Chapter 15
Armaan
My wife was not talking to me.
Three days. Three long, torturous days of silence. Three days of her avoiding my eyes, sleeping as far away from me on the bed as physically possible, leaving for work before I woke up and coming home after I had already gone to bed.
All because of what she had seen in our bedroom.
I understood how it looked. I understood exactly what was running through her mind when she walked in to find Avija standing that close to me, her hands on my shirt. But understanding did not make the silence any easier to bear.
The truth was painfully simple. I had come home early that day because the Mehras had called to say they were coming to visit Dadi. I had changed out of my work clothes and was buttoning a fresh shirt when Avija had walked into our bedroom without knocking.
She had the audacity to tell me she missed me. That being in Paris had made her realize how much she wanted to be near me. That seeing me married to someone else, even temporarily, was harder than she had anticipated.
I had told her, in no uncertain terms, that I had already warned her. I would not betray my wife. Not for her. Not for anyone.
Avija's hand had been reaching for me, about to touch my face, when Viya walked in.
The look on my wife's face had been like a knife to my chest.
I had tried to explain. Tried to tell her nothing had happened, nothing would ever happen. But she had just nodded with those big, hurt eyes and said she trusted me.
But if she trusted me, why had she been avoiding me ever since?
The question circled in my mind obsessively, tormenting me during every waking moment and haunting my dreams at night.
And now it was Saturday. The day of Aryan's party. The day I would have to watch my wife attend a social event without being able to stand beside her as her husband.
Instead of spending the day with me, preparing together, maybe talking through this awful tension between us, Viya had left early in the morning. She had mumbled something about meeting her colleague Akshita to get ready together, and that she would go to the party directly from there.
She did not even want to be in the same car as me.
I hated it. Every single part of it.
I stood in front of my closet, pulling out a black suit and white shirt with mechanical movements. My hands worked on autopilot while my mind remained fixated on Viya.
Where was she right now? What was she doing? Was she thinking about me at all, or had she pushed me out of her mind completely?
I would be attending this party with Meera as my plus one. My assistant. Because I could not bring my actual wife, and the thought of showing up alone had felt pathetic even to me.
Meera had agreed readily when I asked, understanding without needing explanation that this was purely professional. She would meet me at the hotel.
I finished dressing and checked my reflection in the mirror. The man staring back at me looked cold and composed. Nothing like the chaos raging inside.
I grabbed my phone and wallet and headed downstairs. Ramesh was already waiting with the car.
The drive to the hotel felt interminable. My fingers drummed restlessly on my knee. I checked my phone repeatedly even though I knew Viya would not call or text.
When we finally arrived at the grand hotel hosting the event, I could see the party was already in full swing. Cars lined the circular driveway. Well dressed people streamed through the entrance. Music and laughter drifted out every time the doors opened.
I straightened my tie and walked inside.
The ballroom had been transformed into something spectacular. Soft lighting, elegant decorations, a live band playing in one corner. Wait staff circulated with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres. The dance floor was already filling up with couples swaying to the music.
Aryan spotted me immediately and came over with his usual grin.
"Finally! I was beginning to think you were going to bail on your own joint venture celebration."
"Would never miss it," I said, accepting the whiskey he handed me.
"Where is Meera? I thought she was coming with you."
"She is meeting me here. Should arrive any minute."
Aryan nodded, then his attention was pulled away by one of the investors. I used the opportunity to scan the room.
Looking for her. Even though I knew I should not. Even though seeing her would only make this harder.
But she was not here yet.
I forced myself to circulate, shaking hands with board members and key investors. Making small talk about the joint venture and projected growth rates. Playing the role of confident CEO even though every cell in my body was focused on the entrance, waiting.
I was in the middle of a conversation about quarterly projections when I felt it. That awareness that prickled across my skin whenever she was near.
I turned toward the entrance.
And forgot how to breathe.
Viya stood in the doorway, and she looked absolutely breathtaking.
She was wearing a red dress. Deep crimson that hugged her curves before flowing down to her ankles. The color was striking against her skin, making her look like some kind of goddess descended from mythology.
But it was not just the color that made my blood heat.
The dress was backless. Completely backless. Her entire back was exposed, smooth skin on display for everyone in this room to see.
I watched as heads turned. As eyes tracked her movement. As men I knew, men I worked with, looked at my wife with appreciation and interest.
Mine. She is mine. Those words pounded through my head with each beat of my heart.
Every protective, possessive instinct I had roared to life. I wanted to stride across the room, wrap her in my jacket, and hide her from every single person staring at her.
But I could not. Because nobody here knew she was mine.
Then I saw him.
Puneet. The friend from her wedding day. He walked in behind her, moving to stand beside her. He said something that made her laugh, her face lighting up with genuine amusement.
My hand tightened around my whiskey glass so hard I was surprised it did not shatter.
He was her plus one. She had brought him as her date.
They moved further into the room together, Puneet's hand at the small of her back, guiding her through the crowd. That possessive gesture that should have been mine.
The rational part of my brain knew he was just her friend. Just Puneet, who had known her since childhood. Just someone she trusted and felt comfortable with.
But the rational part of my brain had been drowned out by something far more primal.
She was laughing with him. Smiling at him. Looking up at him with those beautiful eyes that should have been looking at me.
She had not even glanced in my direction since entering. Had not sought me out. Had not acknowledged my existence.
It felt like a physical blow.
The band transitioned to a slower song, and I watched in growing fury as couples began moving to the dance floor.
Puneet extended his hand to Viya. She hesitated for just a moment, then placed her hand in his.
He led her to the dance floor.
My vision went red at the edges.
His hand went to her waist. Her hand rested on his shoulder. They began swaying to the music, and he said something that made her smile again.
His hand. On my wife's waist. On her exposed skin.
That was the limit. The absolute limit of what I could tolerate.
I downed the rest of my whiskey in one burning gulp and set the glass down with more force than necessary. My feet were already moving, carrying me toward the dance floor with single minded purpose.
I was going to cut in. I was going to take her away from him. I was going to make it clear to every person in this room that she belonged to me, consequences be damned.
But before I could reach them, a hand clamped down on my shoulder.
Aryan.
"Don't," he said quietly, his grip firm enough to stop my momentum. "Not here. Not now. Look around you."
I forced myself to look. To really look at the room around us.
Board members. Investors. Senior management from both companies. Half the corporate elite of Rajmer.
If I caused a scene now, if I publicly claimed Viya as my wife when everyone thought I was involved with someone else entirely, the scandal would be enormous.
The gossip would spread like wildfire. It would overshadow the entire joint venture announcement.
It would raise questions about the secret marriage. About why it was secret. About Avija.
It would hurt Viya's reputation. Would make her the subject of office gossip and speculation.
I could not do that to her.
But watching her in another man's arms was killing me.
"I need to get out of here," I said through clenched teeth.
Aryan nodded, understanding written in his expression.
"Go. I will handle things here."
I did not wait for him to say anything else. I turned and strode toward the bar, grabbing an unopened bottle of whiskey from the startled bartender.
"Mr. Khanna, that is not opened yet—"
"Bill it to me."
I walked out of the ballroom, down the hallway, and out a side door that led to a private terrace. The cool night air hit my face, but it did nothing to cool the rage and jealousy burning through my veins.
I unscrewed the cap on the whiskey bottle and took a long drink directly from it. The alcohol burned going down, harsh and punishing. Good. I deserved the punishment for being so spectacularly stupid.
For agreeing to this secret marriage in the first place. For not telling everyone from the beginning that Viya was mine. For letting circumstances force us into this impossible situation where I had to watch my wife dance with another man while I stood by and did nothing.
I took another drink, then another, trying to drown the image burned into my brain. Puneet's hand on her waist. Her smile directed at him instead of me. The way she moved in his arms like they had done this a thousand times before.
How comfortable she was with him. How easy and natural. While with me, she was stiff and distant and silent.
The thought was agony.
I leaned against the terrace railing and stared out at the city lights spread below. Cars moving through streets. People living their uncomplicated lives. While I stood here, drowning in my own possessive rage.
She was mine. My wife. Mine.
Every fiber of my being screamed to claim her. To walk back in there, pull her away from Puneet, and announce to everyone that she belonged to me.
But I could not.
Not yet.
So instead, I stood on this terrace alone, drinking whiskey straight from the bottle, while my wife danced with another man just meters away.
And I hated it.
I hated every single second of it.
I took another long drink and closed my eyes, trying to block out the image of her smile directed at someone who was not me.
Mine, my mind insisted, the word repeating like a mantra. Mine, mine, mine.
But for tonight, I could do nothing but stand here and burn with the knowledge that the woman who owned me was in someone else's arms.
And I had no one to blame but myself.