ONE CRORE
I stood in the kitchen like a warrior in the middle of a battlefield, one hand gripping the spatula while the other rested on my hip, staring down at the pan. The vegetables sizzled loudly, oil popping here and there, while I tried to look like I knew exactly what I was doing.
From the hall, Adithya was moving around restlessly, clearly running late for work.
"Should I add salt?" I shouted from the kitchen, not even bothering to turn around.
Within seconds, he appeared beside me like a man responding to an emergency call. Without a word, he leaned forward, picked up a bit from the pan, and tasted it.
He scrunched his nose, his eyebrows pulling together like he had just experienced betrayal in its purest form.
"It's already so salty," he said, looking at me in disbelief. "Why did you put so much salt?"
I slowly turned to look at him.
Excuse me?
I might have kicked him out of my kitchen and thrown the spatula at him.
Since he was already in a sour mood, I decided, very generously, to control myself.
Personal development.
Very rare.
I pressed my lips together and nodded slowly.
"Oh," I said, pretending like this was all part of the plan. "I was just testing your taste buds."
He blinked at me.
"By trying to kill them?"
I narrowed my eyes slightly.
"Don't exaggerate."
"I am not exaggerating. My blood pressure just increased."
"That's because you are dramatic."
"That's because you don't know how to cook."
I gasped.
"Aren't you getting late now?" I asked, leaning against the counter.
He groaned in response and immediately ran back to the room, opening and closing drawers like the house had suddenly decided to hide all his belongings just to test his patience
"Where is my watch, Viyana?" he shouted, his voice already carrying irritation as he ruffled through the shelf.
"On my head," I shouted back, just to annoy him a little more.
I casually tasted the food from the pan, tilting my head thoughtfully.
Yeah... a bit salty.
But still-better than his painfully bland cooking.
"Where is my phone?" he shouted again, louder this time.
I rolled my eyes and glanced around before spotting it lying peacefully on the kitchen counter like it had chosen violence today.
"Here," I said.
He walked in quickly, took it from my hand, and immediately started scrolling through it like the world depended on it.
"It's all because of you," he muttered under his breath.
I narrowed my eyes at him.
"Excuse me?"
"Yes," he continued, completely serious. "You didn't let me sleep. You kept talking about how you scraped your knees when you were little, and now I woke up late and I am late for work."
I stared at him.
Unbelievable.
"I was sharing my childhood trauma," I said defensively.
"You were bragging."
Before he could continue his accusations, I grabbed a spoonful of food from the pan and shoved it straight into his mouth.
He froze for a second, clearly not expecting that, and then immediately hissed at the hotness of the food.
"It's hot!" he said, muffled, still holding his phone in one hand like he refused to drop it even in crisis.
"Eat," I ordered calmly.
He glared at me, but still chewed, because apparently survival instincts were stronger than ego.
I took another spoonful and held it near his mouth again.
He looked at it.
Then at me.
Then reluctantly leaned forward and took it.
And just like that-I continued feeding him.
After a few bites, his expression softened slightly, and a small chuckle escaped him.
"This reminds me of when my mom used to feed me when I got late to school," he said, shaking his head lightly.
Something in my chest shifted at that. I didn't say anything for a second. I just kept feeding him, slower now.
"Then don't get used to it," I muttered, trying to sound casual. "This is a one-time service."
He glanced at me briefly, a faint smile forming.
"Liar," he said.
I scoffed.
"Eat your food."
He obeyed.
His phone suddenly chimed with notification, and I watched as his thumb stilled mid-scroll, his expression shifting in a way that made something uneasy coil in my stomach before I even knew why.
His brows drew together. Then his eyes widened.
"What the fuck-" he said under his breath, looking up at me like something had just gone terribly wrong.
My chest tightened.
"What?" I asked, stepping closer, my curiosity already laced with quiet dread.
He turned the phone toward me, his jaw set.
"One crore has been credited to my account, from an unknown number."
For a second, the words didn't register. Then I looked at the screen and everything inside me dropped.
I knew that number.
It's Vihaan.
A cold, familiar weight settled in my chest as realization hit me all at once, heavy and suffocating.
This was not random.
This was not a mistake.
This was planned.
Just like everything else had been in the beginning.
"Is this a scam?" he muttered, still looking at the phone.
I swallowed. I could lie and brush it off. But something in me refused to start this again with dishonesty.
"It's from my brother," I said finally, my voice quieter than I intended, my fingers fidgeting restlessly.
He looked at me immediately and I saw the shift in his emotions. Confusion drained from his face, replaced by something far colder.
"Vihaan?" he asked.
I nodded.
"Why is he sending me money?" he asked, and this time there was no confusion left in his voice at all.
Only restraint.
My gaze dropped to the floor as I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to speak, even though every instinct told me to stop.
"To compensate you-"
I didn't get to finish. He turned away immediately. Without looking at me again, he grabbed his bag, picked up his helmet, and walked straight out.
"Adithya-" I called, panic rising as I followed him quickly.
The door slammed shut behind him.
The sound echoed through the house, making me flinch as if it had struck something inside me.
I rushed outside, my heartbeat loud in my ears, my steps unsteady.
"Adithya, you didn't eat breakfast!" I shouted. He didn't respond.
He just put on his helmet, started the bike in one swift motion, and drove away without turning back.
And I stood there at the doorway, frozen, my fingers still curled, my chest tight with something heavier than anger and sharper than regret.
I groaned as I leaned back against the door, closing my eyes tightly.
Just for a few days things were different between us. He had stopped looking at me like I was a reminder of everything he hated, and I had stopped pretending like I didn't care about the way he stayed.
We were... getting along. In our own ridiculous, broken way.
And now-this.
This stupid, thoughtless, perfectly calculated move had ruined it in seconds.
I pushed myself off the door and walked inside, locking it behind. I went straight to the room, sat down on the bed, and grabbed my phone, my fingers already moving before my mind could catch up, dialing Vihaan's number with a frustration that burned under my skin.
It rang once.
Twice.
Then it was picked up.
"You fucking bastard-"
My words died instantly because it wasn't him.
"Helloo Viyana," came a small, cheerful voice from the other end.
I closed my eyes and exhaled sharply, pressing my fingers against my temple.
Zara.
"What's your pretty father doing?" I asked, forcing my voice into something calmer, though the irritation still lingered beneath it.
"Sleeping peacefully," she replied happily.
I let out a humorless laugh.
Of course he was.
Of course he was sleeping peacefully after setting my entire life on fire before breakfast.
"Wake him up," I said flatly.
There was a small shuffle on the other end, followed by her soft voice calling out to him, and then a faint groan as the phone shifted.
A few seconds later his voice came.
"Good morning, Vivi," he muttered.
"A very fucking bad morning, Mr. Useless," I said.
"Ah," he said slowly, like he had already understood everything without needing an explanation. "So the money reached."
I clenched my jaw.
"You think this is funny?" I shot back, my fingers tightening around the phone. "You think sending him money like he is some employee of yours is a brilliant idea?"
"It's not funny," he replied calmly. "It's fair."
"Fair?" I almost laughed. "You just reduced my marriage to a contract settlement and you're calling it fair?"
"It was a contract," he said, his tone still maddeningly composed. "Don't act like it wasn't."
"That was before-" I stopped abruptly, the words catching in my throat.
Before what?
Before I fell in love?
Before he stopped hating me?
Before we became something real?
I swallowed hard, my voice lowering but not softening.
"You had no right to do this without asking me."
"I didn't need your permission," he said. "I am fixing what you both agreed on from the beginning."
"You are not fixing anything!" I snapped, standing up from the bed, pacing now, unable to stay still. "You are ruining it."
"If it gets ruined because of money, then maybe it was never real to begin with." He said.
My breath caught slightly, anger mixing with something deeper, something I didn't want to name.
"He already hates you, and now you are doing this... whatever you do will affect me, Vihaan," I said.
"What will he do? Divorce you? Let him do that," he said, his tone cold enough to slice through whatever little control I had left.
For a moment, I couldn't breathe. I slowly sat down on the bed, the weight of his words pressing against my chest in a way that felt unbearable.
"I love him, Vihaan," I said finally, the words slipping out before I could stop them, raw and unfiltered and terrifyingly real.
My eyes burned instantly, my throat tightening at the mere thought of Adithya walking away, of him looking at me with that same distance again.
"Whether you love him or not," he said, each word measured, "...we were supposed to compensate him for everything he lost during this one year."
I clenched my jaw.
"For the pain," he continued. "For the relationships he strained. For the money he spent on you. For letting you stay in his house. For taking care of you. For treating you with respect even after what we did for him."
Each word landed heavier than the last.
"That was in the contract," he finished.
Contract.
That word again.
"And I did my part." He added.
I closed my eyes, my breathing uneven now.
"Whether you both get divorced," he said, his tone flat, almost dismissive, "or live happily... that's not my business."
"Why are you talking so rude, Vihaan?" I asked.
There was a pause on the other end.
"Because I don't like the idea of you staying with him," he said.
I went still.
"No matter how good of a person he is, a part of me keeps asking the same question again and again-what if he still holds grudges for what we did to him?"
My fingers tightened around the phone.
"You literally threatened to kill him and his family and forced him into this marriage, Viyana. And me...he clearly hates me." He added.
"And I can't ignore the possibility, that one day he might decide to take that out on you." He went on.
My chest tightened.
"What if he is just acting?" he said. "What if he is waiting... and one day he treats you worse than you expect?"
For a moment, I couldn't respond.
"The idea of you spending your whole life with him doesn't sit right with me." He said.
"I am not forcing you," he added quickly. "I am not dumping my thoughts on you. The decision is yours."
"And Viyana... I want you to join the company next week." He said his voice thick with seriousness and order.
"Your credit cards will be reactivated," he continued. "Everything will go back to how it was."
Back.
To how it was.
I sat there on the bed, staring at nothing, my reflection faintly visible on the black screen of the TV across the room.
And for the first time-I didn't feel relief at the thought of getting everything back.
I felt... resistance.
"I don't want to work," I said, already waiting for him to scold me.
There was a beat of silence.
Then-
"Are you for real?" he snapped, disbelief sharp in his voice. "Don't fucking joke, Viyana."
I closed my eyes.
"You live with him or not-that's your choice, but you are going to join the company. No arguments." He said, slipping back to the familiar authority.
I let out a slow breath, pressing the phone harder against my ear.
"My mind is already fucked out handling everything alone," he went on, frustration seeping through every word now. "I seriously need help from you."
"Do you want to live as a housewife?" he asked, irritation laced in his voice.
I didn't answer that either.
Instead, I just fell back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling like it might give me an answer to something I didn't even know how to ask properly.
"I am fucking confused," I admitted finally.