Chapter 7 #2
“Don’t take me wrong. You are quite popular in our office.
The legendary anti-nepotism niece who refuses to work for her uncle’s firm because she believes in earning everything without family names attached.
The one who’d rather set up her own law firm than breathe the same air as her uncle’s legacy. ”
She folded her arms. “So, you’ve done your homework. Congratulations. Still doesn’t mean you get to mock me.”
“I wasn’t mocking,” he said smoothly. “Just pointing out your flair for rebellion.”
She gave a short, dry laugh. “Whatever you call me. But it’s far better than riding someone else’s coattails to glory. I prefer earning my wins.”
His eyes glinted. “Spoken like someone who’s allergic to team effort.”
“And you sound like someone who’s been handed a pedestal and now thinks it’s a throne.”
He tilted his head, amused. “Touché. Though I must admit, the view from up here is excellent.”
“Confidence is great. Delusion, not so much,” she scoffed.
Raj laughed nervously. “Alright, alright—enough. This is a party, not a courtroom. Play nice.”
“I am playing nice,” Arundhati said sweetly, not breaking eye contact.
Kushal slid his hands into his pockets and gave her a crooked smile. “You do have a courtroom presence. Even in heels.”
She looked down at her stiletto-clad feet and arched a brow. “And you have the look of someone who underestimates people just in their first meeting.”
Raj sighed. “God. I should’ve poured myself another drink before introducing you two.”
Kushal didn’t respond right away. His gaze dipped briefly to her lips, then back up.
“Well,” he said, cooly. “It’s going to be a fun evening. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll mingle with the non-combative guests and come back.”
With that, he nodded at Raj, gave her one last look, and melted back into the crowd, leaving Arundhati simmering.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the glass. She hadn’t expected the man to be this cocky. Or this… attractive.
And yet, for the rest of the party, even though they didn’t speak again, she could feel him.
Watching her.
Even when he raised a toast to Raj Verma, his eyes skimmed the room and settled on her for a moment too long.
“This man,” he said, raising his glass, “who turned courtrooms into classrooms and chaos into clarity. Raj Verma didn’t just give me a desk; he gave me purpose.”
Something in Arundhati softened. Beneath his arrogance was passion, and extreme respect for her uncle.
“If I ever walked into court with my head high, it’s because this man showed me how to stand tall, even when the odds were stacked,” he said, raising his glass.
“He’s yelled at me, shut the door on my face, and once told me my draft looked like it was written by a caffeinated teenager.
.. but he also backed me when no one else did.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what makes Raj Verma a legend.
He didn’t just teach me how to win cases, he taught me why some battles are worth losing, and why others.
.. you fight with your whole damn soul.”
His speech that night moved many. But even as the applause swelled, Arundhati wasn’t clapping. She was watching him. And he was already watching her.
Even after the speech, his gaze found her in the crowd. Their eyes locked for just a second longer than polite company would allow before he turned away, raising his glass with a crooked half-smile.
She tried to look away, mingle, distract herself. But his presence pulled at her like gravity.
When he laughed with his colleagues, tossing back a drink, his eyes flicked sideways again, to check if she was noticing. She was. And that amused twist of his lips told her he knew it.
When someone dragged him onto the dance floor, he resisted at first, holding up his hands like a lawyer objecting in court, but eventually relented, moving with that same lithe, deliberate grace he might be carrying in the court.
She told herself not to look. Not to care.
But her gaze betrayed her. And when he spun a colleague around and caught her watching, his smirk curved, slow and smug. It wasn’t playful; it was a dare.
Even when he wasn’t looking directly at her, she felt him. Felt the way his awareness circled her, like a predator never too far from its target. His gaze skimmed her shoulder when she passed near the bar.
A few hours later, fatigued from the early morning flight and the emotional whirlwind of the day, Arundhati tugged lightly at her uncle’s sleeve as he stood laughing with two senior partners by the open bar.
“I’m heading home, uncle. You stay. Enjoy the night. I’m completely wiped out.”
Raj looked at her, concern flickering briefly in his eyes. “You sure you’ll be fine?”
She nodded. Just as she was stepping away, Raj stopped her.
“Kushal will drop you.”
“No, no—I can just call a cab.”
But Kushal appeared beside her with a glass of something dark in one hand, his sleeves rolled up casually now, exposing strong forearms and a ridiculously expensive watch. He was already one step ahead, like he had been waiting all this time for this one moment.
“My car’s already outside. I’ll drop you.”
Arundhati stiffened slightly. “That’s not necessary. I can manage—”
“I didn’t ask,” he interrupted. “Let’s go.”
Raj beamed with satisfaction, oblivious to the thick tension building between the two.
“Perfect. Take care of her, Kushal.”
With no real way to argue without turning it into a scene, Arundhati gave her uncle a quick peck on the cheek and muttered a tight “goodnight” before following Kushal toward the exit.
The soft Delhi night greeted them as they stepped out into the driveway. His sleek black BMW sat waiting, humming low, headlights glowing like twin eyes in the darkness.
They walked in silence. Not the comfortable kind. The charged kind.
The second she slid into the passenger seat and closed the door, she felt his musky scent seeping into her lungs, making it annoyingly hard to focus.
He started the car. The purr of the engine was the only sound for the first few minutes. She glanced at him once or twice.
Halfway through the ride, when the silence had settled like fog between them, she spoke.
“So,” she asked, breaking the quiet. “Did Raj uncle… ever talk about me to you?”
Kushal’s eyes didn’t waver from the road, but his mouth curved. “Yes,” he said simply. “He did.”
She looked away from him, unsure of whether to say what she wanted to. But he beat her to it.
“He proposed the idea of our alliance last week,” he added coolly as though discussing a legal contract.
Arundhati’s pulse jumped.
“Oh…” she said, trying to sound casual. “And… what did you tell him?”
This time, he glanced at her. A long, loaded glance that made her wish she hadn’t asked. Then he looked back at the road and said softly, “I said yes.”
She blinked. “You said—what? But… we hadn’t even met—how could you—”
“I trust Raj Sir with my life,” he said. “And if he thinks I’m good enough for his niece, I take that as an honour.”
Arundhati’s stomach flipped for reasons she didn’t fully understand. But before she could respond, he added with a teasing edge, “Besides, he showed me your picture. I figured… even if you hated me, at least the view would be nice.”
She rolled her eyes. “How noble of you. But what if I break this delusion of yours and refuse the alliance?”
At that exact moment, he braked. Hard enough for her heart to leap. They had just arrived at her uncle’s bungalow.
She looked out the window, then back at him, and froze.
He was watching her. With heat, intensity, and challenge.
Neither of them spoke until Kushal reached for her hand. She didn’t pull away, not even when he raised her arm and brought her wrist to his lips before kissing it.
The kiss was not chaste. It wasn’t polite either.
It was slow. Intentional. And the soft sound of it echoed in her ears and spiralled right through her core.
He still didn’t break eye contact.
“I haven’t lost a single case your uncle has assigned me, Aru,” he murmured, his thumb now brushing her pulse point like he was memorising it.
This was the first time he even called her name and not ‘Arundhati’ like others did, but ‘Aru.’ Her uncle was the only one who ever called her that. It sounded startling, intimate coming from him.
She had to swallow as her throat suddenly felt dry.
“I won’t lose this one either,” he added. “I’ll fight for it. Till my last breath.”
****************
Back to Present – Arundhati’s Apartment
The song ended just then, but Arundhati was still caught in that memory of the first time they met, the feel of his lips brushing her wrist, the promise in his eyes that night outside her uncle’s bungalow.
She took a slow, steady sip of her now lukewarm tea, and whispered into the silence around her, “You really are proving what you promised me that night, Kushal. You’re still fighting to keep this marriage.”
Her voice trembled at the end of the sentence.
“Only if the reason for it... was the one I married you for in the first place.”
Her eyes drifted to the window. She remembered the way he had looked at her in those first few months of their marriage—possessive, attentive, utterly convincing.
But now she knew better. Her reasons for asking for a divorce was not just Kushal’s dreams to be at the top of Verma and Associates. That wasn’t even the half of it.
The real wound, the one that still burned, was learning that before her uncle had ever brought up her name to Kushal, he had been planning to propose to someone else.
Kamya Bakshi.
One of Verma & Associates’ highest-profile, wealthiest, and most influential clients. A corporate heiress, brilliant and bold, and from what little Arundhati knew, someone who didn’t take kindly to being cast aside.
Kushal had plans with her. Real ones. Everyone in the firm knew it. The quiet buzz of their private dinners, the rumours of a ring, the talk that he’d finally found someone to “settle down” with.
But then her uncle, Raj Verma, proposed something that Kushal couldn’t ignore. A chance to marry not just anyone, but the heir to the Verma legacy. To be family.
She shut her eyes tightly, shame prickling under her skin.
He didn’t even take a day to think it over. That was what stung most.
He said yes.
Just like that, he closed the chapter on Kamya Bakshi, erased whatever promises he might’ve made, and agreed to a future with her.
It was pure strategy. He had always wanted Verma & Associates.
Always dreamed of climbing its golden ladder.
And if he agreed to marry her, then she, his wife, was the fastest way up.
“How selfish.” She scoffed under her breath.
The truth didn’t come to her suddenly. It unfolded slowly in those five months of them living together in marriage, in offhand comments from colleagues, in the hesitations in Kamya Bakshi’s voice when their paths crossed after the wedding, in the sideways glances exchanged in the Verma & Associates’ boardroom.
It came in hushed whispers she wasn’t supposed to hear.
Everyone knew what Kamya and Kushal had between them, before Arundhati, except her.
A lone tear welled in her eye and slipped down her cheek, but she wiped it away quickly.
This wasn’t the time to get emotional over the past. She had cried enough when the truth had come crashing down on her. Her marriage, her hopes, had all been built on his professional ambition, not love.
And the worst part?
Things hadn’t changed. Not really.
Even now, he was trying to save this marriage. But not for them. Not for her.
He still wanted Verma & Associates. Still wanted her uncle’s approval. Still wanted the power, the seat at the head of the table, the nameplate on that glass door.
And he would do anything to keep it.
Even choose to keep her forever in his life.