Chapter 7
Reeva
My hands tremble around the file. This divorce is no longer a choice. It is necessary, and it has to happen now. Whatever it takes, I will make Shaurya sign these papers before he discovers that I am pregnant.
My fingers drift instinctively towards my stomach. I am doing this for my baby. Not out of revenge or any desire to punish Shaurya, but because my child deserves a life free from lies. And I can no longer remain trapped in a marriage built on betrayal.
I draw in a slow, steadying breath. For several moments, I remain seated in my car, staring through the windshield at the towering glass headquarters of Rajvansh Industries as I gather the courage to walk inside.
I don’t know how much time passes before I finally open the door. The humid afternoon air wraps around me as I step out and force myself to focus on the task ahead. Squaring my shoulders, I walk towards the entrance.
The moment I step into the lobby, the receptionist looks up, her face brightening with a genuinely warm smile.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Rajvansh!”
A lump forms in my throat at the sound of the surname, but I force a faint smile.
“Hello, Anita. Could you please check whether Mr. Rajvansh is in a meeting?”
Surprise flickers across her face. I have never asked before. Whenever I visit, I simply head straight to Shaurya’s cabin. If he is in a meeting, I wait for him in his office. But Anita is far too professional to question my sudden formality.
“Of course, ma’am. Let me check with his assistant.”
She reaches for the phone and dials Sujata’s extension. My pulse quickens as I wait. A few seconds later, Anita ends the call and looks up at me.
“Ms. Sujata says you may go straight up.”
I murmur a quiet thank-you before making my way toward the private elevators. The doors slide open, and I step inside.
The instant they begin to close, memories crash over me with suffocating force.
The elevator doors had barely slid shut when Shaurya caught my hand and pulled me into his arms. I let out a startled laugh, glancing nervously at the security camera.
“Shaurya,” I whispered, pressing my palms against his chest. “Someone could see us.”
He grinned. “Let them.”
Before I could protest, he pressed a quick kiss to the corner of my mouth. I swatted his arm, my cheeks burning.
“You’re shameless.”
“Only when it comes to you,” he murmured, holding my gaze.
The elevator doors opened onto the executive floor, forcing us to step apart. We walked towards his cabin with a respectable distance between us, pretending nothing had happened.
But the moment the door closed behind us, Shaurya slipped an arm around my waist, pulled me firmly against him, and captured my lips in a slow, lingering kiss that stole the breath from my lungs. When he finally drew back, he rested his forehead against mine, a smug smile tugging at his lips.
“See what you do to me?” he murmured. “I can never control myself around you.”
The elevator dings, shattering the memory. I blink hard and force the past back where it belongs.
No. I am not here to remember. I am here to end this.
Steeling myself, I step onto the executive floor and walk towards Shaurya’s cabin. Employees glance up from their desks as I pass, familiar faces brightening in recognition. I acknowledge each greeting with a polite smile but refuse to slow my steps.
Sujata looks up when I approach, her expression warming. “Good afternoon, ma’am. Mr. Rajvansh is inside. He’s waiting for you.”
I nod and push open the door.
Shaurya rises from behind his desk, and despite everything, my traitorous heart stumbles at the sight of him.
He makes no move towards me. He simply stands there, his gaze locked with mine.
I cannot look away either. He looks different. Several days’ worth of stubble shadows his jaw, and dark circles bruise the skin beneath his eyes. His charcoal suit is as impeccably tailored as ever, yet his usual commanding composure is gone.
He looks… exhausted.
My fingers tighten around the file clutched to my chest. No. I cannot allow my heart to soften, not after everything he has done.
Without breaking eye contact, I cross the room and place the file on the desk between us. His gaze drops to it briefly before returning to mine.
“I need your signature on these papers.” The steadiness of my voice almost surprises me, even as my fingers tremble at my sides.
His eyes narrow. “What is it?”
“Why don’t you open it and see for yourself?”
Without looking away, he slowly lowers himself into his chair.
His fingers close around the edge of the file and pull it towards him before he finally glances down and flips it open.
The moment he reads the first page, his entire body goes still.
After scanning the document, he lifts his gaze back to mine.
“Divorce papers,” he says, his voice dangerously quiet.
I lift my chin and fold my arms across my chest. “Yes.”
He leans back in his chair, studying me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. His gaze drops to my bare neck, lingering on the place where my mangalsutra once rested, before shifting to the unadorned parting of my hair. Something in his expression hardens as the meaning becomes clear.
“So that’s why you’ve come.”
“Yes.” I force air into my lungs. I have rehearsed this conversation countless times, but standing before him now, every carefully chosen word lodges painfully in my throat. Still, I make myself say them. “This marriage has to end.”
His jaw flexes. “And when exactly did you decide that?”
I shrug, forcing a calm I do not feel. “The moment I realised there was nothing left to save.”
He doesn’t respond, and my gaze drifts to the framed photograph of me resting on the corner of his desk. The sight sends a sharp ache through my chest. He truly knew how to play his part, how to make me believe I was loved.
Before I can stop myself, I snatch up the frame and hurl it across the room. It strikes the wall and crashes to the floor, the glass shattering on impact.
“What the hell, Reeva?” he demands, rising abruptly from his chair.
I glare at him. “Don’t you dare pretend it bothers you.”
His expression hardens. “You threw my wife’s photograph across the room, and you expect that not to bother me?”
“Enough with the goddamn act, Shaurya,” I hiss, my anger burning through every trace of pain.
“You can accuse me of lying to you. You can hate me for what I did.”
He rounds the desk and stops directly in front of me. The familiar scent of cedarwood and expensive cologne surrounds me, and my knees threaten to buckle. But I hold his gaze, refusing to reveal how deeply his nearness still affects me.
“But don’t stand there and tell me that everything I felt, and still feel, for you was an act,” he adds, his voice low and rough. “It wasn’t.”
“Do you even hear yourself?” My voice splinters beneath the pain clawing through my chest. “You knew exactly why you married me, Shaurya, yet you stood beside me every day and allowed me to love you. You held me when I was afraid. You spoke about our future. You looked into my eyes and made me believe I was safe with you, all while waiting for the moment you could take Rajmahal from me.” A tear slips down my cheek.
“I can’t remember a single beautiful moment without wondering what you wanted from me in return.
I don’t know which kisses were real, which promises were rehearsed, or whether there is even one memory of us that your lies haven’t poisoned.
” My voice cracks, but I refuse to look away.
“And you expect me to believe that your feelings were real?” I gesture towards the divorce papers. “Just sign them and let me go.”
“I am not signing them,” he says simply.
My pulse stutters. For several seconds, I can only stare at him. Then the shock gives way to a surge of anger that burns through every ounce of restraint I have left.
“You don’t get to refuse.”
“I do when it’s my signature you need,” he replies.
Before I can react, his arm circles my waist, catching me completely off guard.
With one swift pull, he brings me flush against him.
A startled gasp escapes me, and my hands fly instinctively to his shoulders to steady myself.
I bite down on my lip, despising the way my body still responds to his nearness.
For one treacherous moment, I forget that I should be pushing him away.
“And you’re not getting it,” he finishes, his gaze locked firmly on mine.
His arrogance hits me like a bucket of ice water, extinguishing every trace of weakness. I force myself to remember why I am here. I need his signature, and then I need to get as far away from him as possible. There is no future left for us. There cannot be.
I shove him hard in the chest, forcing him to stumble back a step.
“Stop making this difficult. You wanted revenge, and you got it.” I snatch up the file and thrust it against his chest. He catches it instinctively as I add, “Now sign the papers.”
“I told you, I wanted Rajmahal. You were never the target. You simply got caught in the crossfire.”
My heart pounds so violently that a wave of dizziness washes over me.
Caught in the crossfire.
The cold cruelty of those words leaves me speechless. I force myself to remain steady, swallowing past the bitter lump lodged in my throat. If my freedom is just another thing I have to buy from him, then so be it.
I will pay with the only thing he has ever truly cared about.
I reach into my handbag and pull out a second folder. “You can have Rajmahal.”
He stares at me, disbelief flickering across his face. “You’re willing to give it to me?”
“On one condition.” My voice turns glacial. “Sign the damn divorce papers… and stay the hell out of my life.”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, his gaze drops to the property documents clutched in my hands, and for one agonising moment, he simply stares at them.
Rajmahal is finally within his reach. The reason he built our marriage around, everything he has ever wanted, can now be his. All it will cost him is me.
When he finally looks up, I search his eyes, desperate to understand what is happening behind them. I hate that some foolish, broken part of me still hopes he will push the papers away. That he will choose me this time. But his expression reveals nothing, and the silence slowly tears me apart.
“My offer is simple,” I say, breaking the silence as I press the transfer file into his hands.
“Sign the divorce papers, and I’ll sign every document necessary to transfer Rajmahal to your family.
You won’t have to manipulate me. You won’t have to fight me in court.
” I draw in a slow, unsteady breath and meet his gaze.
“I’ll give it to you willingly. All I want in return is my freedom. ”
His throat moves as he swallows, tension tightening every line of his face. Despite everything, a fragile hope continues to flicker inside me, praying he will reject my offer. That he will tell me Rajmahal is not worth losing me.
But after what feels like an eternity, he gives a single nod.
“Fine,” he says, his voice rough. “If that’s what you want.”
I bite down hard on my lip, fighting the sob threatening to tear free as I watch him return to his desk.
Why do I keep hoping he will choose me when all he ever does is break my heart again?
Without another word, he picks up a pen and signs the divorce papers. The faint scratch of the nib against the page sounds deafening in the silence, each stroke cutting through the last thread of hope I had foolishly held on to.
When he finishes, he holds the papers out to me.
I stare at his signature, unable to move. This is what I came here for, the freedom I fought so desperately to obtain. Yet when I finally take the papers from him, it doesn’t feel like freedom.
It feels like the final proof that when given the choice, Shaurya was willing to let me go.