CHAPTER 3 #2
She threw it.
Her aim was terrible, the spoon tumbling through the air in a wobbly arc that would have missed Samarth's face by a foot even if he hadn't moved.
But he did move.
His hand shot up with reflexes honed by years of violence, catching the spoon effortlessly before it could complete its pathetic trajectory.
Bruno huffed.
The sound was distinctly... judgmental.
That aim couldn't hurt a fly, let alone him, the dog's expression seemed to say.
"Bhabhi's throwing skills need work," Shaurya said, laughing.
Samarth set the spoon down with controlled precision, his dark eyes fixed on his wife. "Are you finished?"
"Your brother dared me," Nimisha replied, keeping her voice even despite the heat creeping up her neck.
"Shaurya has always been an idiot."
"I'm right here, bhai."
Samarth ignored him, his attention still on Nimisha. There was something in his gaze she couldn't quite read—annoyance, yes, but something else. Curiosity, maybe?
She looked away first, reaching for her water glass.
Bruno had moved closer, positioning himself between her chair and Kabir's. The shift was subtle, but Nimisha noticed.
So did Kabir, whose smile tightened slightly.
"Stop being so judgy, Boo Berry," Nimisha murmured under her breath, so quietly only the dog could hear.
Bruno's ears perked. He turned his massive head to look at her, and she could have sworn amusement flickered in those dark eyes.
He scoffed softly—a sound that was pure canine disdain.
Samarth's gaze sharpened.
Had he heard?
His eyes moved from her to Bruno and back again, something calculating in his expression.
"What did you just call my dog?" he asked, his voice low.
Every conversation at the table stopped.
Nimisha's pulse quickened. "Nothing."
"You called him something."
"I didn't."
"She definitely did," Shaurya said helpfully. "I heard it. Sounded like 'Boo Berry.'"
Abhay and Armaan exchanged glances, their expressions caught between amusement and disbelief.
"Boo Berry?" Tanisha repeated, then burst out laughing. "That's the most ridiculous name I've ever heard for a killing machine."
"It's a stupid name," Saroj said, frowning.
"It's perfect," Shaurya countered, grinning at Nimisha. "How long have you been calling him that, bhabhi?"
"I haven't—"
Bruno sat down beside her chair with a heavy thump, his tail giving one deliberate thump against the floor.
The traitor.
"Oh my god," Tanisha said, staring at the dog. "Bruno actually likes it. He likes the name."
"Impossible," Kritika said, though she was looking at Nimisha with something like confusion. "Bruno doesn't even like me, and I've known him since he was a puppy."
"Animals know who feeds them," Saroj said dismissively. "Nimisha probably sneaks him treats."
"I don't—"
"Can we return to dinner?" Raghbir interrupted, his tone making it clear the topic was closed. "I'd like to hear more about your business, Kabir."
The conversation shifted mercifully back to safer topics—Kabir's investment strategies, Tanisha's work with her NGO, the upcoming charity gala.
Nimisha tried to focus on her food, but she was acutely aware of multiple things:
Samarth's gaze returning to her periodically, assessing.
Bruno's solid presence beside her chair, a barrier between her and Kabir.
Kabir's foot sliding along the floor beneath the table.
When his shoe brushed against her ankle, she froze.
It could have been accidental. The table was large, but feet got tangled sometimes.
Except he didn't pull away.
His foot pressed slightly against hers, a deliberate touch hidden beneath the tablecloth and polite dinner conversation.
Nimisha pulled her foot back sharply, tucking both feet beneath her chair.
Bruno's growl was so low, she almost thought she'd imagined it. But the dog's body had gone rigid, his attention fixed on Kabir with an intensity that promised violence.
Only she seemed to hear it. Everyone else was absorbed in the discussion about the gala.
"The venue is already booked," Kritika was saying, her tone excited. "The Grand Taj ballroom. We're expecting over three hundred guests."
"Nimisha should help with the planning," Raghbir said. "She's part of the family. She should be involved."
Saroj's lips thinned. "Of course. Though Kritika has been managing our charitable events for years. She knows all the vendors, all the expectations."
"I'm happy to help in any way I can," Nimisha said quietly.
"You could handle the seating arrangements," Kritika suggested kindly. "That would free up Maa and me to focus on the entertainment and auction items."
Seating arrangements. The most tedious, least important task. Of course.
"That sounds fine," Nimisha replied.
"Perfect! We'll coordinate next week." Kritika's smile was genuine, which somehow made it worse.
Kabir leaned forward, his attention on Nimisha. "Mrs. Ranawat, do you attend many of these charity events?"
"When required."
"How modest. I'm sure your presence is more than just a requirement." His smile was smooth, practiced. "Beauty like yours must be quite the draw for donations."
Samarth's hand, which had been relaxed on the table, curled into a fist.
Nimisha noticed. Everyone noticed.
"My wife's appearance is irrelevant to the family's charitable work," Samarth said, his voice cold enough to frost the windows. "Our reputation and genuine commitment to the causes we support are what matter."
"Of course," Kabir said quickly. "I meant no disrespect."
"See that you don't."
The threat was subtle but unmistakable.
Tanisha touched Kabir's arm, her expression slightly worried. "Tell Papa about the school project you're funding. He'll love that."
The conversation shifted again, tension easing as Kabir launched into a description of his philanthropic work that sounded impressive and completely manufactured to Nimisha's ears.
But she said nothing, played her part, smiled when expected.
Samarth barely looked at her for the rest of the meal.
When dinner finally ended, the men retreated to Raghbir's study for whiskey and business talk. The women moved to the sitting room for tea.
Nimisha excused herself, claiming a headache.
No one protested.
She made it to the hallway before she heard the click of claws on marble behind her.
"You should be with your master," she told Bruno without turning around.
The dog fell into step beside her anyway.
They walked in silence to the main doors, and she stepped outside, needing air, needing space from the suffocating weight of that dinner.
Bruno followed.
The night was cool, the gardens dark except for strategically placed lights along the pathways.
"Your master barely acknowledges I exist," she said to the dog, her voice breaking slightly. "But you... you defended me tonight. Why?"
Bruno sat, his massive form a dark shadow beside her.
"I'm nobody. Nothing. Just the wife he was forced to marry." She laughed bitterly. "I don't even know why I'm talking to you. You're a dog."
Bruno's eyes gleamed in the darkness, ancient and knowing.
"A very judgmental dog who apparently has opinions about my throwing arm."
His tail thumped once.
She smiled despite herself. "Thank you. For tonight. For being..." she trailed off, not sure how to finish.
For being the only one in this entire house who sees me, she thought but didn't say.
Bruno stood and pressed his massive head against her leg, a gesture of comfort she hadn't known she needed.
She rested her hand on his head and let herself breathe.
Just breathe.
Tomorrow would come with its own battles, its own humiliations, its own moments of feeling invisible.
But tonight, in the darkness, she had this.
A demon dog who'd chosen her as his friend.
It wasn't much.
But it was more than she'd had before.