Toxic ~ Even if we can't be together in the end - Chapter 23 Up ! - Page 45

Totally loooveeed it 😊. That was an amazing update ( just like your other updates ). But please please please please please update little faster. Anyways you made it by giving 3 long posts. And I hope you will continue like this ??

Sooo hi! I'm not a regular commentator in fact I'm quite guilty of reading fanfics and leaving it at that but I felt the need to stop and start commenting because I can only imagine the amount of work you put in to these updates!

So first things first, since BP ended - two things have kept my sanity - ogling at HC's insta and fanfics! Your fanfic being one of my favorites!
I love everything about this story! I love how you've carefully crafted the characters, I love how realistic they are, and on a personal note I'm in the process of applying to law schools and NYU is my top choice 😆 so you had me sold there!

But I love the modern approach you've given to this story. In ITV, I think the audience is not ready for premarital relationships, abortion and things of that nature. Growing up as an Indian American kid I've loved so many ITV couples and I've always wanted to see them portrayed as normal people that indulge in vices and realistic habits! I love how this story has been shaping up and moreso, the relation Adi and Zoya share. My favorite update has to be that of when Zoya tells Adi she's pregnant and how he handles the situation. I find them both such lovable characters and can only *imagine* JW and HC in those roles.

Well I guess I can say please update soon!!
I love this story for so many reasons and I can go on and on about this 😆 but I wish Aditya and Zoya were given half the opportunity to portray their chemistry as your FF has portrayed them. Im living vicariously through this story.

Your writing style is so amazing. I like how you take care of all the little details.

I am waiting for the day when itv actually adopts this kind of writing, maintaing realistic charm and have good screenplay...it will be a dream come true if even a finite show with mere 20-30 episodes is made into this kind of content and minute details...if someday by any miracle i turn into a producer ...i will look forward to work with u😉...keep up the good work...ur updates make my weeks coz i re-read them again n again👏 Zoya and Aditya r bang on...

Hi, please update... can't wait to read what happens next 😳

Even if we can't be together in the end I am still glad you were a part of my life

Zoya's POV - Present

Wall Street Journal : Zoya Qureshi, youngest ever Skadden partner.

What achievement are you most proud of ?

As one of the first women M&A associates and then partners at Skadden, I was able to prove that women had the brains and tenacity to become partners and rainmakers in a field which is the legal equivalent to being a Marine or Navy Seal in the military.

I hadn't even kissed him.

The thought kept running through my mind as I sat next to him in the cab, his leg grazing mine. Part of me wanted to tell the cab driver to turn around and take us back to the ballroom. Part of me was wondering if this was turning out to be the stupidest decision of my life. And part of me was too far gone to care.

This was risky. On one hand I was single, so having sex shouldn't exactly be front-page news. But I was nervous and the news in Wall Street Journal kept me on my toes. I was young to be partner at Skadden Law Associates and I needed to keep my nose clean.

We turned, the familiar sight of trees and cobblestone streets greeting me. The cab came to a stop in front of his condo. "We're here"

He paid the driver and I followed him out of the cab. He led me to the front door, the pounding in my chest intensifying with each step. I was silent while he unlocked the door and punched in the alarm code. I followed him in, my gaze glued to his back. He took off his suit jacket and draped it over the sofa. "I am going to eat up you"

"Promise ?" I blushed boldly. Can you blush boldly ? How is it possible to blush while being - He kissed me.

He pressed against my mouth, his tongue darting out, grazing mine. He sucked on my bottom lip with his teeth, running his tongue against it. We stood apart, our mouths the only part where our bodies touched. I just stood there while Aditya kissed me, caught off guard, powerless to do anything expect drown in the sensation of his mouth on mine. And then I couldn't take it anymore and I reached out, tangling my hands in his hair, pulling him against my body. Hard.

There had been a moment when I was in control, a moment when he let me kiss him, but then it was gone, erased by the pressure of his mouth against mine, his hands molding my curves, his hard body leaning into mine, giving me a preview of what it would be like when he was inside me.

His touch wasn't gentle or light. He held me and touched me like a man who knew exactly what to do with his hands, exactly what his body needed. He caressed me like a man who was going to give me an orgasm I'd never forget.

Aditya broke away for a minute, his hands fumbling with my jacket buttons. He pushed the fabric from my shoulders, pulling it down until it fell to the floor. Underneath I wore a low-cut ivory silk shirt. He stared down at my breasts, his gaze penetrating. My nipples were hard points, visible through my lacy bra and thin silk top. I flushed, warmth flooding my body. There was something about the way he looked at me. No one had ever stared at me before. Not like this. Not like they were memorizing the shape of my body. I felt a ridiculous urge to cross my arms over my chest, to move away.

"I hate this blouse. I usually like you in corporate clothes because it makes you look sexy and powerful, but it's in my way, and I can't touch you" He reached out, his fingertip grazing my nipple through the silk. It was the lightest touch and yet it was enough to have me biting back a moan as I pushed my breast into his hand. Who knew gentleness could be the hottest thing of all ?

He groaned as he palmed my nipple, fisting his free hand into my hair, tugging on my long hair. His touch was so many contrasts - gentle and almost reverent, hard and dirty- and I liked them all.

He cupped my breast with his hand, brushing his thumb over my nipple, his gaze intent. My nipples pebbled beneath his touch as he rubbed the silk between his fingers, the soft glide of the fabric against me turning my body into a series of throbbing points, dying for more. He tugged on one and then the other, drawing a direct connection between his hands and the moan they tore from my mouth. And then he lowered his head and captured the bud between his lips and sucked hard, the friction of his hot mouth - his teeth - and the silk, driving me mad.

"You're really good at this" I hissed.

He laughed, the sound vibrating against my breast. He was supposed to be into missionary. This was all kinds of freaky naughty, and I so wanted more.I reached down, running my hands through his hair, stroking his neck, pulling him closer to my body, rubbing up against every inch of hard body. I wanted him to devour me. I wanted him to never, ever stop touching me.

His mouth left my breast, the cool air hitting me like a shock after the warmth of his mouth. He moved to my waist, tugging at the silk, pulling it out from my skirt. His hand dipped under the fabric, and his knuckles grazed my bare stomach, sending another pull of lust through me. I moaned again, the sound loud and raw, filling the quiet hallway.

"Christ. I want to take my time, but I'm going to lose it if I'm not inside you now"

I gasped, struggling to form words. "Good, because I can't take much more foreplay"

My hands drifted down his neck, running over his shoulders, molding the muscles there, loving the strength and power beneath my hands. I wanted him inside me, hot and hard, filling me, giving me the release I craved. And then I wanted to do it again, all f**king night.

He moved out of my reach, pulling my top up, over my bra, over my head. My hip bumped against the entryway table, knocking over a vase. It hit the floor with a loud crash.

"Shit"

Aditya ignored it, his gaze riveted to my cleavage. His hands reached out and slipped my bra straps down, off my shoulders, my breasts spilling over the sheer cups.

"I broke your vase" I mumbled.

"It's fine" He reached out, his tongue grazing the sharp line of my collarbone, moving lower. His hands curved under my bra, his head bent as he cupped my breasts, lifting them, his mouth, warm and wet, coming down on me.

"Ohmigod" My head lolled back, his palm moving to the small of my back, arching me forward, cradling my body in his embrace. My gaze drifted to the ruined vase, the shattered glass on the floor amid a pile of papers that had suffered a similar fate. Pictures of Aditya in a business suit lay on the floor staring back at me . . . pictures of Aditya and . . . my gaze narrowed . . . you had to be kidding me . . .

I stared down at my father's face.

Smiling and proud.

And then he frowned. The frown turned into a cry and blood started seeping from his eyes.

"Zoya"

And nose. Blood was everywhere. Ears. Neck. Red. Blood.

"Zoya"

His skin turned pale. Cracks appeared on the surface. And then pieces started falling off.

"Zoya wake up dammit"

Scroll down for Part 2

Part 2

Zoya's POV - Present

NORMALLY I pride myself on having a good head on my shoulders and making sound decisions, but agreeing to come to New York ? Let's just say that it was not one of my finer moments. What was I even thinking ? Therein lies the issue - I wasn't bloody thinking. When Aditya woke me up in the morning from my X rated horror fantasy, I was drenched in sweat. Dripping from every pore. Good thing, he took my explanation on face value that it was just a random nightmare. As random as a scheduled delivery.

I closed my eyes in frustration as the salon lady painted my nails lemon yellow. Not the conventional color but since my life wasn't exactly a straight line so what the hell.

I think it might be time for me to face a grim truth: I have zero common sense when it comes to Aditya Hooda. I left his office cabin after witnessing his face off with Ramona with the sole purpose of collecting myself and taking a breather and instead of doing that, I allowed him to fill me with the most destructive emotion known to mankind - HOPE. He'd dangled it under my nose like a carrot, and I caved like a cheap tent. Hope that we are meant to be. Hope that I can leave my past behind and finally move the f**k on. Hope that I had been bang on with my instincts - that Aditya Hooda was a mask for the world but beneath the harsh exterior my Adi still survived. It's embarrassing how besotted I am with the guy.

I keep wondering what my old therapist would think if she knew about my sudden impulsiveness. I want to say she'd be against it, but Nikita was all about empowerment. She always encouraged me to take control of my life and grab hold of any opportunity that allows me to put the past behind me.

"Life is too short to live in the past. You need to march on - bravely and determinedly in the future" she would profess.

"Yeah like there is a prince charming waiting to whisk me away to Lalaland" I would roll my eyes.

"You never know darling" she would laugh like it was the funniest joke ever.

"Have you ever had short hair ?" the salon lady asks out of the blue.

I was here for my nails, not hair. "Not for a long time"

"You know if you ever decide to chop off your hair, I would buy it for a wig"

I chuckle "You are just buttering me up"

"I am not. You need to tell me about your colorist. The brown and blonde highlights are amazing"

And so it goes. Nothing can cheer up a girl like a genuine compliment and some beauty talk. Afterward, to remind myself that life is good, I follow up with a mani-pedi. Because, hey if I get murdered for testifying at least I'll die with a nice manicure.

Gallows humour. It's my new best friend.

Time flies by and when I check my watch, it's almost noon. My credit card takes a hit from the bill but I passed the stage of giving a shit two hours ago.

A harsh voice pulls me out of my fantasyland. "This way Ma'am"

Oh yeah right. My bodyguard. Max or was it Maxie ? Totally forgot about him.

My wretched nightmare spooked Aditya all the way to New Orleans and I was subjected to the Indian version of Spanish Inquisition. Speaking of torture, convincing him of letting me out to a salon - without him - was as easy as walking on shredded glass. But, the feminist in me took over and I told him where he could shove his permission. He threatened bondage - not the S&M kind - labeled me a psycho but allowed me to go to the salon - with a bodyguard. All's well that ends well.

Damn his damned sarcasm. It's rubbing off on me.

I need a drink. Or maybe two. Lucky for me, I know just the place to go.

Aditya's POV - Present

Sometimes I think I'm schizophrenic. Dissociative. Possibly a split personality. It wouldn't be unheard of. God knows we have all kinds of crazy in our extended family - hemophiliacs, insomniacs, lunatics. Guess I should feel lucky not to be any of those. My problem is voices. Not those kinds of voices-more like reactions in my head. Answers to questions that don't match what actually ends up coming out of my mouth.I almost never say what I really think. Sometimes I'm so full of shit my eyes could turn brown. And, it might be for the best. Because I happen to think most people are f**king idiots.

"Welcome to New York, Mr Hooda"

Speaking of idiots...

The light-haired, thin-boned, bespeckled man sitting across from me conducting this captivating print interview ? His name is Teddy Stuart. Stuart is a journalist and I have a special kind of disgust for them. The media's mission has always been to bend the mighty over a barrel and ram their transgressions up their wealthy arses. Which, in a way, is fine - most rich folks are first-class pricks; everybody knows that. What bothers me is when it's not deserved. When it's not even true. If there's no dirty laundry around, the media will drag a freshly starched shirt through the shit and create their own. Here's an oxymoron for you: journalistic integrity.

Old Teddy isn't just any reporter - he's Daddy Dearest Approved. Which means unlike his bribing, blackmailing, lying brethren, Stuart gets direct access - like this interview - in exchange for asking the stupidest bloody questions ever. It's mind-numbing.

Choosing between dull and dishonest is like being asked whether you want to be shot or stabbed.

"What do you do in your spare time? What are your hobbies?"

See what I mean ? It's like those Playboy centerfold interviews"I like bubble baths, pillow fights, and long, naked walks on the beach." No she doesn't. But the point of the questions isn't to inform, it's to reinforce the fantasies of the blokes jerking off to her.

It's the same way for me. I grin, flashing a sincere smile.

"Well, most nights I like to read"

I like to fu*k. Which is probably the answer honest people would rather hear. My Dad, however, would lose his ever-loving mind if I said that.

"I also like sailing, golf and an afternoon of investment planning and discussions with Dad"

I enjoy boxing, driving as fast as I can without crashing, good whiskey and a scathingly passive-aggressive verbal exchange with your Majesty - Harshwardhan Hooda.

But, since honesty was not on the menu today ...

It takes one hour to wrap up the interview. It was the deal I made with Dad to extend my time in New York from one week to one month. Once a week interviews, meetings on Thursdays and Fridays and my favourite - three hour call to Meridian Corp HQ on Sundays. But, I was okay with the barter - afterall I got to spend more time in New York.

I drive back to the condo, unbuttoning my shirt, looking forward to the hot, pounding feel of eight shower heads turned to full blast. After hurriedly tossing the rest of my clothes onto the wall hook, I step under the warm spray. It is blissful. My muscles are tired in a satisfying way, and I enjoy the rhythm of the water hitting my bare skin.

"It was just a nightmare"

"Like hell it was. What's wrong with you sunshine, why won't you tell me ?"

"It's nothing really. Just a nightmare. Don't you worry, I am fine"

And then she went on to describe a grisly scenario full of machine guns, cannibalistic robots and basically a watered down version of Terminator. How very original. But, I had simply nodded and smiled. The Best Actor Award goes to ...

I put on a soft flannel shirt that's irresistible. Organic cotton from Patagonia. Raised by virgin monks in an untouched valley somewhere. My breath is fine - good hygiene. Lighting is dim and soothing. Instead of lavender, the house smells of homemade cookies - Oatmeal, the best kind. No, I didn't bake them. That's the job of food delivery service which I ordered after the interview.

I check my phone - 12:30 pm

She should be here any moment. I often pride myself in understanding the female psyche but one addiction I fail to understand - the shopping and beauty therapy. After the Terminator nightmare, she declared that she wanted out of the house where we have been holed up for the past one week. I would have accompanied her but since my procreator insisted on having the interview today itself lest Meridian Corp went bankrupt, I sent Max with him. He comes highly recommended.

Standing there at the kitchen counter, I allow myself to daydream of Zoya coming home from work, finding me here waiting. I'm wearing the apron - but only the apron in the fantasy - to welcome her home. And plenty of muscle and skin to greet her. She's had a long day at work and I'm there to welcome her home. She swings the kitchen door open, her first sight my bare ass

"Oh baby" she says in a husky voice "What's for dinner ?"

"You're the appetizer" I answer "Followed by me banging you on the countertop until your orgasmic screams bounce off the glass-tiled backsplash. Then we will have chicken braised in wine and rosemary with garlic mashed potatoes, sesame green beans and a buttery white Bordeaux"

My fantasy life is very detailed. There will be lemon cake for dessert with espresso. We'll need energy for round two. These good thoughts are interrupted by my buzzing phone.

"HAS SHE LOST HER GODDAMN MIND !"

I grab my keys and wallet from the counter and run towards the garage. Zoya Qureshi is going to be the death of me. I weave through the traffic blasting horn and swearing. It's Manhattan, so it's acceptable. I double park my car and ran towards the seediest pub in Manhattan's trendy Meatpacking District - Le Pair. Don't get fooled by the trendy name, the pub was nothing more than a neighborhood watering hole.

"Why didn't you call me sooner ?"

"I called you as soon as she ordered her first drink"

Shit, Zoya.

Max nods his head towards the restroom. I grip the back of my neck and look towards the ceiling for divine intervention. As expected, God disappoints. "What's she doing there ?"

"You have to ask her that"

I knock on the restroom door but get no response. I slowly push it open and immediately see her feet protruding from the last stall. I rush to where she is but stop just as fast when I see she isn't passed out. In fact, she's wide awake. She looks too comfortable for someone sprawled out in a bar bathroom. She's resting her head against the wall of the stall, looking up at me.

I take a seat right on the floor with her. I pull my knees up and wrap my arms around them and then lean my head back against the stall. She doesn't speak, she doesn't smile. She just inhales a slow breath and gives her head the slightest disappointed shake "I love you"

I smile "You say it like it's a sin"

"It might as well be"

"C'mon sunshine we gotta go"

I try to pull her up but she resists so I sit down again. "Will I die here ? Will I ?"

I barely contain my laughter. How many drinks did she have ? Two, three ?

She continues "Was this the way I was meant to go ? Collapsing in the restroom of a pub in Manhattan, where some cleaning staff would find my body and police detectives would take my pictures with big-lense camera ?"

Definitely at least three. "You are watching a lot of crime shows. C'mon it's time to leave"

She focuses on the ceiling and I can see her attempt to blink back tears. She brings her hands up to her face and rubs them up and down in an attempt to sober herself up.

"Tell me sunshine, what's wrong ?"

It was as if my words sucked all the air out of the room. For a few moments she just stared at me unblinking. Then, she whispered "Someone was following me"

That confuses me.

"But, you had Max with you, right ?"

"Yes, yes but ... but they were watching me. This man was standing next to our SUV when we came out of the salon."

"Then, what happened ?"

"I don't remember, it happened too quickly"

I don't know how sober she is. So I just agree. "Okay"

"They will find me Aditya. I just know it. Do trust me ?"

I nod.

"They'll kill me, Adi. They'll kill me. They killed Abbu. They shot Daisy, she had two kids. Her kids would never be able to see her. She will never attend their graduation, she will never ..."

"Calm down sweetheart. Calm down. Everything is going to be just fine. Let's get out of here first"

I help her stand and she leans on me for support. "They shot Daisy in front of me" she touches my heart "Here"

She murmurs "I don't want to die"

"I won't let you die" I pick up her shiny purse which had been abandoned on the floor.

My heart twisted at the sheen of tears in her eyes that she was blinking rapidly to keep at bay "They told me Abbu died instantly, that their was hardly any pain. As though that somehow makes it better"

And then passes out in my arms.

Scroll down for Part 3

Part 3

Aditya's POV - 6 years ago

Wednesday morning, I'm in the US Attorney's Office, engaging in the rudimentary but exciting behind-the-scenes activity that prevents the court system from grinding to a screeching f**king halt: negotiating the plea deal. It's a common, everyday responsibility-but where the exciting comes in is the thrill of bargaining. I know my client is guilty, the prosecutor knows it too, but it's my job to convince them to take the easy win-that the time and money saved by the American taxpayer is worth the lesser charge and reduced sentence.

I follow Penelope Cassello, a short, blonde firecracker of an Assistant US Attorney, down the bustling hallway. "He connects people with the same interests, people looking for specific physical attributes in a partner, who don't have the time to vet a potential companion" I explain.

Diplomacy at its finest. Also known as a crock of shit.

"He's a pimp" Penelope argues. "Just because he's rich doesn't make him any less of a pimp"

"He's a matchmaker"

"Sure he is" she counters, not slowing her brisk pace. "And next you'll be telling me drug dealers are pharmacists"

That's actually not bad-I may use that in the future.

"Look" I lean against the wall, forcing Penelope to stop beside me. "He doesn't work with underage girls, he doesn't cross state lines, there's no claims of abuse. This is a guppy, Penelope-a harmless, victimless fish. You've got sharks to fry"

"If your client was smarter, he would've set shop in Nevada"

"He'll cop to the tax evasion" I offer "But you have to take procuring off the table"

"Ah yes, because financial crimes committed by the obscenely wealthy are socially acceptable. Sex crimes are frowned upon atleast when when they are caught"

Sometimes the best answer is no answer. I wait her out.

Then she sighs "You are lucky. I like you better than your client, Hooda. We'll take the tax evasion. But I want jail time, he's not skating on probation or house arrest"

"Low security facility and you've got a deal"

She holds out her hand and I shake it "I'll have the papers sent to your office this week"

"You're the best Penelope"

She pushes my shoulder playfully "You say that to all the prosecutors"

"Only the pretty ones"

Zoya's POV - Present

I crack my eyelids open and focus on the dim light ahead. Full floor-to-ceiling shades block the sunlight beyond the wall of glass but don't completely obscure the view out from -

I am in the guest bedroom.

I frantically pick through my foggy memory of yesterday afternoon. YESTERDAY AFTERNOON.

A deep, sleepy sigh sounds from the other side of the bed. Ofcourse it's Adi, but I don't want to roll over to confirm it, I don't want to risk waking him. A tall glass of water sits on the bedside table next to two pill bottles - Advil and Tylenol. That was considerate of him, especially since I have a horrible case of cotton mouth and my head is pounding.

"How much longer are you going to pretend to be asleep ?" Aditya's deep, grating morning voice breaks the silence.

With a reluctant sigh, I reach for the Advil. I struggle to pop the cap off the bottle.

"Here give it to me" he mutters after a few minutes of me struggling with the cap.

"I am fine" I am not fine. I can't even find the strength to lift my head, let alone the coordination to line up these arrows.

The mattress sinks behind me. I feel his body heat against my back - but not his body - as his sinewy arm reaches over to rest against my shoulder. He holds his hand out, palm out, waiting. "Stop being stubborn. That rattling sound is annoying"

Fine.

I thrust it into his grasp and watch his thumb turn and pop the cap off with ease, offering nothing more than a grumble of "Thanks" when I collect it and fish out two pills.

Thankfully the mattress shifts again, indicating he's moved back to his side. "You passed out in my arms yesterday"

"Yeah, I had some drinks. Sorry about that. How did your interview go ?"

He completely ignores my question.

"Why did go to the pub yesterday ?"

"I was stressed. Thought it would help" I mutter reaching for my water.

"I might have transitioned to the joy that is corporate law but my years at a defense attorney did add an arsenal or two in my inventory"

"I lost you"

Cool water slips down my throat, bringing relief.

"Sweet pea, you can't bullshit a bullshiter. And you my girl, have been serving me a plate full of bullshit for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Well, I already knew the truth so I thought about playing the understanding boyfriend card but I am done. This drama has gone way beyond the expiration date"

I shrug "Since you already know everything, so I guess it's settled then"

"Like hell it is" he snaps. "I have any appointment set up at Mclean for tomorrow. And forget about stepping out of this condo because that my sunshine, will only happen over my dead rotten corpse"

I choke on a mouthful of water and spend the next few minutes coughing it up. Mclean. He set up an appointment at Mclean - America's best psychiatric hospital. Unease slips down my spine.

My whole body turns rigid and I whip around to face him.

"Why did you bring me to New York, Adi ?"

And it's like a nuclear bomb goes off in my head.

"What in the actual f**k !"

I grasp for understanding. A theory that makes sense. That's why he hadn't taken me anywhere out. That's why we had been confined to this condo. And I thought it was because he wanted to spend quality time with me.

He remains silent.

I laugh bitterly "And I thought maybe you ... You wanted to relive old memories and make some new ones. Dammit. I am so stupid. So so f**king stupid"

He doesn't offer any explanation.

"You think I have gone insane. You know what, I am not a damned charity case. You want me to go to Mclean ? Fine. Drag me by my hair because there is no other way I am setting foot in that psychiatric ward"

He says with lethal finality.

"So be it"

I will wrap up this story in the next two parts. Total of twenty five Chapters. Stay tuned. 😉

Sometimes I receive questions from readers about why the characters are doing what they are doing. I love those, so keep them coming. Do leave in your thoughts and press the like button. Nothing works more than some appreciation to encourage me. 😊