CHAPTER 2
Nimisha woke up alone.
Again.
The space beside her was cold, the pillow undented. Samarth had left sometime in the night and hadn't returned.
She lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, her body still aching pleasantly from his touch. The bruises on her hips would fade in a few days. The ache in her chest would not.
Don't romanticize what we are.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then threw back the covers and got out of bed. No point in wallowing. She had a routine to maintain.
Shower. Dress. Breakfast. Write. Gym. Smile. Exist.
In that order.
By the time she emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a simple cotton salwar kameez, the bed had already been made by the staff. All evidence of the night erased as efficiently as Samarth had erased his presence.
She found the list where she'd left it—tucked in the drawer of her nightstand, written in Samarth's precise handwriting on Ranawat letterhead.
Rules for Mrs. Samarth Ranawat:
Do not question my business or activities
Do not embarrass the family in public
Attend all required family functions and social events
Do not enter my office without permission
Do not expect emotional intimacy
Make yourself available when I need you
Do not interfere with Kritika's presence in this house
She'd memorized it within the first week of their marriage, but sometimes she took it out to remind herself. This was the contract. These were the terms.
She'd agreed to them by marrying him.
Tucking the list away, she went downstairs.
The breakfast room was empty except for the staff preparing the morning meal. Nimisha took her usual seat and waited.
"Good morning, madam. Tea?" Radha asked.
"Yes, please. And some toast."
"The butter is finished, madam. Would you like jam?"
"That's fine."
Radha nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.
Nimisha pulled out her phone and scrolled through her emails. Her editor wanted an update on the manuscript. Her literary agent had sent contracts for the next book deal. Her readers were asking when the next release would be.
All of them wanting something from her. All of them believing she had something to give.
"Bhabhi!"
Shaurya appeared in the doorway, his hair still wet from a shower, his expression bright. He was always bright in the mornings. Nimisha didn't understand how.
"Good morning, Shaurya."
He dropped into the chair beside her. "Did you sleep well?"
"Well enough."
Radha returned with tea and toast—plain, no butter. She set it in front of Nimisha, then turned to Shaurya.
"Sir, would you like your usual breakfast?"
"Yes, please. And could you make those cheese sandwiches? The ones Kritika likes? She's coming over for lunch."
"Of course, sir."
Nimisha sipped her tea, the bitter taste matching her mood.
Kritika. Again.
"Bhai's already left for the office," Shaurya said, pouring himself tea. "He had an early meeting."
"I see."
"You know, bhabhi, you should come to the office sometime. See what we do."
Nimisha raised an eyebrow. "I know what you do."
"Legal businesses," Shaurya said with a grin. "Export-import, real estate, hospitality. All very legitimate."
"Of course."
They both knew the truth. The Ranawat empire had two faces—the public one and the one that operated in shadows. Samarth was the face of both, moving seamlessly between boardrooms and darker rooms where deals were made with blood instead of signatures.
"He works too hard," Shaurya said, his tone more serious now. "Bhai, I mean. He needs to take a break sometimes."
"Your brother doesn't believe in breaks."
"He believes in control." Shaurya studied her over his teacup. "But control isn't the same as happiness."
Nimisha said nothing. What was there to say?
Saroj's voice echoed from the hallway before she appeared, already dressed and ready for the day in an elegant silk saree.
"Good morning, Maa," Shaurya said, standing to touch her feet.
"Good morning, beta." She kissed his forehead, then her gaze slid to Nimisha. "You're up early."
"I have work to do."
"Work." Saroj's lips thinned. "Nimisha, we need to discuss the household accounts. The cook mentioned we're over budget this month."
"I'll review them and get back to you."
"Today, please. Kritika mentioned she could help organize the system. She's very good with accounts."
Of course she was.
"I'll handle it," Nimisha said firmly.
Saroj's expression soured, but she nodded. "Fine. But I expect a detailed report by this evening."
She swept out, leaving a cloud of expensive perfume and disapproval in her wake.
Shaurya grimaced. "She's in a mood today."
"She's always in a mood when it comes to me."
"Bhabhi—"
"It's fine, Shaurya. I'm used to it." Nimisha finished her tea and stood. "I should get to work. Thank you for the company."
"Wait." He caught her wrist gently. "Are you okay? Really?"
The concern in his eyes threatened to crack her composure. She couldn't afford that. Not here. Not now.
"I'm fine, Shaurya. I'm always fine."
She pulled her hand free gently and left before he could push further.
The gym was Nimisha's sanctuary.
She'd had it built six months into her marriage, using money from her book royalties. It was small but well-equipped, tucked away in a corner of the estate where no one bothered her.
Here, she could breathe.
She changed into workout clothes and started her routine—stretches first, then cardio, then weights. The physical exertion helped quiet the noise in her head.
Don't romanticize what we are.
She increased the treadmill speed.
Kritika would have known how to run this household properly.
Faster.
Make yourself available when I need you.
Her lungs burned, her legs ached, but she pushed harder.
The door opened.
She glanced over, expecting Shaurya or perhaps one of the staff.
Bruno.
The massive dog stood in the doorway, his dark eyes fixed on her as she ran.
Nimisha slowed the treadmill to a walk, catching her breath. "Hello, Boo."
Bruno's ears perked at the nickname, but he didn't move. Dogs weren't allowed in the gym. It was one of Saroj's rules.
But Bruno didn't care about Saroj's rules.
He cared about Samarth's rules, and Samarth had never explicitly forbidden him from being here.
Nimisha stepped off the treadmill and grabbed her water bottle, sinking onto the nearby bench. Her muscles trembled from exertion.
Bruno approached slowly, his massive paws silent on the rubber floor. He sat in front of her, close enough to touch but not demanding it.
"Rough morning?" she asked, reaching out to scratch behind his ears.
Bruno leaned into the touch with something that might have been a sigh.
They sat like that for several minutes—woman and dog, both trapped in lives they hadn't chosen, finding comfort in the only companionship available.
"You know, Boo," Nimisha said softly, "you're the only male in this house who doesn't look at me like I'm a mistake."
Bruno's eyes met hers, and she could have sworn she saw understanding there.
"Although I suppose you don't have much choice. You're stuck with me by proxy." She smiled sadly. "We're both prisoners of circumstance."
A sound from the hallway made Bruno's head snap up, ears alert.
Footsteps.
Bruno stood immediately, moving away from her with military precision. By the time the door opened, he was positioned near the wall, the perfect picture of a guard dog on duty.
Kritika appeared in the doorway, looking fresh and lovely in a pale pink kurta.
"Oh! Nimisha, I didn't know you'd be here." Her smile was bright, friendly, utterly believable.
"I work out every morning," Nimisha said, grabbing her towel.
"That explains the figure." Kritika laughed. "I keep meaning to start a routine, but I never have the discipline."
"Discipline comes with practice."
"I suppose." Kritika's gaze drifted to Bruno. "Hello, boy. Remember me?"
She extended her hand toward the dog.
Bruno stared at her hand like it was a snake, didn't move a muscle.
"Bruno," Kritika coaxed. "Come on, sweetie. I brought you treats. They're in the kitchen."
The dog's expression—if dogs could have expressions—suggested he'd rather eat glass.
Kritika laughed nervously. "He's never warmed up to me. I've been trying for years."
"Maybe he's particular about who he likes," Nimisha said, wiping sweat from her neck.
"Maybe." Kritika's eyes held a flash of something—annoyance? Jealousy?—before the sweet smile returned. "Anyway, I came to find you. Maa wants to go over the prayer room reorganization. She sent me to fetch you."
Of course she did.
"I need to shower first."
"That's fine. I'll wait."
Nimisha grabbed her water bottle and phone. As she passed Bruno, their eyes met for the briefest moment.
Stay strong, his ancient gaze seemed to say.
She nodded imperceptibly and followed Kritika out.
The master bedroom felt like enemy territory.
Nimisha showered quickly, changed into a fresh salwar kameez, and braided her damp hair. In the mirror, she looked composed. Put together. Fine.
She didn't look like a woman whose husband couldn't stand to sleep in the same bed with her.
When she emerged, Kritika was perched on the edge of the bed—Nimisha's bed—scrolling through her phone.
"Ready?" Kritika asked brightly.
"Yes."
They walked through the house together, and Nimisha noticed the staff's reactions. Smiles for Kritika. Polite nods for Nimisha. The difference was subtle but unmistakable.
"You know," Kritika said as they walked, "I was thinking we should plan a small puja for next month. Maa would love it."
"That sounds nice."
"I can handle most of the arrangements if you're busy with your writing. I know how important your work is to you."
The words were kind. The implication was clear: Nimisha's priorities were wrong.
"I'll help with the planning," Nimisha said evenly.
"Of course! We'll do it together." Kritika's hand touched her arm briefly. "I'm so glad we can be friends, Nimisha. When Samarth first married you, I was worried you might see me as competition."
Nimisha looked at her—really looked at her. Kritika's smile was open, honest, without guile.
She meant it. She genuinely wanted to be friends.
Which somehow made it worse.
"Why would I see you as competition?" Nimisha asked.
"Well, I've known Samarth since we were children. We're very close. Some wives might find that threatening."
"I'm not threatened."
Liar, a voice whispered in her head.
"Good! Because you have nothing to worry about. Samarth and I are just friends. We always have been." Kritika squeezed her arm gently. "Although I'll admit, there was a time when I hoped for more."
Nimisha's stomach twisted.
"But that's in the past," Kritika continued. "He made his choice when he married you."
He didn't choose me, Nimisha wanted to say. He was forced.
But she simply nodded. "I appreciate your honesty."
They reached the prayer room, where Saroj was waiting with fabric swatches and renovation plans spread across a table.
"Finally," Saroj said. "We have a lot to discuss."
The next two hours were torture.
Saroj and Kritika debated every detail—the color of the walls, the placement of the idols, the type of bells to use. They asked for Nimisha's opinion occasionally, then dismissed whatever she suggested.
"I think the peacock blue would be beautiful," Nimisha said when asked about wall colors.
"Too bright," Saroj said immediately. "Kritika, what do you think?"
"I agree with Maa. The cream is more traditional."
"Cream it is."
This pattern repeated with every decision. Nimisha stopped offering opinions after the fourth time she was overruled.
She was decorative. A requirement to have in the room but not actually necessary to the process.
"Nimisha, you're being very quiet," Kritika said, her voice concerned. "Don't you have any preferences?"
"Whatever you both decide will be lovely."
Saroj's lips thinned. "A daughter-in-law should care about her home."
"I do care."
"Then show it. Participate. Kritika has been part of this family for years. She knows what we value."
And I don't, Nimisha finished silently.
She swallowed her frustration and forced herself to engage, offering opinions that were politely considered and immediately rejected.
By the time they finished, her jaw ached from holding her smile.
"That was productive," Kritika said, gathering her things. "I'll contact the vendors this week."
"Thank you, beta," Saroj said warmly, then glanced at Nimisha. "You should learn from Kritika. See how she manages things?"
"Of course."
After they left, Nimisha stood alone in the prayer room, surrounded by swatches and samples that represented everything she wasn't.
Traditional enough. Connected enough. Wanted enough.
A soft sound made her turn.
Bruno stood in the doorway, his massive form blocking the light.
"Following me now?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly.
The dog approached and sat beside her, his warm bulk a solid presence.
She rested her hand on his head, drawing comfort from the simple contact.
"You know what the worst part is?" she whispered. "She's not even a villain. Kritika is genuinely kind. She wants to be friends. She loves this family."
Bruno huffed softly.
"And your master... he didn't choose me. He chose duty. I'm just the consequence of that choice."
The dog leaned against her leg, and she felt the ridiculous urge to cry.
But she didn't.
She was fine.
She was always fine.