Three days passed.
Three long...
Unforgiving...
Merciless days.
London continued moving as though nothing had happened.
The cookbook series remained on an official hiatus.
News channels speculated about "creative differences."
Social media debated endless theories.
No one knew the truth.
No one knew that behind the polished headlines lay a broken nineteen-year-old girl battling fever...
...and a man slowly destroying himself with guilt.
The luxurious Moretti penthouse had become unrecognizable.
Broken crystal still glittered across the marble floor.
The shattered remains of expensive Venetian vases lay untouched in one corner.
A prestigious culinary award rested in pieces beneath the dining table.
Spilled wine had dried into dark crimson stains.
The once immaculate home now resembled the aftermath of a storm.
Damiano hadn't bothered cleaning any of it.
It suited his state of mind.
Every broken object reminded him of the damage he had caused.
Yet...
Nothing hurt as much as the memories.
He reached for another glass of Scotch.
The amber liquid burned down his throat.
Then another.
And another.
The expensive eighteen-year-old whisky no longer carried any taste.
It merely numbed him for a few minutes.
Only a few minutes.
Because every time the alcohol began to dull his thoughts...
Her face returned.
Standing beneath the studio lights.
Trying so desperately not to cry.
"I never lied."
The words echoed inside his head.
Then came another memory.
A tiny boy.
Round cheeks.
Bright eyes.
Laughing in her arms.
"Mama!"
Damiano squeezed his eyes shut.
"No..."
He whispered hoarsely.
But memories had become merciless companions.
Everywhere he looked...
He saw Alankrita.
In the untouched teacup resting on his kitchen counter.
In the jasmine plant on his balcony.
In the silence that swallowed his penthouse every night.
He had spent years believing that success could silence loneliness.
Now...
For the first time...
His success only made the loneliness louder.
On the morning of the fourth day, he stood beneath an ice-cold shower.
The freezing water crashed relentlessly against his shoulders.
He welcomed the pain.
Perhaps it would wash away the alcohol.
Perhaps it would wash away the anger.
Perhaps...
It would wash away the image of the tear that had slipped silently down Alankrita's cheek.
It didn't.
Twenty minutes later, he stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist.
His reflection in the bathroom mirror startled him.
Dark circles shadowed his eyes.
His beard had begun to grow.
He looked older.
Not in years.
In regret.
A sharp vibration broke the silence.
His phone lit up on the marble counter.
Maa.
A faint smile touched his lips.
No matter how broken he felt...
He could never ignore his mother.
He answered immediately.
"Maa."
"Vihaan, my boy!"
Dr. Lavanya Moretti's voice overflowed with excitement.
It was the voice she had only when she stood on the edge of a scientific breakthrough.
"I finally found it!"
He leaned against the counter.
"What happened?"
"My proof!"
She almost laughed.
"My thesis, Vihaan! Fifteen years..."
Her voice trembled with emotion.
"Fifteen years of research... and I finally found the proof."
He knew exactly what she meant.
Since childhood, he had watched his mother dedicate countless nights to one extraordinary hypothesis.
A hypothesis the scientific community had dismissed as impossible.
Human parthenogenesis.
Virgin pregnancy.
He remembered professors mocking her.
Researchers rejecting her papers.
Medical conferences politely applauding before quietly dismissing her work.
Yet she had never stopped believing.
"What did you find?" he asked softly.
"I found her."
Those three words made him straighten instinctively.
"A young woman."
Lavanya's voice grew quieter.
"The first medically documented human case of true virgin pregnancy."
His brows drew together.
"No paternal genetic contribution."
"No sperm."
"The child carries only the mother's chromosomes."
Damiano remained silent.
Even after growing up surrounded by doctors and researchers...
The statement sounded impossible.
"It has been completely verified," Lavanya continued.
"DNA analysis."
"Chromosomal mapping."
"Every medical report has been authenticated."
There was no doubt in her voice.
Only certainty.
"And..."
She hesitated.
"I'll be presenting my findings the day after tomorrow."
He smiled faintly.
"So that's why you're calling."
She laughed.
"I want my family there."
Then her voice softened.
"Your grandparents are already here."
"Your father is flying in tonight."
"Your uncles."
"Your aunts."
"Your brothers."
"Everyone."
A brief pause followed.
"You'll come too..."
Won't you?"
Damiano closed his eyes.
He could never refuse her.
Not after everything she had sacrificed for their family.
Not after watching her fight for fifteen years to prove a theory everyone had laughed at.
"I'll be there, Maa."
Relief flooded her voice.
"I knew you wouldn't disappoint me."
"I'll send the flight details."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
The call ended.
The following afternoon...
A private jet landed in Tuscany.
Warm Italian sunlight spilt across the rolling vineyards surrounding the Moretti estate.
The mansion stood proudly atop the gentle hills, a magnificent blend of old Italian architecture and subtle South Indian elegance, a reflection of two remarkable families becoming one.
As Damiano stepped out of the car, familiar memories greeted him.
He had grown up running through these gardens.
Learning to cook in the enormous family kitchen.
Listening to his grandfather explain medicine while his grandmother quietly corrected him.
It had always felt like home.
The front doors opened before he reached them.
"Vihaan!"
His mother hurried toward him first, embracing him tightly.
"There you are."
He smiled genuinely for the first time in days.
His father followed.
Don Vittorio Moretti.
Tall.
Distinguished.
Still carrying the quiet authority that made entire boardrooms fall silent.
Without a word...
He pulled his eldest son into a proud embrace.
"You've lost weight."
Damiano chuckled softly.
"You noticed?"
"A father always notices."
He patted his shoulder firmly.
"It's good to have you home."
One by one...
The rest of the family gathered.
Dr. Sumitra.
Dr. Krishnamurthy.
His brilliant grandparents.
His uncles.
His aunts.
Their children.
Laughter filled the grand entrance hall.
His younger brothers arrived moments later.
Arjun wrapped him in a tight hug.
"Finally."
"The great chef remembered his family."
Damiano laughed quietly.
"I've been busy."
"Too busy."
His youngest brother grinned.
"You missed Amma lecturing us about genetics for three straight hours."
"Only three?" Damiano teased.
"I must have arrived on a lucky day."
The family erupted into laughter.
For a little while...
The warmth surrounding him eased the heaviness inside his heart.
But only for a little while.
Because even as conversations flowed around him...
His thoughts drifted elsewhere.
Back to London.
Back to a studio kitchen.
Back to a soft voice saying—
"I never lied."
His fingers unconsciously tightened around the glass of water he was holding.
He had been furious.
He still didn't fully understand why.
But another emotion had begun quietly replacing his anger.
Regret.
He remembered the terror in her eyes.
The way she had trembled.
The single tear she had refused to wipe away.
The more he replayed that moment...
The less justified his anger seemed.
He stared silently through the large windows overlooking the Tuscan vineyards.
Somewhere upstairs...
His mother continued preparing for the biggest scientific presentation of her career.
Somewhere else...
A young woman he had deeply wounded was unknowingly preparing to change medical history forever.
Neither of them knew...
That fate had already begun bringing their worlds together once again.