Love Uncredited

Sarvi

"So going back to your territory?"

The voice came from behind me. Deep. Male. It cut through the quiet of the office like a stone dropped into still water.

"My work here is finished," I said, keeping my tone calm and Professional.

When I turned, he was already watching me.

Tall , immaculate in a charcoal suit. The kind of man whose nod could make or break a career.

Daksh Chakravarti.

The man who ran Europe's biggest fashion house. The man who had gambled on me when no one else would.

"You know you can always continue working here, rather than going back to India," he offered. Casual, but his eyes weren't.

"Our two-year contract ended, Mr. Chakravarti. There's no reason for me to stay," I said, stricter this time. A boundary drawn in ink.

He chuckled. Low. He understood he couldn't hold me even if he tried. That was the strange thing about Daksh and me. Two years had turned a ruthless CEO and a hungry designer into something like friends.

I had been wrong about him. In the beginning, I braced for the usual story. Another powerful man with wandering hands and a cheaper respect for women.

Instead, he sent his girlfriend - now his wife - to emotionally corner me into signing. Manipulative, yes. But not creepy. Not predatory. Just a man who wanted to win.

"Thank you, Sarvi. For helping me," he said, pausing. The mask of the CEO slipped for a second. "At that time, I could not find a lead designer who could be the showstopper without charging millions. And you-"

"And I needed someone who would trust my designs," I finished for him.

We held each other's gaze. No illusions between us. This had never been about generosity. He got his empire. I got my name. In this world, there are no favors. Only transactions with cleaner names.

A glint flickered in his eyes. The steel in his voice softened, replaced by something rare for Daksh Chakravarti. Something reserved only for the few people he actually let in.

"Now what's the plan? Still stuck on that dream of yours to open the boutique chain?" he asked, teasing. He knew exactly how much that dream meant to me.

I nodded, but the words caught in my throat. Even now, even when I had the power to chase it on my own, saying it out loud felt like tempting fate.

"I know you can do it," he said, softer this time.

"But I'm going to miss my butterfly very much. By the way, where is she? I haven't seen her since yesterday." His tone shifted in an instant, excitement he couldn't quite hide slipping through his professional mask.

I sank into the chair, already bracing for what came next. "She's gone out with her aunt. Apparently, her aunt needed help shopping." My turn to tease.

"Heard someone refused to go shopping with his beautiful wife and left her alone."

Daksh sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. His shoulders tensed. "I just said I had an important meeting lined up and that she shouldn't spend too much time in the dressing room."

I fake-gasped. "Bro, that's practically screaming no."

He sighed again and dropped into his chair. Then, without warning, his entire demeanor changed. The teasing vanished. His eyes went serious.

"And Sarvi... what about Ayaan Singhania?"

The name hit like ice water. All my mischief drained out of me. For a second, I froze.

"What about him?" My voice came out colder than I intended. "He was the past. And Sarvi Ahuja doesn't bring her past into her present. It ended two years ago. It ended for good "

"He's marrying in a few months," Daksh said, watching my face too carefully.

My jaw tightened. The whole world knew about Ayaan Singhania's wedding. Articles had been screaming about his engagement for months.

"I know he is." The words tasted bitter. Ayaan Singhania was a name I could never forget. But no matter how justified my reasons felt back then, what I did was wrong. I walked away when he was ready to give me everything.

Now he had moved on. He is marrying Kiara Malhotra, the industrialist's daughter and his father's best friend's child.

They looked perfect together. Happy. And I would not make anything difficult for him.

"And what about her... You're not going to tell him that he-"

"Rabya is only my daughter," I cut him off, my voice hard as steel.

"Only mine. Yes, she is his blood. But I'm the one who brought her into this world. I don't want him to feel trapped between all this. I don't want his wife to feel insecure knowing he has a one-year-old daughter he doesn't even know exists."

My face hardened with every word.

After I left him and came here, I found out I was two months pregnant. I had options. I could have aborted and thrown myself into my career without looking back. But I could never kill a life that hadn't even seen the world yet.

Thankfully, Daksh let me work off-set. Today the world knows the name Sarvi Ahuja, the world-class fashion designer. But no one knows who I really am.

Keeping my baby was the best decision of my life. I would make it a thousand times over just to hold my daughter again. The moment I held her tiny form in my arms, she became my world.

"Mumaaaa!"

The scream ripped me out of my thoughts, followed by the uneven patter of little feet.

"Here comes our little hurricane," Daksh murmured.

The silence that had swallowed the office floor shattered under the sound of baby footsteps.

The door swung open. Tara stepped in, arms loaded with shopping bags and stuffed toys. My little devil had definitely made her buy all of it. And at her feet stood my life - Rabya. Wide eyes. Full, pink lips.

The second her eyes found me, she bolted forward. I stood to catch her, but her footing wobbled. She wasn't perfect on two legs yet. Tara's and Daksh's eyes went wide.

Before her head could hit the floor, I snatched her up and pulled her to my chest. My heart slammed against my ribs. A shaky breath left me.

She giggled, tiny arms locking around my neck. I lifted her, pressing a kiss to the back of her head.

She really is a little hurricane. I set her on the large wooden table in the center of the room. Daksh's office. He wouldn't mind.

The moment I tried to step back, she launched herself into my arms again, clinging to my neck. My little monkey.

"Bacha, let Mumma check for any bruise." I checked her over. No scrapes. No bumps. Everyone in the room exhaled at once.

"My butterfly," Daksh said, lifting her into his arms from behind. "Uncle Daksh missed you, my angel." The room filled with her giggles and baby babble.

Tara flopped onto the couch and shot me a dramatic look. "How do you even manage to work with her? It's impossible to handle a child who practically runs on four limbs." We all laughed.

"Bacha, did you really trouble your aunt Tara this much?" Rabya looked at me, then at Tara, and started clapping her hands.

Still holding Rabya, Daksh reached for a panda plush on his chair and handed it to her. Her face lit up instantly.

"This is your goodbye gift from Uncle Daksh, my butterfly."

"Is it really necessary to leave? Can't you and Rabya stay with us forever?" Tara's face fell. Her eyes followed Rabya, who was now on the floor playing with the toy while Daksh sat beside his wife, trying to steal her attention.

"My roots are there, Tara. But don't worry. We'll visit whenever possible." She pouted.

I turned to Daksh and gave him a slight nod. He nodded back, understanding without words.

"Your cab will be here to pick you up in two hours. I hope you've finished packing. Tara and I are coming to see you off."

Tara smiled at me. "Take care of yourself and Rabya. Don't hesitate to call if you ever need us." Daksh nodded beside her. I couldn't help but stare at them. At how they fit together.

---

I stepped out of the airport with sleeping Rabya in my arms. My luggage would be delivered to the apartment I had rented.

Rabya had fallen asleep mid-flight. The staff had been kind. The flight was manageable. It wasn't the first time she'd been on a plane.

The last two years with CV Group - Daksh's company - had demanded constant travel. Back-to-back fashion shows across the globe. They'd squeezed every ounce out of that two-year contract.

"Saruuuu!"

A loud scream tore through the crowd. I already knew who it was. Zoya. My best friend from college.

---