Chapter 12
Kushal’s Penthouse
Kushal stood still in the quiet aftermath of his confession.
Every damn thing that had been clawing at his insides for months, he had finally put it out there, before her.
His hand lingered at the side of her face, fingers lightly brushing against her cheek as if memorising its shape all over again.
“I want a fresh start, Aru,” he said. “Just give me a chance.”
His face was close now, his lips barely brushing hers, and he waited for her to meet him halfway.
But her eyes snapped open, wide and startled as if he had crossed a line she’d only just remembered was there.
And before he could process the shift in her gaze, her hands pressed firmly against his chest, and she shoved him back with unexpected strength.
The connection broke. The warmth vanished.
Kushal took a stunned step back, watching her with disbelief. Her breath came fast and uneven, as if she too hadn’t anticipated her own reaction. Their eyes locked across the room again. She looked wounded. Angry. Torn.
He moved toward her, instinctively, unable to accept the space now widening between them. But she stepped back again.
And this time, without a word, she turned on her heel and walked out of the bedroom. Out of the home they once shared. Out of his reach.
The front door opened with a faint creak, and the soft sound of it shutting behind her landed like a final verdict.
For a long moment, Kushal didn’t move. The echo of her absence settled into the room like fog, and only then did he truly feel the sting. His chest tightened as fury surged inside him. Without thinking, he turned to the glass wall and slammed his fist against it.
She was gone. And this time, she hadn’t even left him with anger, or a fight, or a parting word. Just silence. Crushing, punishing silence.
Dragging a hand through his hair, he stepped back and lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his thighs, fingers still clenched.
He had known this wouldn’t be easy. He had known Arundhati wouldn’t simply fall back into his arms because he’d finally said what he should have long ago.
But what he hadn’t expected, what gutted him more than anything, was the way she left him hanging in the hollow of uncertainty.
No closure. No expression. Not even anger.
Just… nothing.
And that, more than anything else, was what undid him.
Because Arundhati didn’t walk away from things easily. She burned them down first. Only if he could read what she really had going on in her heart and head.
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Next Day
The next morning, Arundhati walked into Verma & Associates in another tailored slate-grey pantsuit, her purse tucked under one arm and a stack of files clutched in the other.
She looked every inch composed on the outside.
But inside, her mind was nothing but a swirling mess of unanswered questions and unsettled feelings.
Sleep had barely touched her last night. After walking out of Kushal’s penthouse the night before without uttering a single word, she had replayed his confession on a loop in her head. I want a fresh start, Aru.
It should have been easier to ignore his fresh confession.
Easier to dismiss, the way she’d dismissed countless things since their separation.
But it wasn’t. Not when his voice still lingered in her ears, not when the memory of his forehead pressed to hers, not when the feel of his lips on hers still left goosebumps on her skin.
A part of her wanted to yell, to ask him why now? After nine months of silence and separation, after months of pain, betrayal, and her struggle to unlearn everything she once felt for him, he suddenly wanted a fresh start. Why was he suddenly choosing her over everything else?
And what did that even mean?
What about Kamya? What about the ambitions that had driven him to say yes to her uncle’s proposal without blinking? What about the wounds she still carried all these months?
No. She wasn’t ready. Not to trust. Not to hope. Definitely not to fall again. And now, she didn’t know what was more terrifying, him hiding things from her… or him telling the truth.
She turned the corner toward her cabin when Raj Verma approached her.
“Good, you’re here,” he said briskly. “I need you and Kushal in the conference room in ten. We have to review Anant’s situation. Things are moving fast.”
She paused. “Kushal is here?”
Raj nodded, not catching the brief flicker of surprise on her face. “Yes. His morning flight to Dalhousie got cancelled. He’s flying this evening now.”
“Oh,” was all she could manage.
Raj gave her a distracted pat on the shoulder. “Grab your coffee. I’ll see you in the conference room in ten.”
And just like that, he was gone, striding toward his office, leaving Arundhati with a dozen new pulses of anxiety.
Kushal was here. In the same building. In the same office. After everything that happened between them last night. And she had to sit in the same room with him, discuss legal strategy, act like nothing had shifted?
She pushed the thoughts down, reminding herself that this was work. Just work. She turned into her cabin, dropped her things on the desk, and headed for the pantry to get a moment alone to steel herself.
Inside, the new office boy was awkwardly fumbling with the coffee machine. She arched a brow.
“Who are you making that for?” she asked, walking in.
The boy turned quickly, flustered. “Uh, Kushal sir. He said he has a bad headache and asked for coffee.”
She glanced at the machine and immediately realised he had chosen the wrong option—latte.
Kushal didn’t drink lattes. He hated milk-heavy coffees.
His preference had always been precise: double-shot cappuccino, strong, no sugar, full crema, and hot enough to burn his lips.
It wasn’t just a drink to him…it was a ritual.
Arundhati sighed and stepped forward. “Don’t bother,” she said. “I’ll take care of it. You go.”
The boy blinked. “Ma’am, are you sure?”
She was already resetting the machine. “Yes. I’ll take his too. I’m heading to the conference room.”
He nodded and left.
She had no idea why she’d offered. Maybe it was a habit. Or maybe... maybe part of her just needed to feel in control of something this morning.
She began making the coffee, mechanically at first, choosing the right settings, adjusting the pressure, letting the machine roar to life. But as the aroma filled the air, her thoughts slipped into a memory she hadn’t invited.
It was from one of their quieter evenings, early into their marriage.
She had been standing in their kitchen, stirring a whipped blend of coffee and sugar into a frothy paste…
dalgona-style, something she’d learned online.
He’d appeared behind her out of nowhere, and then, without warning, his hands had slid around her arms, squeezing gently, his lips finding the curve of her neck where her messy bun had left it bare.
“You making coffee like this might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he had whispered in his husky voice before his teeth had found the soft skin beneath her jaw. The bite had left a mark that stayed for days.
As the memory pulsed through her, the machine pinged, snapping her back. She was sweating. Damn him. Even now, just the thought of his mouth on her skin left her flustered.
She grabbed both cups, and tried to bury the flashback deep into that mental corner she had reserved for memories that didn’t serve her anymore.
Walking to the conference room felt like crossing a battlefield. She told herself it was just a meeting, but as her fingers tightened around the warmth of his ceramic mug, she knew that stepping into that room with him… wouldn’t be simple after his last night’s confession.
When she stepped in, she saw Kushal sitting alone at the far end of the long mahogany table, dressed in a dark maroon shirt with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, revealing the veins that ran along his strong forearms. No tie.
Collar open. Hair slightly dishevelled in that careless way that never looked unintentional on him.
His fingers moved over his keyboard with controlled urgency, his posture relaxed yet commanding, as if he owned the very oxygen in the room.
He didn’t lift his head when the door opened. Didn’t glance at her. Didn’t acknowledge her presence at all.
Typical.
She crossed the room and set the cappuccino she had made for him, exactly how he liked it, just beside his laptop, and placed her own mug and phone a little farther down the table. For a moment, she stood still, wondering if he’d even flinch. But he didn’t. He just kept typing on his laptop.
It burned.
She turned to take the seat next to him, and as she moved, she noticed him finally lift the mug she’d brought, take a sip, and set it down with the same ease as if it were some interns who had delivered it. No look. No recognition. No, damn, thank you.
Her teeth clenched.
“This,” she said, breaking the silence, “is exactly what I can’t stand about you.”
He didn’t pause. Didn’t even stop typing.
“You know I made that coffee for you. You know I walked it in here. And what do I get?” Her voice rose a notch. “Nothing. Not even a glance. No, thank you. Just this... this icy indifference like I’m invisible.”
Still nothing. The keys clicked on. Her fury ignited.
“You know what stuns me even more? That after all that you said to me last night, after confessing how badly you wanted us back, you come in today and act like none of it ever happened.”
She exhaled sharply, disappointed in herself for expecting anything different. “So much ego, Kushal. Where do you even store it all?”
She shook her head, about to turn and give up on the confrontation entirely, when he suddenly stilled.