Chapter 21 #2
Her fingers hovered near the crisp fabric of his shirt sleeve, her manicured nails just about to make contact when Kushal stepped back, avoiding her touch as if it burned.
“Let’s cut the games, Kamya,” he said flatly. “We both know why you’re here. So, let’s skip the pleasantries and get straight to the point. But not here. Let’s talk where we should.”
He turned on his heel without waiting for her response, striding out of the pantry with that purposeful walk of his. Kamya blinked, momentarily thrown off by the lack of charm she’d once grown used to. She followed him with a hint of irritation flickering across her face.
But soon she realised that he wasn’t even taking her to his cabin to talk.
“Kushal... your cabin is that way.”
He didn’t answer. Just reached the door on the right and pushed it open, stepping aside to let her in.
Kamya froze for a half-second as her eyes scanned the nameplate before walking inside.
Arundhati Nair.
Kushal stepped in after her and closed the door behind them.
Across the room, Arundhati looked up from her laptop, her hands still resting on the keyboard she had only just begun typing on. Surprise flickered in her expression.
Kushal had brought Kamya here? To her cabin? Not his?
It was the last thing she had expected.
If their marriage had ever begun to crack, it had started with this woman.
And now here Kamya was, walking into her cabin like she still owned a piece of him. Like she had a history that Arundhati could never compete with.
Her fingers curled slowly into fists under the desk. Then Kushal glanced at her. Not the kind of glance that carried charm or flirtation. This one was different.
A look that said: I know this is messy, but let’s keep our personal issues aside and act professionally. Let’s do this the way we always do—together.
And despite the fire boiling under her skin, despite everything Kamya represented in their fractured marriage story, Arundhati gave the slightest nod.
“Arundhati and I are partners,” he said, visibly relaxed now as he walked across the room to stand opposite Kamya, near Arundhati’s desk. “And this conversation needs to happen in front of her.”
Kamya took a moment longer than necessary to compose her smile. “Oh, right,” she said airily. “You two are working together on Anant’s case now, aren’t you? Hence… partners.”
Arundhati gritted her teeth.
Of course, Kamya would reduce it to that—work. As if the word partners didn’t stretch beyond legal files and client meetings. As if she didn’t know that they were still married. Still legally bound. Still tied by a thread neither of them had officially cut.
Kamya knew everything, yet, choosing to ignore it.
Or worse, she was refusing to acknowledge it.
Because for Kamya, maybe the idea of Arundhati and Kushal still being life partners, was too inconvenient to digest. Especially if she still held on to the illusion that there could be space for her in Kushal’s life again.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Kushal continued. “By being the co-conspirator in Noyonika’s fabricated story? You’ve jeopardized our client’s case. You’ve crossed a line.”
Kamya tilted her head, clearly unbothered. “I didn’t do anything. Noyonika is a friend. And I just offered a friend a suggestion. Whether she acted on it was entirely her decision. I’m not responsible for her stupidity.”
Kushal’s jaw flexed, and he took a sharp step forward. “You call advising someone to slander a public figure ‘just a suggestion’? You call encouraging her to lie to the national media harmless?”
Kamya gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Please. Everyone lies in this business. Drama is good PR. You know that better than anyone.”
Arundhati stood now, unable to stay silent any longer. “This isn’t PR, Kamya. This is a courtroom. Where people’s lives, reputations, and families are on trial. And if you think we’re going to let you walk away from this without consequences, think again.”
Kamya turned slowly to her, eyes narrowing. “Are you threatening me?”
Kushal spoke before Arundhati could. “No. We’re informing you.”
He pulled a file from inside his jacket and tossed it on the desk in front of Kamya.
“This contains enough to subpoena you—recordings, call logs, and screenshots. We know exactly how many times you spoke to Noyonika in the last four weeks. Every ‘suggestion’ you gave her. Every lie you helped shape.”
Kamya’s eyes flicked to the folder, the first sign of real tension crossing her face.
“You’ll be expected in court next week,” Arundhati added. “And if you fail to appear or deny your involvement, we’ll proceed with legal action. Defamation. Perjury. Conspiracy to obstruct justice. Take your pick.”
“Seriously?” she said, folding her arms. “You’re threatening me now?
I’m also a client of Verma & Associates, in case you forgot.
My company’s legal portfolio…financial reviews, tax structuring, everything…
your firm handles it. I’ve brought you enough business to deserve more respect than this witch-hunt. ”
Kushal didn’t blink.
“We know that. And that makes your actions even more problematic,” he said.
“You knowingly interfered in a high-profile case that’s also under our representation.
You advised a third party to falsify claims against another Verma & Associates client, publicly and maliciously.
That’s not just unethical, Kamya. That’s a direct conflict of interest.”
Kamya’s lips parted to respond, but he didn’t give her the chance.
“As per Clause 5 of your client agreement,” he continued, “you’re obligated to maintain non-interference in any ongoing litigation handled by the firm. Breaching that clause means your service contract is up for immediate review and potential termination—pending internal inquiry.”
“And if the inquiry confirms deliberate intent to sabotage our legal representation of another client,” Arundhati added coolly, “the firm reserves the right to blacklist your company and formally withdraw as your legal counsel. Which means... no more business protection. No more privileged representation.”
Kamya’s confidence faltered just enough for Arundhati to see it.
“You don’t scare me,” Kamya snapped, though her voice had lost its bite. “I have my own lawyers. I’ll get my legal team to respond to this circus.”
“Please do,” Kushal said, tossing the folder on the desk between them with a cold smile. “Just make sure they read every page of this... before they call us. Including the signed witness statement from Noyonika that names you as the one who suggested the media angle.”
Kamya stared at the folder as if it might bite her.
“That statement came in this morning,” he continued. “My source in Dalhousie paid Noyonika a little visit again after Arundhati and I took the flight yesterday. She signed everything.”
Arundhati didn’t know this, but she was happy that Kushal had taken care of that too. She folded her arms, her gaze just as relentless as she turned to Kamya again.
“It’s admissible in court. And now that her statement is on record, it won’t just be Noyonika under scrutiny. You’re officially part of the paper trail.”
Kamya didn’t respond.
Because the moment had arrived…the tipping point where all her false confidence could no longer hold the weight of consequences.
She glared at the two before turning to leave.
But just before she reached the door, she looked back over her shoulder…this time, directly at Arundhati.
“You’re really not going to stop until you’ve got everything, are you?” she said with narrowed eyes.
Arundhati didn’t even blink. “I already have everything. I just don’t intend to lose it again.”
With a dramatic toss of her hair, Kamya strutted out.
Arundhati exhaled, slow and shaky, leaning back against the desk while Kushal tried to decode what she had just said to Kamya.
When she said to Kamya, she had everything and didn’t intend to lose it again. She had meant Kushal. She hadn’t even said it to herself in the mirror, much less admitted it aloud to anyone.
God. What had she done?
She had spent months building walls, drawing lines, rehearsing detachment. She’d convinced herself the marriage was over. That it had been a mistake.
But one moment with Kamya…one glimpse of that smug confidence walking into her space like she still had a claim…and all those walls had cracked. Arundhati hadn’t just defended her legal ground. She had defended her marriage grounds, too. Her territory. Her man.
“Aru…” Kushal finally said, walking closer.
“Don’t,” she murmured, her arms still folded, knuckles white from the grip of her own resistance. “Don’t read too much into it.”
Kushal stilled.
“I just wanted to have the upper hand this time,” she added. “Over her. That’s it.”
But even she didn’t believe her own lie.
And he definitely didn’t.
She didn’t wait for his response and just pushed herself off the edge of the desk. She needed an exit. A way to end this conversation before it spiralled into something she couldn’t control.
“I need coffee,” she said abruptly, brushing past him without meeting his eyes. “Didn’t get any this morning.”
It was a weak excuse. She knew he’d hear it for what it was…an escape.
But Kushal didn’t chase her now. Maybe he’d let her have this moment of space.
But she knew him.
He would come for answers.
And this time, he wouldn’t walk away without them.