Chapter 13: The Digital Butterfly Effect
[System Notification: Chaos Level — MAXIMUM | Narrative Shift: The Past Returns to Haunt]
The law of the internet is simple: The more embarrassing the video, the faster it travels. By the time Ishaan pulled me out of the mud, the clip—titled 'Real Life Bollywood Romance in Lonavala!'—had already hit 10,000 views on a local "Discover Maharashtra" page.
We were back at the farmhouse, scrubbed clean but still shaking, when my phone didn't just vibrate—it screamed.
[Incoming Video Call: SATAN (Round 2)]
"He saw it," I whispered, staring at the screen. "Ishaan, Khurana saw the video."
I answered, and the screen was immediately filled with my boss's face, which had turned a shade of purple usually reserved for eggplants.
"SHARMA! EXPLAIN!" he roared. "I see you on my feed, rolling in the mud with your 'attending physician'! Is 'rolling in dirt' part of the New Delhi altitude protocol? And since when do doctors kiss their patients on the forehead as a medical prescription?"
Ishaan, who was currently drying his hair with a towel, didn't even flinch. He walked over, leaned his face right next to mine in the frame, and put an arm around me.
"Actually, Mr. Khurana," Ishaan said, his voice as cool as ice. "As I mentioned, I am her doctor. But I am also her fiancé. In medical circles, it's a well-documented phenomenon that emotional support from a partner accelerates recovery from viral fevers. The 'rolling' you saw was a gravitational accident during a therapeutic exercise. Any further questions about my professional ethics can be directed to my lawyer."
He ended the call and threw my phone onto the bed.
"Fiancé?!" I shrieked. "Ishaan, we went from 'seeing each other' to 'fiancé' in two hours! My boss is going to sue us for medical fraud!"
"He's too confused to sue anyone," Ishaan laughed, but his eyes were serious. "Besides, would it be so bad? Being my fiancé?"
Before I could answer that dangerously loaded question, the front door of the villa was kicked open—not by an Auntie, but by a heavy, expensive-looking boot.
The London Ghost
A man stood in the doorway. He was tall, wearing a tailored charcoal overcoat that looked absurdly out of place in the humid Indian hills. He had sharp features and the kind of "I own the room" energy that usually belongs to the villain in a corporate thriller.
Julian. Ananya's ex-boyfriend. The man from the London firm.
"So," Julian said, his British accent cutting through the room like a cold blade. "This is where the 'Top Architect' and the 'CEO' are hiding? I saw a very amusing video of a mud-wrestling match on my flight over. I assumed you'd gone mad, Ananya."
Ananya, who had been hiding in the kitchen, walked out. She looked like she had seen a ghost. Her "Golden Girl" mask didn't just slip—it shattered.
"Julian? What are you doing here?"
"Your mother told me you were here," he said, stepping into the room and glancing around with disdain. "She still thinks we're engaged, by the way. She's the one who sent me the location. She wants us to 'discuss the wedding' while you're on your sabbatical."
My heart dropped. The mothers hadn't just been meddling with me and Ishaan—they had been playing a double game with Ananya's life
.
The Confrontation
Julian turned his gaze to me and Ishaan. He looked at Ishaan's messy hair and my rumpled clothes. "And these are the locals? The 'Doctor' and his... 'fiancée'?"
Ishaan stepped forward, his body language shifting from "playful friend" to "protective alpha" in a heartbeat. He was shorter than Julian, but he felt twice as imposing.
"The name is Ishaan Malhotra," Ishaan said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register. "And I don't know who you are, but you just broke into a private suite. In this country, we call that trespassing."
"I'm here for my fiancée," Julian sneered, looking at Ananya. "Pack your bags, Ananya. The firm is willing to forget the panic attack if you come back now. Don't waste your time in this... jungle."
Ananya looked at Julian, then at me. I could see the old Ananya—the one who wanted to please everyone—struggling to stay quiet. But then she looked at her shaking hands and remembered the floor of the farmhouse.
"She's not going anywhere," I said, stepping up beside Ishaan. "And she's not a 'CEO' anymore, Julian. She quit. She hates your firm, she hates London, and she's staying here. With us."
Julian laughed. "With you? The architect who can't even keep a job without her 'fiancé' lying for her? Don't be pathetic."
Ishaan's hand balled into a fist at his side. "You have ten seconds to leave before I show you exactly how a 'local doctor' handles a headache like you."
The tension in the room was electric. The mothers were nowhere to be found—probably off buying engagement rings—leaving the four of us in a standoff that felt like the season finale of a drama.
[System Notification: New Rival Detected — Difficulty: INSANE]
[Author's Corner]
JULIAN IS HERE! 😱 And he's a total jerk! He knows everything—about Meera's job, about Ananya's panic attack! How is our "Fake Relationship" going to survive a guy who actually knows the truth?
Current Status:
Ishaan: Ready to throw hands.
Meera: Terrified but standing her ground.
Ananya: At a breaking point.
Julian: The Ultimate Villain.