Chapter 20
Shaurya
I hate that she is avoiding me. Even now, seated across from me at breakfast, she keeps her gaze fixed on her plate and barely acknowledges my presence.
I know last night unsettled her. Hell, it unsettled me too.
For a few breathless moments, she wanted me as desperately as I wanted her.
Then she pulled away, and I was reminded that wanting me doesn’t mean she feels safe trusting me again.
Damn it. Pulling away from her took every ounce of willpower I possessed, but the moment she asked me to stop, there was no other choice. I will give Reeva all the time and space she needs, even if every instinct in me aches to close the distance.
Still, I refuse to dismiss what happened as a moment of weakness. What we feel for each other hasn’t faded. Our marriage may be fractured, but it is far from dead.
I set my coffee cup down and break the strained silence. “How long do you plan to avoid looking at me?”
Her fingers go still around her spoon, but she keeps her gaze lowered. “We need to make sure last night doesn’t happen again.”
I lean back in my chair and study her carefully. “Why?”
She finally lifts her eyes to mine. “We still have to figure out how to raise this baby together. Our situation is already complicated enough without giving in to the desire between us.”
Her words strike deep, but I force myself to remain composed. I hate that she reduces what we shared last night to mere desire, as though there is nothing more between us, when every part of me aches for the life we once shared.
“Why would wanting you make me any less capable of raising our child with you?”
“Because desire blurs boundaries, Shaurya,” she points out. “And right now, those boundaries are the only thing keeping me from forgetting why I left.”
“I understand why you’re frightened, so I won’t push you.
” I pause, holding her gaze. “But don’t expect me to call last night a mistake.
It wasn’t. My only regret is that I gave you so many reasons to believe surrendering to me would break you all over again.
” My voice drops. “I turned something we both want into something you’re terrified to trust.”
“Wanting you is not the same as trusting you, Shaurya.” She pushes her chair back and rises. “I need some fresh air. I’m going for a walk.”
“I’m coming with you,” I say, rising from my chair.
Exasperation flashes across her face. “That isn’t necessary.”
“It is,” I reply evenly. “After last night, I could use some fresh air too. I’m still trying to cool down.” I move towards her, holding her gaze as a faint flush spreads across her cheeks.
“Then take a cold shower,” she retorts, though the colour deepening in her face betrays her composure.
“I wasn’t asking for advice, sweetheart.” The corner of my mouth lifts. “And since you’re entirely responsible for my current condition, you’ll have to bear the consequences. It only seems fair.” I gesture towards the door. “Shall we?”
I almost smile at the glare she pins me with. Dressed in a pale-blue cotton kurta and white palazzos, with her hair falling loose around her shoulders and her face bare of makeup, she looks far more adorable than intimidating. Damn her. Even furious, she makes it impossible for me to look away.
“Fine,” she says, folding her arms. “You can come. But I want quiet, Shaurya. I don’t intend to spend the entire walk arguing with you.”
“I can remain silent.”
She gives me a sceptical look. “That would be very considerate of you.”
Without waiting for a response, she turns and heads towards the foyer.
I follow her outside, and together we pass through the front gates.
Once we reach the quiet street, I fall into step beside her.
The morning breeze sends a few stray strands of hair across her face.
My fingers itch to brush them away, but I force my hands to remain at my sides, even as every part of me resents the space between us.
We reach the end of the street, where a narrow path curves beneath a row of flowering gulmohar trees. Beyond them lies a small park enclosed by a low iron fence. Reeva slows as we approach the entrance, her gaze drifting over the quiet expanse of greenery.
“I haven’t been here in years,” she murmurs.
“Do you want to go inside?”
Without hesitation, she nods.
I open the gate and hold it for her. As she passes, her shoulder brushes lightly against my chest. The contact lasts barely a second, yet awareness surges through every part of me.
I remind myself to remain in control, though I don’t know how much longer I can pretend that her slightest touch doesn’t completely undo me.
We follow the winding path through the park until a child’s delighted laughter captures Reeva’s attention.
She stops, and I come to a halt beside her, following her gaze.
A little girl runs unsteadily towards her father, who crouches with his arms spread wide.
He catches her and lifts her into the air, making her squeal with laughter.
A flicker of longing crosses Reeva’s face, and her hand instinctively settles over her stomach.
“Our baby will have that,” I say quietly.
She turns towards me, vulnerability shadowing her eyes. “That’s what frightens me, Shaurya. I know you’ll always be there to catch our child. I just don’t know how many times you’ll let me fall while doing it.”
Before I can find an answer, she turns away and walks towards a nearby bench. She lowers herself onto it and fixes her attention on an ice-cream vendor pushing his colourful cart along the path.
“Do you want one?” I ask, stopping beside her.
She glances up at me and bites her lower lip before nodding.
“Chocolate is still your favourite?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Vanilla.”
I arch an eyebrow, recognising the lie but choosing not to challenge it. “If you’re sure.”
I walk over to the vendor, place our order, and return a few minutes later with two ice-cream cones. I hold the vanilla one out to her.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, accepting it.
I take the seat beside her and peel the wrapper from my chocolate cone.
“Perhaps I was wrong about one thing,” she says after taking a small bite. “You may be ruthless, but not when it comes to our baby. It’s obvious you already love this child.”
“I do have a heart, Reeva.” I hold her gaze. “Our child will never spend a single day questioning whether they are wanted or how fiercely I love them.” My voice softens. “I only wish their mother could believe that the same heart is capable of loving her—”
“Please don’t,” she interrupts, her voice trembling. “Don’t say the words I once believed with my whole heart. I’m afraid some part of me will believe you again, and I don’t think I could survive being wrong about you twice.”
The fear in her eyes silences every confession poised on my tongue. After a long moment, I force the words back down and nod.
“All right.”
She turns her attention back to her ice cream, her body still tense beside me. Hoping to pull her away from the heaviness between us, I lean closer and steal a bite from her cone before she can stop me.
Her eyes widen before narrowing in outrage. “You have your own!”
“I wanted to see if yours tasted better,” I reply, fighting back a smile as irritation replaces the fear in her eyes.
“I’m eating for two, in case you’ve forgotten.”
I straighten and offer her my chocolate cone. “In that case, you can have mine as well.”
Her gaze drops to the chocolate ice cream, and the unmistakable longing in her eyes confirms what I already knew.
“Still not your favourite?” I ask innocently.
“No,” she insists, taking the cone from me. “But I’m hungry.”
“Of course,” I murmur, hiding my amusement.
She shoots me a warning look before returning her attention to the ice cream. Within minutes, she finishes both cones while I watch in quiet amusement, wisely choosing not to point out that she saves the chocolate one for last.
Once she is finished, I collect the crumpled wrappers and toss them into a nearby bin. When I return to the bench, her expression has turned soft and distant.
“I wonder what our baby will be like,” she murmurs.
I sit beside her again. “Can you picture them?”
“Sometimes.” A dreamy smile touches her lips. “I keep imagining a little boy with chubby cheeks, warm caramel skin like yours, enormous dark eyes, and tiny dimples.”
“That’s almost exactly how I picture our child,” I admit. “Except in my mind, she’s a little girl with your eyes, your smile, and enough stubbornness to rule both our lives.”
Reeva’s expression turns curious. “You want a girl?”
“I honestly don’t care which,” I reply with a shrug.
“Really?” She arches an eyebrow. “I had you marked as one of those deeply patriarchal men obsessed with producing a male heir to preserve the family name.”
“I don’t need a son to preserve the Rajvansh legacy.
A daughter is every bit as capable of carrying it forward.
” I hold her gaze. “Whether we have a son or a daughter makes no difference to me. I only want our baby to be healthy.” My voice softens.
“Although, if it is a girl, I already know she’ll have me wrapped around her tiny finger. ”
A reluctant smile curves her lips. “That is one thing I can agree with you on.”
I draw in a slow breath. “Will you agree with me on one more thing?”
“What?” she asks cautiously.
I reach into my pocket, pull out a mangalsutra, and hold it out to her.
Reeva goes completely still.
“I had this made after you removed the old one,” I explain.
“I’ve carried it with me ever since, though I never knew whether I would find the right moment or earn the right to give it to you.
” My fingers tighten around the delicate chain.
“I know I haven’t earned the privilege of fastening it around your neck, and I know wearing it won’t repair what I destroyed.
” I hold her gaze. “But we are still married, Reeva, and seeing you without it…” I shake my head, unable to finish the thought.
“Will you wear it for me?” Despite my attempt to control it, my voice turns possessively rough. “I know it’s selfish, but I hate seeing your neck bare when you’re still my wife.”
Her fingertips hover over the mangalsutra before slowly brushing across its delicate black beads. For one fragile moment, hope rises inside me. Then her hand falls away, and she lifts tear-bright eyes to mine.
“I can’t,” she whispers, shaking her head. “It once felt like a promise, Shaurya. Now it feels more like a prison sentence.” She swallows painfully. “I’m sorry, but I can’t wear it.”
“Of course,” I say, concealing my disappointment behind a quiet nod. I slip the chain back into my pocket. However, I silently make myself a promise. One day, I will earn the right to see it around her neck again. Not because I ask her to wear it, but because she chooses to.
She looks down at her hands. “I still want the divorce,” she says, though her voice wavers.
“But I also understand why you refuse to walk away. Our child deserves the chance to know both parents.” She draws in a deep breath before meeting my gaze again.
“So I’m willing to try to make this arrangement work and to find a way for us to raise our baby together without turning their life into another battlefield. ”
My gaze locks on hers as my heart begins to pound. “You want to give us another chance?”
“No.” She shakes her head immediately. “Not us, Shaurya. I’m giving our child the chance to have both parents. I’ll do everything I can to make that work, even if it means making room for you in a future I had already begun planning without you.”
She releases an unsteady breath before turning fully towards me.
“But if this makes me miserable, if being near you begins to break me again, I will leave. And I need you to let me.” Her glistening eyes hold mine.
“I’m choosing to believe that somewhere beneath all that ruthlessness, pride, and cold determination, there is still a good man.
The man I once believed you were. A man who will respect me and do what is right, even when it isn’t what he wants.
” Her voice softens. “For our child’s sake, I need that man to be real. ”
“He is real,” I say, my voice rough with emotion.
“I buried him beneath revenge and pride, but I’ll spend every day proving that he still exists.
I can’t promise I’ll stop fighting to earn you back, Reeva.
But I promise I will never again fight against your freedom.
” My throat tightens around the final words.
“And if living beside me begins to break you again, I’ll let you go, even if doing so destroys me. ”
She studies me in silence, as though searching my face for another lie. When she finally nods, I know she has chosen to believe me, if only this once.
And for me, that is enough.
She isn’t promising to come back to me, but she is no longer asking me to disappear. For now, that fragile inch of ground between us is enough to give me hope.