Chapter 4
The tension in the Singhania mansion had reached a breaking point. Three days after the warehouse attack, Raghav had barely slept, coordinating retaliatory strikes against the Kapoors while managing the family's growing concerns about his leadership.
Akriti had become a different creature entirely.
She moved through the house with eerie calm, speaking when spoken to but initiating nothing.
She no longer prepared special meals, no longer asked about anyone's preferences, no longer performed the hundred small acts of service that had defined her role.
She simply existed.
And somehow, her absence was louder than her presence had ever been.
The confrontation came on Thursday afternoon, in the mansion's main sitting room.
Alina had been working from the estate, her laptop and files spread across the antique coffee table. When Akriti entered to retrieve a book she'd left earlier, Alina looked up with that practiced smile.
"Oh, Akriti. Perfect timing." She gestured to a stack of documents. "I need these copied and organized by color-coded tabs. Also, could you arrange for tea? The Darjeeling, not the Assam. And perhaps some of those almond cookies the kitchen makes?"
Akriti stood very still, the book in her hands. Around the room, several family members had frozen, watching. Priya's eyes gleamed with malicious anticipation. Meera pretended to be absorbed in her magazine.
"I'm sorry," Akriti said quietly. "I'm not able to help with that."
Alina's eyebrows rose. "Oh? Are you busy with something?"
"No. I'm simply not available to run errands for houseguests."
The temperature in the room dropped.
"Houseguests?" Alina's smile tightened. "I'm hardly a guest. I'm here on business. Raghav's business."
"Then perhaps you should ask Raghav for assistance," Akriti replied, her voice perfectly pleasant. "Or the staff. They're paid to help with such tasks."
"Akriti," Meera interjected nervously, "surely you could—"
"No, Chachiji. I couldn't." Akriti's gaze remained on Alina. "I'm not Ms. Mehta's assistant. I'm not her secretary. I'm not her servant."
"I never said you were—"
"Didn't you?" Akriti interrupted softly. "You've been asking me to do tasks like this since you arrived. Show you around. Fetch things. Make arrangements. Always phrased as friendly requests, but requests nonetheless."
Alina stood, her posture defensive. "I was simply trying to be friendly. To bond with you—"
"Were you? Or were you establishing a hierarchy? Making it clear where I fit in Raghav's life?" Akriti's eyes were calm but sharp. "Because if that was your goal, congratulations. You've succeeded. I know exactly where I fit. And it's not as your personal assistant."
"You're being ridiculous—"
"Am I? Then ask yourself this: would you make the same requests of Savitri Maa? Papa ji? Or any other family member?" Akriti paused. "Or just the forgotten wife who you assumed would be grateful for any scrap of inclusion in her husband's world?"
Silence fell like a blade.
The door opened. Raghav entered, followed by Vikram. Both men immediately sensed the tension.
"What's going on?" Raghav demanded.
Alina turned to him, her expression carefully composed. "Just a misunderstanding. I asked Akriti for a small favor, and—"
"She asked me to copy her documents, organize them with color-coded tabs, and bring her tea and cookies," Akriti said flatly. "I declined."
Raghav's jaw tightened. "Alina, the staff can help with that—"
"I know. I just thought—" Alina glanced at Akriti. "I thought we were becoming friends."
"Friends don't ask friends to do administrative work," Akriti replied. "Employers do."
She looked at Raghav then. Really looked at him. Her gaze was steady, unflinching, daring him silently to side with Alina. To treat her like staff. To prove once and for all exactly what she meant to him.
Go ahead, her eyes said. Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me I should serve her. Show everyone exactly what I am to you.
Raghav felt something twist in his chest. The way she looked at him—no hope, no expectation, just cold certainty that he would disappoint her.
Again.
"Akriti is right," he heard himself say. "She's my wife, not your assistant. If you need help, ask the staff."
Shock rippled through the room. Alina's face flushed.
"Of course," she said tightly. "I apologize for the confusion."
Akriti's expression didn't change. No gratitude. No relief. Just that same emptiness.
"If you'll excuse me," she murmured, moving toward the door.
"Akriti—" Raghav started.
She walked past him without pausing, leaving behind only the faint scent of jasmine.
*
"That was interesting," Vikram said once they were alone in his study.
Raghav poured himself a drink, his hand not entirely steady. "She's been different since the car incident."
"The car incident," Vikram repeated. "Is that what we're calling it? Your wife committing arson?"
"She was upset—"
"She was broken," Vikram corrected. "And you broke her. But now?" He shook his head. "Now she's putting herself back together. Without you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you've lost her, Raghav. Whether you care or not is up to you, but the fact remains—whatever chance you had at making this marriage anything beyond a business arrangement is gone."
Raghav downed his whiskey, feeling it burn. "I never wanted—"
"I know what you wanted. And what you didn't want." Vikram's voice was tired. "But Friday, you'll attend the charity gala together. Both of you. The rumors about Alina are damaging our reputation. You need to present a united front with your actual wife."
"Friday? I have meetings—"
"Cancel them." Vikram's tone brooked no argument. "This is non-negotiable. The Singhania name is being dragged through society gossip because of your behavior. You'll attend with Akriti, you'll be seen together, and you'll put these rumors to rest."
Raghav wanted to argue but recognized the finality in his father's voice.
"Fine. Friday."
What neither of them knew was that Ranveer was listening from the hallway, a cold smile spreading across his face.
Friday. Perfect. Exactly as he had predicted.
*
Friday arrived with cloudless skies and rising tension. The charity gala was a high-profile event—wealthy families, business leaders, politicians. Exactly the kind of public appearance that could either repair or destroy reputations.
Akriti dressed in a deep emerald saree, the silk shimmering with gold thread.
She wore the full set of Singhania emeralds—necklace, earrings, bangles—making it impossible for anyone to question her status.
Her makeup was flawless, her hair styled in an elegant bun with fresh jasmine flowers woven through it.
She looked like a queen.
She felt nothing.
Raghav appeared at her door at six o'clock, dressed in a black bandhgala that emphasized his powerful build. He stopped when he saw her, something flickering in his eyes.
"You look beautiful," he said.
"Thank you," she replied politely, as if he were a stranger paying a compliment.
"Akriti—"
"We should leave. The event starts at seven."
She moved past him, not waiting for his response. He followed, frustrated by her composure, her distance, her complete emotional withdrawal.
In the foyer, Vikram and Savitri waited.
"You both look wonderful," Savitri said, her eyes bright with hope. "A perfect couple."
Akriti smiled but said nothing.
They were almost to the door when Raghav's phone rang. He glanced at the screen and his expression darkened.
"I need to take this." He answered. "What?"
His face went pale. "When? How bad?"
Akriti watched him, already knowing.
"I'll be there in twenty minutes." He hung up, turning to Vikram. "The warehouse in Andheri—it's on fire. The entire structure. That's ten crores worth of inventory—"
"Go," Vikram said grimly.
"But the gala—"
"Is less important than ten crores. Go. Handle it."
Raghav hesitated, his eyes moving to Akriti. "I—"
"I'll attend alone," she said calmly. "It's fine."
"You shouldn't go alone—"
"Why not? I've been alone for three years. One more night won't make a difference." Her voice was neutral, factual.
Something in her tone made him flinch. "Akriti—"
"Go, Raghav. Your empire is burning. I'm just a social obligation." She gestured to the door. "Mohan can drive me. I'll make your excuses."
"Take my car," he said abruptly. "The new Range Rover. It's more secure than Mohan's sedan."
She wanted to refuse but recognized the practicality. "Fine."
He was already moving toward the garage where his other vehicles were kept, phone to his ear, barking orders. He didn't look back.
He didn't see Savitri's worried face.
Didn't see Vikram's grim expression.
Didn't see Akriti standing there, wrapped in emeralds and silk, looking like a bride preparing for a funeral.
"Beta," Savitri started, "maybe you should wait—"
"I'll be fine, Maa." Akriti touched her cheek gently. "I'm always fine."
She walked to the garage where the sleek black Range Rover waited, its engine purring. The driver opened her door.
Mohan looked troubled. "Beti, are you sure—"
"It's just a gala, Uncle. I'll smile, make small talk, and come home. Nothing dramatic."
If only she'd known.
The car pulled away from the mansion, its taillights disappearing down the long driveway.
In the shadows of the garden, Ranveer watched it go, his phone already at his ear.
"She's in the car. Alone. Proceed as planned."
*
The route to the event venue took them through the quieter parts of South Mumbai. Tree-lined streets, old colonial buildings, minimal traffic at this hour.
Akriti stared out the window, her mind elsewhere. The shelter needed new computers. Maya had gotten a job offer. Reshma's daughter had started school.
Small, real things that mattered.
Not galas. Not appearances. Not pretending to be happily married.
"Beti, are you alright?" Mohan asked from the front seat.
"Yes, Uncle. Just thinking."
"About what?"
"About how much simpler life would be if we could choose who we loved instead of who we married."