CHAPTER 19
A week later
Karan returned home late one night, exhausted as the day had stretched endlessly.
Meetings that bled into arguments, files into decisions that could not wait, and his head now throbbed with a persistent ache that refused to subside.
He loosened his tie, shrugged out of his suit jacket, and dropped onto the couch in the living room.
“Maria,” he called out, leaning back, rubbing his temples with slow, impatient fingers.
She appeared almost instantly. “Yes, sir?” Her eyes narrowed with concern as she took him in. “You look exhausted.”
“My head is splitting,” he said curtly. “Give me medicine. The usual one.”
She studied him for a moment longer, taking in the stiffness of his shoulders and the way he barely kept his eyes open.
“A medicine won’t cure a headache like that, sir,” she said carefully. “A light oil massage on the scalp should help. My grandmother taught me. It helps release tension and eases headaches naturally in just a few minutes.”
He exhaled sharply, clearly not in the mood for explanations. “Whatever works,” he muttered. “Just make it stop.”
From the kitchen door, Mishti had heard every word. She knew Karan was a machine. He pushed himself relentlessly, never allowing his body rest, never allowing weakness to show. Mishti wondered how long a man could live like that without breaking.
When Maria warmed the oil with a few drops of eucalyptus and sesame, just enough to soothe the nerves and improve circulation, Mishti stepped forward.
“Give it to me,” she said softly.
Maria hesitated. She knew Karan well enough to know he would not like Mishti doing it for him.
“But Ma’am—?”
“If he scolds, that is on me,” Mishti said.
Maria smiled and handed her the small bowl.
Karan, unaware, stretched across the single-seater couch, his long legs spread comfortably, his head resting against the back edge, tilted just enough to ease the strain in his neck.
His eyes were closed, his jaw clenched slightly as if even resting took effort.
Mishti approached silently and stood behind him.
He sensed a presence and frowned faintly, but did not open his eyes.
She dipped her fingers into the warm oil and gently placed them against his scalp.
The reaction was instant.
His throat worked as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving sharply beneath her gaze.
Mishti noticed it but did not pause. Slowly, carefully, she began to massage, her fingers threading into his hair, applying light pressure in soft circles.
The warmth seeped into his skin, easing the tight lines of his posture.
Gradually, his shoulders dropped, the tension melting from them inch by inch.
She could feel it all happening beneath her hands. The rigid control he carried loosened. His breathing deepened. His exhaustion softened.
Though Mishti stood behind him, her eyes unknowingly traced whatever was visible to her.
The rough stubble along his jaw, the firm line of his mouth, lips slightly parted now.
His neck was stretched back, veins standing out, and the prominent rise and fall of his Adam’s apple drew her attention more than she wanted to admit.
She had often wondered what it would feel like beneath her fingers when it moved like that.
As she continued massaging his head, her gaze drifted even lower to the open collar of his shirt, the first two buttons undone, revealing a glimpse of his chest and the faint shadow of hair there.
She swallowed, forcing herself not to linger, but her eyes betrayed her again.
They followed the strong lines of his torso, the natural taper of his body where his shirt disappeared into his trousers.
Even seated, even exhausted, he radiated dominance.
His legs, spread casually, spoke of a man entirely comfortable in his power.
That was when he spoke through the quiet of the room.
“Your fingers are shaking, Mishti. Either do it properly or let Maria handle it.”
Her hands stilled at once.
He knew it was her?
Not once had she imagined that he was aware it was her behind him, that he had recognised her touch the moment her fingers slid into his hair. A hundred questions rushed through her mind. When had he known? Why had he allowed it? Why had he said nothing until now?
But she chose to remain silent, then steadied her hands and resumed the massage, slower now, more careful.
She did not pull away abruptly when she was done. Instead, she let her fingers linger in his hair for a second longer than necessary before slowly withdrawing them.
Only then did Karan open his eyes.
He rose from the couch in one smooth movement, feeling much more relaxed before reaching for his suit jacket. He didn’t look at her, just slipped the jacket over his arm as if the last few minutes had meant nothing at all.
There was no acknowledgement. No thanks.
Not that she had expected him to.
“I hope this helps,” she said softly, unable to stop herself. “My mother used to do this for my dad whenever he came home exhausted.”
The change in him was instant.
“Do not talk about them in my house. Ever!” he shouted so loud that his voice almost echoed into the entire house.
Mishti almost jumped at her spot, staring at him, stunned by the raw fury on his face. This was not just irritation or annoyance. This was rage, deep and personal, as though she had mentioned not her parents but somebody whom he loathed.
Before she could speak, Karan shouted for Maria, who appeared almost immediately, her expression falling when she saw the look on his face.
“I asked you to give me the massage,” he snapped. “Why did you allow her to do it?”
Maria lowered her gaze as he continued. “If you cannot follow instructions, Maria, you are free to leave.”
Maria was stunned at his words. She had served this house for years, managing everything efficiently, catering to every demand without complaint. To threaten her position over something so small, so human, was not right.
She still murmured a soft apology, looking down.
That was when Mishti broke.
“Maria is not going anywhere,” she said. “She just did what I asked her to do.”
Karan turned on her, his expression darkening further.
“And what exactly did I do wrong?” she continued, her voice trembling now with hurt more than anger. “I only spoke about my parents.”
In two quick steps, he was in front of her.
His hand came around her upper arms, gripping tight enough to pull her flush against him. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs as she collided with his chest.
“One more word about them in this house, and I swear, Mishti, I will make every living Goel in your family regret it.”
Mishti felt the pain immediately.
His fingers dug into her skin with a force that would surely leave marks by morning. Yet she did not flinch or look away. If anything, she lifted her chin, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.
“I am a Goel too,” she said, despite the ache spreading through her arms. “If you had so many problems with our family, why did you marry a Goel?”
That did it.
He pulled her closer, his body hard against hers, anger rolling off him in waves. With his face inches from hers now, and his jaw clenched tightly, she could see the muscle twitch beneath his skin.
“Stop asking me the same questions. You are a Wadhwa now,” he said sharply. “And I am not going to say this again.”
“But why can’t I talk about them?” she demanded. “What is your problem?” Her eyes burned with tears. “You cannot erase who I am, Karan. You cannot crush my real identity. I am a Goel, and I will not tolerate anyone, not even my husband, disrespecting my parents.”
For a moment, Karan did nothing. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his grip tightening once more before he seemed to realise it himself. It was as though he did not know what he might do next if he stayed that close to her.
Then, suddenly, he released her arms as if touching her burned him. He stepped back sharply, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
“If you cannot handle me disrespecting your family, then you can pack your bags and leave too. Go back to where you came from. I do not care.”
Without waiting for her response, he turned away and disappeared down the corridor.
Mishti stood there, stunned.
The tears rolled down her cheeks despite her efforts to stop them. Maria hesitated nearby, clearly wanting to say something, to comfort her, but the fear and hurt on her own face held her back. After a moment, she quietly retreated inside, leaving Mishti alone in the silence.
It was not just his anger that bothered Mishti today. It was the way he had spoken about her parents.
Why did he hate them so much?
Her father had passed away when she was still too young to understand loss properly.
Her mother had raised her and Daksh alone after that, carrying every responsibility with strength and grace.
She had been a kind woman, gentle in her ways, someone who never spoke ill of anyone, let alone harmed them.
So why did Karan loathe the Goels with such intensity?
What she had seen in his eyes tonight was not just resentment. It was not bitterness or wounded pride.
It was pure rage.
And for the first time since marrying him, that realisation frightened her more than his cruelty ever had. Whatever Karan was still hiding from her, she had to find out.
***************
Midnight
Karan was in the private gym well past midnight, long after the house had fallen into silence.
Sleep had refused him completely. The dull ache in his head had eased because of the oil massage, and his body had accepted the relief, but his mind had not. The rage that had stirred the moment Mishti spoke about her parents refused to settle down even now.