Chapter 2 #2
"After your meetings, then. Speak to her. Acknowledge her. She's not asking for love, Raghav. She's asking to be seen."
Savitri swept out of the room, leaving him standing there, irritation warring with that persistent guilt.
He didn't have time for this. Didn't have the energy to deal with a complication he'd thought safely tucked away.
But his mother was right about one thing—he should at least speak to her. Clear the air. Make sure she understood the boundaries.
Later. After the meetings.
*
The library was where Akriti had retreated, seeking solace among the books. She sat in her usual chair by the window, a volume of poetry open in her lap, but she wasn't reading. She was simply breathing, trying to slow her racing heart.
He was home.
After three years of absence, three years of silence, three years of learning to exist without him—he was home.
And he'd looked right through her.
The door opened. Akriti looked up, expecting one of the servants—
Alina Mehta stood in the doorway, her designer heels clicking against the marble as she entered. She surveyed the library with an appraising gaze before her eyes landed on Akriti.
"Oh," Alina said, her tone conveying polite surprise. "I didn't realize anyone was in here."
Akriti stood, closing her book. "I was just leaving—"
"No, please. Don't let me disturb you." Alina moved closer, her movements graceful and assured. "I was looking for something to read. The flight was exhausting, and I thought a book might help me relax."
She stood there, clearly waiting for Akriti to offer assistance, to play hostess.
"Of course," Akriti said quietly. "What kind of books do you prefer?"
"Contemporary fiction, mostly. International authors. Do you have any Murakami? Or perhaps Ferrante?"
Akriti moved to the appropriate shelf, pulling down two books. "These are both excellent."
Alina took them, her eyes studying Akriti with undisguised curiosity. "You must be one of the family. I'm Alina Mehta. I work with Raghav."
"I know," Akriti replied. "He introduced you."
"And you are...?"
The question hung in the air. Akriti felt something crack inside her chest.
"Akriti."
"Just Akriti?" Alina's smile was pleasant, but her eyes were calculating. "How do you fit into this rather large family tree?"
Before Akriti could respond, Savitri entered the library, her expression tight.
"Ms. Mehta," she said coolly. "I see you've met my daughter-in-law. Akriti is Raghav's wife."
Alina's eyes widened fractionally—the only sign of surprise she allowed herself. Then her expression shifted to something that looked almost like pity.
"Oh," she said softly. "You must be the... wife. How traditional."
Each word was a carefully placed knife.
"Yes," Akriti replied, her voice steady despite the humiliation burning through her. "I suppose I am rather traditional."
"It's quite charming, really," Alina continued, her tone suggesting it was anything but.
"In this modern age, it's refreshing to see women who still embrace the old ways.
Staying home, managing the household..." Her gaze swept over Akriti's simple saree, her bare face, her lack of jewelry. "Very... authentic."
"Akriti does much more than manage the household," Savitri said sharply. "She runs several charitable programs—"
"How lovely," Alina interrupted, already losing interest. "Well, I should let you both get back to your day. Thank you for the books, Akriti."
She swept out of the library, leaving the scent of her expensive perfume behind.
Akriti stood very still, her hands clenched at her sides.
"She didn't know," she whispered. "He didn't tell her."
Savitri moved to her side, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Beta—"
"Three years, Maa. Three years he's worked with her, traveled with her, built his empire with her. And he never once mentioned he had a wife."
"Raghav is... complicated—"
"No." Akriti's voice was soft but firm. "He's not complicated. He's simply indifferent. And indifference is so much worse than hate."
She set down the poetry book and walked out of the library, her spine straight, her head held high.
She wouldn't cry. Not yet.
*
The business meeting in Vikram's study was tense. Raghav sat at the large desk, several family members positioned around the room. His uncle, Ranveer Singhania, occupied the chair directly across from him—a deliberate power play.
Ranveer was Vikram's younger brother, ambitious and cunning. He'd been running the domestic operations while Raghav handled international expansion, but there'd always been an undercurrent of resentment. Ranveer believed the empire should have been his.
"The Eastern territories are secured," Raghav reported, his tone clipped and professional. "We've established operations in Singapore, Jakarta, and Manila. Revenue is up forty percent."
"Impressive," Ranveer said, leaning back in his chair. "Tell me, nephew, how did you manage such rapid expansion? Surely it required... significant investment of time and attention."
"It required focus," Raghav replied coldly. "Something easily achieved when you eliminate distractions."
"Distractions," Ranveer repeated, his smile thin. "Yes, I suppose you're quite good at that. Eliminating them. Or simply... ignoring them."
Vikram's eyes narrowed. "Get to your point, Ranveer."
"No point, brother. Simply an observation." Ranveer's gaze remained on Raghav. "Though I must say, bringing your... business associate... to the family home does raise questions."
"Ms. Mehta is essential to ongoing negotiations," Raghav said flatly. "Her presence here is purely professional."
"Of course, of course." Ranveer's tone suggested he believed nothing of the sort. "Still, appearances matter. Especially now, with the Kapoor situation escalating."
Raghav tensed. "What situation?"
Ranveer exchanged glances with two other senior members.
"You've been away. Things have developed.
The Kapoors have been making moves—quiet ones, but significant.
They've bought out three of our smaller partners.
They've been recruiting from our lower ranks.
And last week, one of our warehouses in Navi Mumbai was hit. "
"Why wasn't I informed?" Raghav's voice was dangerously quiet.
"We handled it," Ranveer replied smoothly. "Or rather, I handled it. Someone had to maintain order while you were building your foreign empire."
The implication was clear: While Raghav was away playing international businessman, Ranveer had been here, doing the real work, protecting the family.
"The Kapoors are testing our boundaries," Vikram interjected, steering the conversation back. "They smell blood. They think we're fractured."
"Are we?" Raghav asked, his eyes on Ranveer.
"That depends," Ranveer answered. "Are you back for good, nephew? Or is this just a brief visit before you run off again?"
"I'm here as long as necessary."
"Hmm. And your lovely associate? Will she be accompanying you to family functions? Business meetings? Perhaps we should introduce her as—"
"She's my employee," Raghav snapped. "Nothing more. If you have concerns about the Kapoors, voice them. Otherwise, stop wasting my time with insinuations."
Ranveer's smile widened. He'd gotten the reaction he wanted. "No insinuations, nephew. Simply trying to understand the... dynamics. After all, you have a wife living under this roof. A wife many of us have come to care for, despite—" He paused deliberately. "Well. Despite everything."
Raghav's hands clenched on the arms of his chair. "My marriage is none of your concern."
"Isn't it?" Ranveer leaned forward. "When the heir to the Singhania empire appears to have abandoned his wife, when he returns with another woman, when he shows more interest in foreign territories than his own household—these things become everyone's concern. They make us look weak. Divided."
"Enough," Vikram barked. "This is not the time for family drama. The Kapoors are the threat we need to address."
But the damage was done. Raghav could see it in the faces around the room—doubt, questions, the subtle shifting of loyalties.
His uncle was playing a dangerous game.
And Raghav was going to have to deal with it.
*
The meeting lasted another two hours, dissecting the Kapoor threat from every angle. They were a smaller syndicate, but growing. Aggressive. Opportunistic. They'd been waiting for the Singhanias to show weakness.
And now, with Raghav's return raising more questions than it answered, that weakness was apparent.
When the meeting finally ended, Raghav remained in his father's study, staring out the window at the gardens below.
"Your uncle has a point," Vikram said quietly. Neither of them had moved from their seats.
"About the Kapoors?"
"About appearances." Vikram poured himself a whiskey, offering one to Raghav, who declined. "You've been gone three years. You return with a beautiful woman who clearly adores you. And you have a wife living in this house who you've barely acknowledged. People talk."
"Let them talk."
"In our world, talk becomes action," Vikram replied. "Ranveer is ambitious. He's been waiting for an opportunity to challenge your position. You're handing him ammunition."
Raghav turned from the window. "What would you have me do?"
"Acknowledge your wife. Publicly. Make it clear that Alina is exactly what you say she is—an employee."
"I don't see how—"
"You don't have to love her," Vikram interrupted. "God knows this family has seen enough loveless marriages to last generations. But you need to show her basic respect. Present a united front. Otherwise, Ranveer will use your... neglect... to paint you as irresponsible. Unfit to lead."
Raghav's jaw tightened. His wife—Akriti, his mother had called her—was becoming a complication after all.
"Fine," he said curtly. "I'll speak to her."
"Tonight. At dinner. In front of the family."
"I said I'll handle it."
Vikram studied his son for a long moment. "You know, when we arranged this marriage, I thought it would ground you. Give you a reason to stay, to invest in the family legacy."