CHAPTER 3
The Ranawat dining room was a masterpiece of old-world elegance—crystal chandeliers, imported Italian marble, and a table that could seat twenty comfortably. Tonight, it hosted twelve, and the atmosphere was thick with the weight of tradition and unspoken hierarchies.
Nimisha sat in her designated seat, three chairs down from the head of the table where Samarth presided. She'd learned early that proximity to her husband at family dinners meant nothing. The distance between them had little to do with where they sat.
"The flowers are absolutely stunning, Maa," Kritika said, adjusting the centerpiece slightly. "You always have such exquisite taste."
Saroj beamed. "Thank you, beta. Though I must say, your input on the color scheme was invaluable."
Nimisha smoothed the silk of her emerald saree, the heavy fabric a second skin she'd learned to wear with practiced grace. She'd chosen it carefully—elegant, traditional, appropriate. Everything a Ranawat daughter-in-law should be.
If only the rest of her could be molded as easily as her appearance.
"Bhabhi, you look beautiful tonight," Shaurya said from across the table, his smile genuine.
"Thank you, Shaurya."
Samarth's gaze flickered to her briefly—a cursory glance that assessed and dismissed in the same breath. He was dressed in a black suit that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe, his jaw clean-shaven, his dark eyes revealing nothing.
Beautiful and untouchable. Like always.
"When is Tanisha arriving?" Raghbir asked from his seat beside Saroj.
"She messaged that she's on her way," Saroj replied. "She's bringing Kabir. We're finally going to meet the young man who's stolen our daughter's heart."
"About time," Raghbir grumbled. "She's been secretive about this relationship for months."
The doors opened, and Tanisha swept in like a force of nature. At twenty-five, Samarth's sister was stunning—her mother's beauty and her father's confidence wrapped in a designer dress that probably cost more than Nimisha's first book advance.
"Sorry we're late!" Tanisha announced, her arm linked with a tall man in his early thirties.
Kabir Malhotra.
Nimisha's first impression was that he was handsome in a polished, calculated way. Expensive watch, designer suit, perfectly styled hair. The kind of man who knew exactly how attractive he was.
Her second impression came when his eyes swept the room and landed on her.
The way he looked at her made her skin crawl.
"Everyone, this is Kabir," Tanisha said, practically glowing. "Kabir, this is my family. Papa, Maa, my brothers Samarth and Shaurya, and—" she gestured vaguely toward the others, "—everyone else."
Everyone else. Nimisha had been relegated to the background so often, she barely registered the slight anymore.
"Pleasure to meet you all," Kabir said smoothly, moving around the table to greet the elders. His voice was cultured, his manners impeccable.
When he reached Nimisha, his hand lingered a fraction too long when she offered the customary greeting.
"Mrs. Ranawat," he said, his eyes dropping briefly to her neckline before meeting hers again. "Tanisha didn't mention her sister-in-law was so lovely."
"Thank you," Nimisha replied, pulling her hand back and resisting the urge to wipe it on her saree.
Samarth's gaze was on his phone, completely disinterested in his sister's boyfriend or his wife's discomfort.
"Kabir runs his own investment firm," Tanisha announced proudly as they took their seats. "He's been absolutely brilliant with his portfolio management."
"Impressive," Raghbir said. "The market's been volatile lately."
"Volatility creates opportunity," Kabir replied smoothly. "You just need to know where to look."
As the conversation flowed into business and politics, Kritika moved effortlessly between her seat and the kitchen, coordinating with the staff like the lady of the house.
"Make sure the fish curry isn't too spicy," she instructed a passing servant. "Maa prefers it mild."
"Yes, ma'am."
Nimisha watched the exchange silently. She'd tried to help with dinner preparations once, three months into her marriage. Saroj had politely but firmly redirected her to "rest" while Kritika handled everything.
The message was clear: this wasn't her domain.
"Nimisha beta, you've been so quiet," Raghbir said, his tone kind. Unlike his wife, he'd never been cruel to her. Distant, perhaps, but never cruel. "How is your writing coming along?"
"Well, thank you. The new manuscript is nearly finished."
"She's a published author, you know," Shaurya interjected, pride evident in his voice. "Her books are quite popular."
"Romance novels," Saroj said, the words somehow sounding dismissive despite the neutral tone. "Though I still think she should focus more on household responsibilities."
"Romance sells," Abhay said from his position behind Samarth's chair. The man rarely sat at family dinners, preferring to hover like a well-dressed sentinel. "Last I checked, her royalties were quite substantial."
Nimisha glanced at Samarth's right-hand man in surprise. She hadn't expected support from that quarter.
"Money isn't everything," Saroj replied. "Tradition and family come first."
"Of course, Maa," Nimisha murmured, the familiar script flowing automatically.
Kabir's eyes were on her again. She could feel his gaze like oil on her skin—slick, unwanted, persistent. When she glanced his way, he smiled, the expression not reaching his eyes.
A sound from the hallway drew everyone's attention.
The click of claws on marble. Heavy, deliberate steps.
Bruno.
The massive Cane Corso appeared in the dining room doorway, his dark coat gleaming under the chandelier light, his presence commanding immediate attention.
Conversation died.
The demon dog rarely left Samarth's private wing. His appearance at a family dinner was unprecedented.
"Bruno, come here, boy," Kritika said sweetly, pulling a small treat from her purse. She'd been trying to win the dog over for years, armed with an endless supply of expensive dog treats. "Look what I brought you."
She extended her hand, the treat balanced on her palm.
Bruno's ancient eyes fixed on her. He didn't move. Didn't even acknowledge the offering.
He simply stared through her as if she were invisible.
"Bruno?" Kritika coaxed, taking a step closer. "Remember me? We've known each other for years."
The dog's expression—if dogs could have expressions—suggested he'd never seen her before in his life.
"He'll warm up eventually, beta," Saroj said, patting Kritika's shoulder consolingly. "He's always been particular."
"Particular is putting it mildly," Armaan muttered from his position near the sideboard. "The beast barely tolerates anyone except boss."
Bruno's gaze swept the room with regal indifference, then settled on the empty chair beside Samarth—Nimisha's designated seat when she actually sat close to her husband, which was never at family dinners.
Nimisha stood to move to the chair, a small courtesy to give the staff room to serve. Her heel caught on the edge of her saree.
She stumbled.
Her hand shot out instinctively, grabbing Samarth's forearm to steady herself.
The fabric of his suit jacket bunched under her fingers. Her nails scraped against the expensive material, and she felt them catch on his skin through the thin dress shirt.
A thin line of red appeared on his forearm.
The room went silent.
Completely, utterly silent.
Everyone who'd spent any time around Bruno knew the stories. The man who'd shoved Samarth during a business meeting—Bruno had broken his arm in three places. The rival gang member who'd stabbed Samarth during a territorial dispute—Bruno had torn the man's arm clean out of the socket.
The dog was fiercely, violently protective of his master.
And Nimisha had just drawn blood.
She released Samarth's arm like it had burned her, taking a step back. Her heart hammered against her ribs as every eye in the room turned to Bruno.
The dog looked at the scratch on his master's arm.
Then at Nimisha.
Then... yawned.
He stretched leisurely, his massive jaws revealing impressive teeth, before turning his head away as if the entire incident bored him.
The silence stretched, disbelief palpable in the air.
"I—I'm so sorry," Nimisha whispered, looking at the scratch. It was barely bleeding, more of a superficial mark than anything serious, but still.
Samarth's jaw tightened slightly. "It's nothing. Sit down."
"You're incredibly lucky, Nimisha," Kritika said, her voice slightly breathless. "Last time someone hurt Samarth, Bruno..." she trailed off, glancing at the dog with something like fear in her eyes.
"Tore his arm out," Kabir finished, his expression fascinated. "I've heard the stories. The Executioner's loyal beast."
"Nimisha, you need to be more careful," Saroj chided, though her attention was on Bruno, clearly unnerved by the dog's non-reaction. "Such clumsiness is unbecoming."
Nimisha nodded, moving to her seat with careful steps. She didn't dare look at Bruno, but she could feel his presence, solid and somehow... reassuring.
The dog has heard worse from our bedroom, she thought, and had to suppress an inappropriate urge to laugh. A few scratches are the least of his concerns.
If Bruno could talk, he'd probably be complaining about the sounds his master made when he buried himself inside her, not some accidental scratch.
"Well," Shaurya said, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he looked between Bruno and Nimisha. "That was interesting."
"Interesting is one word for it," Abhay murmured.
"Bhabhi," Shaurya called out, grinning like he'd just thought of the best idea ever. "Throw a spoon at bhai. Let's really test Bruno's loyalty."
"Shaurya," Saroj said sharply. "Don't be ridiculous."
"I'm serious! I want to see what Bruno does."
Nimisha met Shaurya's eyes, saw the challenge there, the playful glint that reminded her he was still young despite his position in the family business.
Without thinking too hard about it, she picked up the serving spoon from the dish in front of her.
"Nimisha, don't you dare—" Saroj started.