Chapter 11 #3
Kushal walking out of the shower, towel slung low on his hips, water dripping from his collarbone to his chest, and her pretending not to notice, even as her gaze betrayed her.
He sprawled on the bed while she picked his shirts for work—always linen, always black or navy, always rolled to the elbows because she liked how his forearms looked in them.
She, sitting at the dressing table at night, rubbing lotion into her legs while he lay back and watched her, eyes filled with something so carnal it made her skin flush.
The nights they kissed until they couldn’t breathe, until their bodies tangled with need, but stopped themselves.
Because they had agreed to wait before taking the next step, wanting to build the foundation of their arranged marriage first. But the chemistry had been crackling, dangerous.
Every time his lips met hers, restraint became a prayer they barely clung to.
And now, standing in the same room months later, she felt like the floor was disappearing beneath her.
She spun around to leave, to escape, but before she could, his hand closed around her wrist.
He turned her to face him.
“You wanted my attention. You have it now. Here.”
She yanked her wrist back. “I know what this is about,” she said. “You manipulated me into coming here. Into this room.”
His eyes didn’t move. “You wouldn’t even look at me last night, Arundhati.”
“That’s because I had nothing left to say.”
“That’s not true,” he said quietly. “You just didn’t want to hear what I had to say.”
She faltered, just for a beat, before she lifted her chin again. “You still had no right to disappear today. Is this how you plan to run Verma and Associates in future? By ghosting your own clients and colleagues?”
“This has nothing to do with Verma and Associates,” he interrupted, stepping closer. “This is about us.”
“There is no us,” she snapped. “We’re just working partners now. Nothing more.”
“Oh yeah?” he let out a cold laugh. “Then tell me how you let your ‘working partner’ kiss you last night?”
Her breath stuttered. “That kiss was a mistake. A moment, I couldn’t stop myself from giving in.”
His hands closed around her arms, pulling her close, eyes burning into hers. “Don’t you dare call that a mistake.”
Their faces hovered inches apart, breath tangled in the tension between them.
His eyes searched hers with a feverish intensity.
Her own flared in resistance. But when their gazes dropped to each other’s lips, time hung still.
Her lips parted slightly, betraying her, and his chest rose in response as if he was holding himself back from the inevitable.
For a moment, neither of them breathed. Neither of them moved.
And then, she shoved him.
Hard.
He staggered back a step, jaw clenching.
“I didn’t come here for this,” she snapped, backing off. “Do you even know what happened today?”
“I know,” he said sharply. “Anant and Noyonika’s photo scandal broke this morning. The media’s gone wild. Reputations tanked. Our client’s public image is in shreds.”
She went still. Her lips parted slightly, stunned.
“Just because I was ignoring you to make sure you came here doesn’t mean I was ignoring the case.”
She blinked at him in disbelief.
“I already have sources on Noyonika,” he continued. “She flew to Dalhousie this morning, after the interview. She’s the one who caused this mess, and she’s the only one who can help fix it.”
Arundhati was speechless.
“We need to get her to confess who made her do this. That’s our only shot at salvaging this case before it collapses. That’s our only shot at proving she was fabricated. That this was a setup to break the case from the inside.”
He paused.
“I’m flying to Dalhousie early morning,” he said. “To get her to talk. To confess who put her up to this.”
She stared at him, stunned. “You… you already did all this?”
Kushal nodded. “You think I don’t care about the case? I’m playing five steps ahead, Arundhati. Always. I don’t need a spotlight to do my job,” he said flatly. “Just because I didn’t show up in a tie today doesn’t mean I wasn’t handling it.”
The admiration flickered in her eyes, despite herself. She hated him for being this infuriatingly prepared. For knowing her anger would lead her here. For always staying one move ahead.
Then, suddenly, he grabbed her hand again and turned toward the left side of the room, toward the floor-to-ceiling glass wall that overlooked the city skyline. He dragged her there, without warning, and before she could protest, he pointed out into the night.
“What—” she started, but then she saw it.
He pointed across to another tower in the distance.
In the lit-up tower across from them, on a neighbouring high-rise balcony, stood a couple.
Silhouetted. Holding each other. Lost in their own private world of intimacy and peace.
The woman leaned into the man’s chest. He kissed her hair.
They moved in sync, oblivious to being watched.
Kushal stepped behind Arundhati, pinning her softly but firmly between him and the glass.
“You know why I was chasing you last night?” he murmured into her ear. “What I wanted to tell you? Why I made sure you came here looking for me?”
She held her breath.
“Because of them,” he said, pointing.
She blinked.
“I watch them every night,” Kushal said, voice low and hoarse. “They torture me. Make me jealous with their displays of love. Every night. Right in front of this window. Like some goddamn cruel reminder.”
“Kushal—”
“They kiss like nothing else matters. Like that balcony is the edge of their universe. And every night I stand here thinking—that should’ve been us.”
She couldn’t speak. Her mouth parted, but no words came.
“Every night they remind me of what I lost. What I let go,” he said, leaning closer, his forehead almost touching hers.
She swallowed hard.
“I want what they have,” he whispered. “The love. The fire. The ache. But not with anyone else. With you. Only you, Aru.”
Her heart was racing now.
“I’m done pretending. I want you back. In this home. In my bed. In my goddamn arms.”
His breath hit her cheek.
“I—” she tried, but the words caught in her throat.
“When they kiss like the world doesn’t exist,” he said, brushing his thumb across her jaw. “All I think is, I used to kiss you like that and you used to melt for me.”
She stared at him, eyes glistening, breath trembling.
“Do you know what it does to me? Watching another man hold his woman like she’s his oxygen… while mine stands across the room pretending she can breathe without me?”
Her knees weakened. “Kushal… Please.”
“You think you’ve moved on?” Their bodies pressed. “Lie to everyone else, Aru. Don’t lie to me.”
He raised his hand to brush a strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering at her jaw.
“You still burn when I touch you,” he said softly.
Arundhati trembled.
“Every time I look out that window, I don’t see a happy couple. I see a stolen future. Our future.”
His hand slid to the back of her neck. His forehead leaned into hers. “And I’m taking it back.”
Her hands trembled at her sides. Her pulse roared in her ears. She hated how right he felt. How much she wanted to lean into him again. How badly she had missed all of this.
But she didn’t say a word.
Because if she opened her mouth now, she didn’t know if it would be to scream at him… or kiss him. Again.