Page 191 of The Redemption
She sighs.
“He provided me with every luxury in the world. Every freedom. Every happiness. But not this.” She gives a small shrug. “He never wanted his daughter to work for anyone else. He thought it was too risky. And even if he had agreed, he was concerned that the family I would eventually marry into might not accept me continuing with it.”
She smiles faintly. “I couldn’t go against him. He’d already given me so much, and I never had the heart to fight him over this. So I stayed quiet.” Her fingers absentmindedly trace the edge of her pallu. “But no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t stop loving it.”
Her voice softens.
“Mom was the one who gave me wings. She told me that maybe someday Dad would understand. That I shouldn’t stop dreaming just because he couldn’t see it right now. She asked me to keep creating quietly and to continue designing. She thought once Dad saw that I was truly happy doing it, he would be happy for me too. So I started sketching. Designing footwear in my room. At first, it was just for myself.” She smiles fondly. “Mom helped me put together a portfolio, and eventually, I reached out to a few luxury footwear brands. I never expected anyone to respond, but Louboutin did. They loved a few of my designs. One project led to another, and before I knew it, I had become one of their designers.”
She glances down at her sandals and then back at me.
“Apart from designing for Louboutin, I kept creating a few designs just for myself and had them made by a local craftsman in Cape Town. The same ones you found out about.”
I stare at her and then shake my head.
“You are very creative, Siya, and a gift like this shouldn’t be hidden. I know your father loved you. But if he thought his daughter was meant to sit behind four walls and spend her lifehiding what God had gifted her… then I have to disagree with him.”
Almost instinctively, I reach up and tuck the loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“You deserve your own name. Your own brand. Your own line of footwear, so the world knows exactly what you’re capable of. You don’t have to hide anymore. Your talent and your passion deserve recognition, Siya.”
“I can’t believe you are telling me this.” She looks completely taken aback. “Don’t act like it matters to you.”
I frown, feeling offended. “But it does. It matters to me… a lot” I hold her gaze. “Because you’re my wife. And I don’t hide something I’m proud of.”
Her lips part again in surprise.
“Stop hiding behind an initial. If you want your name out there, then go and put it out there. If you want your own brand, build it. Let the world know. I’m with you in this. And don’t think as if I’m giving you permission. Because you never needed it. I’m only telling you what you deserve.”
Her eyes turn glassy as she tries to process everything I’ve just said. Frankly, it doesn’t matter to me how she chooses to pursue her career. Whatever path she takes, she’ll always have my support.
SIYA
For the first time in my life, a man born and raised in the same ruthless underworld as me doesn’t ask me to cower in the mould of the mafia princess. He’s telling me I deserve more. All my life, I’ve seen men protect their women by clipping their wings. Dad loved me beyond measure. I’ve never doubted thatfor a second. But even his love was shaped by fear. It came wrapped in restrictions and endless protection.
But Raghav protects differently. He doesn’t cage. He opens doors. He gives me wings to fly. And just like that, another layer of the wall I’ve built around my heart begins to crack. Maybe… this marriage isn’t taking things away from me. It’s giving me back pieces of myself I never knew I had lost.
His dark eyes remain on me for a long moment before his hands return to the buttons of his kurta. As he grips the collar and begins to pull it over his head, I stop him.
“Wait.”
He pauses, lifting his brow.
“You’re going to tear it.” I step closer, ignoring the smirk tugging on his lips. Carefully, I pull the kurta back down over his shoulders. “Stand still. You’ve missed one button.”
He says nothing. Just watches as my fingers move to the forgotten button. The moment I free it, the fabric loosens. I should have stopped here. Instead, without thinking, I help him lift the kurta over his head. My fingers accidentally graze his hair, his cheek, his jawline while trying to help, and every little touch feels anything but innocent.
The next second, the kurta comes off completely and Raghav stands before me bare-chested. Heat rushes to my cheeks as my eyes wander over his broad shoulders, the hard planes of his chest, and the faint trail of hair that disappears beneath the waistband of his churidar. Meanwhile, all Raghav does is watch me with that intense look that only he possesses.
Hot.My throat dries instantly. Not wanting to embarrass myself further, I turn around and march towards the mirror. Pretending my pulse isn’t trying to kill me, I begin removing the pin securing my pallu with far more force than necessary. But the stupid pin refuses to cooperate.
“Come on…” I mutter under my breath.
The next second, Raghav appears behind me. My fingers freeze on seeing his reflection in the mirror. Bare chest. Dark eyes. Six feet two inches of pure mafia trouble. His hungry gaze meets my nervous one in the mirror, and suddenly the room feels too hot, too intimate.
Then his deep voice rumbles behind me. “Now who’s doing the tearing?”
The corner of his mouth lifts as he gently grabs my hand before I can tug at the pin again.
