Chapter 18 - Callahan
The third whiskey burned less than the first.
That was how I knew I was here far longer than I should have been.
Theo took a slow sip of his drink, eyes narrowing on me like I was a puzzle he was tired of trying to solve. The amber lights of the bar reflected in his glass, casting shadows over his face. He didn’t look impressed. He looked entertained.
Which was far worse.
“Most men run to bars after their wives kick them out.”
I stared into my drink. “She didn’t kick me out.”
He leaned back. “So you fled like a criminal.”
I exhaled, chest tight with a restless shame. He wasn’t wrong—my escape tasted bitter.
Vani officially moved into my house today.
My house. We were busy arranging our first public event, so I had movers working from early in the morning to move her out of her apartment.
I imagined her boxes were stacked neatly in the guest room this morning, and by afternoon, they were unpacked.
I was anxious the whole day thinking about it, and I still wasn't sure why.
The second I got the call that they were finished, I handed her a key and had my driver, Charles, take her there. It was a total cowardly move, but I couldn't be anything but a coward in that moment.
Theo laughed, shaking his head. “You are unbelievable and in hiding. Drinking won't solve your problems.”
“I don't have a problem.”
He arched a brow. “You’re on your third whiskey.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means,” he said flatly, “you’re spiraling.”
I clenched my jaw. The music thumped faintly in the background, but it felt distant. Like I wasn’t fully in the room. Like part of me was at my house, watching Vani as she made herself comfortable and explored it. She looked happy, which made me happy. I sighed, shaking my head. I was so screwed.
Theo leaned forward. “You like her.”
“That’s not the issue.”
“Oh? Then enlighten me.”
I ran a hand through my hair. “She’s too… comfortable.”
“With being your wife?” he asked dryly.
“With the money,” I snapped quietly.
Theo went still.
I hated saying it out loud. It made me sound paranoid. Petty. Like some bitter billionaire who couldn’t fathom being loved for anything other than his bank account. But Vani had been honest from the start. Her honesty should’ve reassured me, but it unsettled me instead.
“If she hadn’t seemed so eager to marry me because of my wealth,” I muttered, “I wouldn’t be second-guessing everything now.”
Theo studied me carefully. “Did she say she married you only for your money?”
“She made me show her my bank account to prove I was a billionaire.”
“So? She wanted to be sure you weren't lying. Wouldn't you have done the same thing?”
“Maybe,” I ran a hand down my face, "but all her questions and hesitation went away the second she saw my bank balance."
He smirked faintly. “So your problem is that she didn’t hesitate enough?”
I shot him a look.
He chuckled. “Cal, you’re being impossible.”
I swallowed the rest of my whiskey, the warmth spreading through my chest doing little to quiet the storm in my head. “I just don’t know how to read her,” I admitted.
Theo’s expression softened slightly. “What do you mean?”
“She agreed to everything.” My voice lowered. “The rules. The arrangement. The only thing she voiced an opinion on was the timeline. She didn't want there to be an end date.”
“And that bothers you?”
“It should bother me,” I insisted. “I agreed to give her free rein so she could buy whatever she wanted. All she cared about was making sure I couldn't use the contract to divorce her sooner.”
Theo stared at me like I’d grown another head. “I'm sure that's not what she meant.”
“I don’t know what to think,” I muttered.
That was the worst part.
If Vani had thrown tantrums or demanded outrageous things, I would’ve known how to handle it. If she’d acted entitled, greedy, or desperate, I could’ve kept my distance. But she wasn’t any of those things.
She was calm. Playful. And far too observant.
Theo sighed. “Let me ask you something. When she looks at you, what do you see?”
I hesitated. Because I knew the answer.
“She looks at me like she’s trying to figure me out,” I said slowly. “Not like I’m an ATM.”
“Exactly.”
“But what if she’s just good at pretending?”
Theo groaned. “You are exhausting.”
I shot him a glare. "You're supposed to be helping me."
“I am,” he insisted. “But you're already full of so many doubts just because you’re scared that if you actually let yourself believe she likes you, and you’re wrong, it’ll hurt.”
My jaw tightened. He wasn’t supposed to say that. He wasn’t supposed to hit the nail on the head like that.
Theo continued, relentless. “It’s easier to assume she wants your money than to risk finding out she might actually want you.”
I stared at the bar counter, watching the condensation slide down my now-empty glass.
Because what if she didn’t?
What if I opened that door and she laughed?
What if she confirmed every insecurity I pretended not to have?
“You need to talk to her,” Theo said firmly.
“And say what?” I snapped. “Hi, are you using me? Please answer honestly.”
He laughed. “Not like that, idiot.”
“Then how?”
He shrugged. “Start simple. Tell her how you feel.”
The idea coiled in my gut, nausea rising just beneath the anticipation. My throat tightened at the thought.
“How would I even know if she’s being genuine?” I asked quietly. “She could lie to save face.”
“And you could keep hiding and ruin something good,” he countered.
Silence fell between us. The truth settled heavily in my chest.
I liked her.
More than I thought I did, which explained why I was sitting here instead of at home.
Theo stood, tossing a few bills onto the table. “You’re done.” He grabbed my arm and hauled me up. “Go home.”
I’d wanted to argue. I’d wanted to say she wasn’t really my wife. That this was an arrangement. A contract. A mutually beneficial agreement was signed with a lawyer present, and my parents’ satisfaction was looming over me like a corporate merger.
The words felt hollow even in my head.
If I’d driven myself, I probably would’ve stayed longer out of pure stubbornness. But I’d had Charles drive me earlier, which meant the decision was already halfway made for me.
The city lights blurred past the window as I leaned back against the leather seat, loosening my tie. The alcohol in my system made everything feel slightly delayed — like my thoughts were buffering.
“Charles,” I said after a moment, breaking the silence. “What’s the best gift to give an in-law?”
He blinked at me in the rearview mirror. “Sir?”
“Hypothetically.”
“Flowers are always appropriate.”
“Too basic.”
“A gift basket? Something gourmet?”
“Generic.”
He thought for a moment. “Perhaps jewelry for the mother? A quality watch for the father?”
“That feels like I’m trying to buy their approval.”
“You are,” he said mildly.
I huffed a short laugh. “Not that obviously.”
He smiled faintly but said nothing else.
Every suggestion felt… impersonal. Transactional. The exact opposite of what I needed. If I were going to sell this marriage to them, it had to look authentic.
With a resigned sigh, I dropped my head back against the seat and closed my eyes. I scrubbed a hand down my face and tried to come up with a sincere apology for leaving her alone. I should have given her a tour and helped her settle in, yet I didn't.
By the time Charles pulled into the driveway, I was still rehearsing lines that didn’t quite fit.
“Goodnight, sir,” Charles said as he stepped out to open my door.
“Night, Charles.”
The moment I stepped inside, the silence hit me.
I don’t know why I expected to see her standing in the foyer. Or curled up on the couch. Or even just some sign of her presence. There was nothing.
No television humming. No soft music. No light spilling from the kitchen.
Just stillness.
A strange unease crept into my chest. I pulled my phone from my pocket, ready to call her, when I noticed the message on the screen.
Vani: Going to have an early night. Probably asleep by the time you get back.
The message had been sent hours ago.
Guilt knotted deep in my stomach, prickling under my skin until I had to clench my fists to keep it contained.
I briefly thought she wasn't here, when really she tried to contact me, but I was too busy drinking to respond.
“Idiot,” I muttered under my breath.
There was nothing else I could do now. She was asleep. Waking her would only make things worse. I’d apologize in the morning. I headed upstairs, loosening my tie fully this time, shrugging out of my jacket as I walked into my bedroom.
I shrugged out of my jacket and tossed it over the chair, unbuttoning my shirt as I moved.
I didn’t notice the shape in my bed.
Didn’t notice the slight rise and fall beneath the duvet.
Didn’t notice the body curled up on my side.
I reached the bathroom and flipped on the light, the brightness stinging my eyes momentarily.
Leaning over the sink, I gripped the counter and looked at my reflection.
“You’re so stupid,” I muttered quietly.
After quickly freshening up, I shut off the bathroom light and walked back into my bedroom, still drying my hands on the edge of the towel. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that made every small sound feel louder than it should’ve been.
I was halfway to my dresser when I saw her.
Vani.
In my bed.
For a full second, my brain refused to accept it. My body reacted before my mind caught up—my shoulders jerked back, and I took a sharp step away, like she might spring up and accuse me of something just because my eyes had landed on her.
She didn’t move.
She was sprawled across the mattress as if it had been made for her, one leg bent, the other stretched out beneath the sheet.
My sheet. Her hair had slipped free from whatever band she wore, curling around her cheek and across the pillow.
The bedside lamp was off, but the glow from the hallway cut a pale strip across the bed, outlining her profile and the slow rise and fall of her chest.
I stared for another moment, like staring harder would change the fact that she was there.
I’d asked Maria to put her in one of the guest rooms. And yet, there she was, sprawled out on my bed like it was the most natural thing in the world.
My first instinct was to say her name. To walk over, tap her shoulder, and ask what she was doing. But the moment I took a half-step forward, I stopped myself. She looked too comfortable, too settled. Waking her up felt…wrong. Like I’d be dragging her out of whatever peace she’d found.
And I didn’t have the heart to do that.
I sighed quietly, the sound barely leaving my chest.
I could climb into bed anyway.
But the thought made my stomach tighten. I didn’t want to climb into bed with her and offend her. I didn’t know how she’d react if she woke up and realized I was there, and the last thing I needed was for her to feel like I’d crossed a line.
So I did the only thing that felt remotely safe.
I backed out of my room as quietly as I could, careful not to let the door latch click too loudly. Then I stood in the hallway for a second, looking at the closed door like it had personally betrayed me.