within him, flared into a hot blaze. There she was, the very architect of his downfall, celebrating the victory that should have been his. She'd outsmarted him, outmaneuvered him, and snatched the Malhotra project from right under his nose.

He stalked towards her, his steps heavy with a potent mix of resentment and despair. Saakshi, sensing his approach, turned her head. Their eyes met, and a jolt of recognition, laced with something akin to apprehension, flickered across her face.

"Celebrating the win?" Dev spat, his voice laced with bitterness.

Saakshi arched an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. "And I'm assuming you're drowning your sorrows?" she countered, her voice cool and measured. But her eyes held a flicker of something else, a hint of concern that surprised Dev.

Dev slumped onto the stool beside her, the air around him suddenly thick with unspoken words. "You know," he muttered, the fight seemingly drained out of him, "I don't even have the energy to argue."

A flicker of surprise crossed Saakshi's face, replaced by a guarded silence. The bartender, a burly man with a shaved head, materialized in front of them.

"The usual, Saakshi?" he rumbled, his voice barely audible over the music.

Dev looked up, a flicker of recognition dawning in the bartender's eyes. "Put it on my tab," he said, his voice rough with emotion. He reached for his wallet, then hesitated, realizing he only had business cards on him. With a sigh, he pulled one out, the embossed 'Sharma Construction' gleaming under the dim lights.

Saakshi couldn't help but steal a glance at the card. Her smile turned mischievous. "No name on the card, Mr. Mystery," she teased, her voice laced with humor.

"Let's not talk about business, please," Dev muttered, pushing a glass of the amber liquid towards Saakshi. Even the act of generosity felt like a jab at her victory.

Saakshi raised an eyebrow, a sardonic smile playing on her lips. "Considering the night we last got this friendly," she countered, her voice laced with a pointed sweetness, "business might be the safest topic."

Dev flinched. The memory of their drunken encounter, fueled by competitive fire and a potent attraction neither of them acknowledged, was a sore spot. He took a long swig of his drink, the burn a welcome distraction.

They sat in an uncomfortable silence, the pulsing music and the cacophony of the club a constant reminder of the distance between them. Dev stole glances at Saakshi. Even in the dim light, the glint of triumph in her eyes was unmistakable. It fueled a fresh wave of resentment within him.

"Celebrating without a drink?" he finally asked, his voice laced with a bitterness he couldn't quite control.

Saakshi's smile faltered for a brief moment. She set her glass down, untouched. "Trying to avoid repeating past mistakes, Sharma," she replied, her voice devoid of its earlier sweetness. The use of his last name felt like a deliberate wall, a reminder of the professional rivalry that defined their relationship.

Dev felt a pang of something akin to shame. He hated that she could see right through him, hated the tangled mess of emotions churning within him – anger, envy, and a flicker of something more, a connection he refused to acknowledge.

"Right," he muttered, forcing a laugh that sounded hollow even to his own ears. "Probably wise but Ouch," he managed, the word scraping against his throat. "Was I that bad, Princess?"

Saakshi shook her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. "No," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"Then?" Dev prompted, a thread of hope twisting through the knot of despair in his chest.

Silence descended once more, heavier this time. Dev stared into her eyes, the ice clinking against the side the only sound. Suddenly, Saakshi took a deep breath, her posture shifting.

"Dev," she began, her voice barely audibles over the din. There was a vulnerability in her tone that sent a jolt through him. "There's something you need to know."

He looked up, his heart pounding an erratic rhythm in his chest. Saakshi met his gaze, her eyes filled with a storm of emotions.

"I'm pregnant, Dev," she announced, the bombshell dropping with a deafening silence that cut through the cacophony of the club.

------

How's the twist/plot??? I know I am not that subtle but give me some credit Yaar. 

And OFC A Big Thank You to @unsaidwordsmusingsx for making the Sharma Construction Card.