Chapter 2 #3
"Instead, it gave me a reason to leave," Raghav replied coldly.
"That wasn't her fault."
"I never said it was." He moved toward the door. "But it wasn't my choice either. I fulfilled my obligation by marrying her. Don't ask me to pretend it was more than a business arrangement."
He left before his father could respond.
*
Akriti was in her room, trying to focus on updating her charity's financial records, when a knock sounded at her door.
"Come in," she called, expecting Savitri or perhaps a servant.
The door opened.
Raghav stood in the doorway.
Her heart stopped. After three years—three years of absence, of silence, of emptiness—he was here. In her space. Looking at her with those dark, unreadable eyes.
"We need to talk," he said.
It wasn't a request.
Akriti set down her pen carefully, folding her hands in her lap to hide their trembling. "Of course."
He entered, closing the door behind him. The room suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker. He was so much larger than she remembered, so much more intimidating. The tailored suit emphasized his powerful build, and there was something predatory in the way he moved.
He looked around the room—at her books, her journals, her violin in the corner. His expression revealed nothing.
"You're still here," he finally said.
The words cut like glass shards, sharp and vicious.
Akriti lifted her chin slightly. "If you wanted me gone, you could have sent divorce papers or conveyed that through Maa. I would have looked for other places."
His eyes snapped to hers, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. Surprise that she'd spoken so directly? Or surprise that she'd thought about leaving?
"I didn't say I wanted you gone."
"You didn't have to say it." Her voice was quiet but steady. "Your absence said it for you."
Silence stretched between them, taut and uncomfortable.
"This marriage was arranged," Raghav said finally, his tone flat. "You knew that. It was a business arrangement between our families."
"I knew that," Akriti agreed. "I just didn't realize that business arrangements required one party to disappear for three years without a single word."
"I was building—"
"An empire. Yes. I've heard." She gestured vaguely toward the window. "The whole family talks about your success. Your expansion. Your brilliant strategies. You've become quite legendary."
There was no bitterness in her voice, which somehow made it worse.
"I did what was necessary," Raghav replied curtly.
"So did I." Akriti met his gaze steadily. "I performed my duties as your wife. I've served your family, represented the Singhania name with dignity, and caused no trouble. I believe I've fulfilled my end of this... business arrangement."
He hadn't expected this. Hadn't expected her to be so composed, so direct. He'd thought—what? That she'd be crying? Grateful he was finally speaking to her?
"My mother says the family hasn't treated you well," he said, watching her reaction.
"Your mother is kind." Akriti's expression softened slightly when she mentioned Savitri. "She's been very good to me."
"And the others?"
"Are exactly what you'd expect from people who know I'm a wife in name only." She paused. "Though I suppose I can't blame them. They simply follow your lead."
Raghav's hands clenched. "I'm here now. Things will be different."
"Will they?" Akriti's laugh was soft and sad. "You're here for business. For meetings and strategy and whatever war you're planning with the Kapoors. You're not here for me."
"I never pretended otherwise."
"No," she agreed. "You never pretended anything at all. That's almost admirable, in its honesty."
He took a step closer, and she instinctively stiffened. He noticed.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, a strange note in his voice.
"I know." Akriti's eyes were clear, unwavering. "Physical harm requires caring enough to touch someone. You've made it very clear that I'm not worth even that much attention."
The observation landed like a blow. Raghav found himself struggling for words—a rare occurrence.
"There's a dinner tomorrow night," he said abruptly. "Family and some business associates. You'll attend. With me."
"As your wife?"
"Yes."
"And Ms. Mehta?"
His jaw tightened. "What about her?"
"Will she also be attending? Because I'm not interested in being humiliated in front of your... business associate."
"Alina knows nothing about—" He stopped.
"About me?" Akriti finished. "Yes, I gathered that. Three years working closely with her, and you never once mentioned you had a wife. That must have been an awkward conversation when Savitri Maa introduced us."
"It's complicated—"
"No, Raghav," Akriti interrupted, standing now. She was small compared to him, delicate, but there was steel in her spine. "It's actually very simple. You were ashamed of this marriage. Ashamed of me. So you pretended I didn't exist. That's not complicated. That's just cruel."
"That's not—" He stopped, realizing he couldn't deny it.
"I'll attend your dinner," Akriti said quietly. "I'll play the dutiful wife. I'll smile and make small talk and ensure no one questions your... arrangement. Because that's what you need, isn't it? Someone to maintain appearances while you continue doing exactly as you please."
"You don't understand the pressure—"
"You're right. I don't." Her eyes were bright now, but no tears fell.
"I don't understand the pressure of running an empire because you never shared that with me.
I don't understand your world because you never let me into it.
I only understand one thing: I've been married for three years, and I've spent every single one of those years alone. "
Raghav stared at her, this woman who was somehow both exactly what he remembered and completely different. On their wedding night, she'd been timid, barely able to meet his eyes. Now she stood before him with quiet dignity, calling out his cruelty with devastating accuracy.
"Tomorrow night," he repeated, his voice harder. "Wear something appropriate. Jewelry from the family collection. You'll sit beside me."
"As you wish." Akriti's tone was neutral, empty of emotion. "Will there be anything else?"
"Yes." He moved toward the door, then paused. "Alina will be here for a few more weeks. I'd appreciate it if you'd help her feel welcome. Show her around Mumbai, perhaps. The shopping districts, cultural sites."
Akriti's hands clenched in her saree. "You want me to entertain your... business associate?"
"I want my wife to show hospitality to a guest in our home," he said coldly. "Is that too much to ask?"
"Of course not." Her voice was perfectly controlled. "I live to serve."
The sarcasm was barely detectable, but he caught it.
"Good," he said, choosing to ignore it. "We'll discuss dinner details tomorrow."
He left, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
Akriti stood frozen for several heartbeats. Then, slowly, her knees gave out. She sank onto the edge of her bed, her whole body trembling.
He'd been here. In her room. Speaking to her for the first time in three years.
And it had been worse—so much worse—than she'd imagined.
He'd looked at her like she was an inconvenience. A duty to be checked off his list. A problem to be managed.
Wear something appropriate, he'd said. Like she was a doll he could dress up for his purposes.
Show Alina around, he'd ordered. Like she was staff, not his wife.
The tears came then, silent and bitter. She pressed her hand to her mouth, muffling the sobs that wanted to escape.
She'd thought—foolishly, stupidly—that seeing him again might change something. That three years might have softened him, made him curious about her, made him care even a little.
Instead, he'd confirmed what she'd always known: she was nothing to him. Less than nothing.
A ghost in his house. A name on a piece of paper. A complication he wished would simply disappear.
Akriti wept into her hands, grieving for a marriage that had never existed, for a love that had never been given a chance to grow, for three years of waiting for a man who would never come home to her.
Because even now, even with him physically present in the mansion, Raghav Singhania had not come home.
He'd simply arrived to conduct business.
And she was just another item on his agenda.