CHAPTER 4
Morning light filtered through the sitting room windows as Nimisha settled into the corner armchair with her laptop. She'd finished her morning routine—breakfast alone, thirty minutes of writing, an hour at the gym—and now planned to work on her manuscript for a few hours before lunch.
"Ma'am?"
She looked up to find Radha hovering in the doorway.
"Yes?"
"Would you like some tea?"
"Yes, please. And maybe some of those coconut biscuits if there are any left?"
Radha shifted her weight. "I'll check, ma'am."
She disappeared, and Nimisha returned her attention to her laptop. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty.
No tea appeared.
Voices drifted from the hallway—Radha's, and another woman's. Laughter, light and friendly.
Nimisha's jaw tightened, but she didn't move. She knew what was happening.
Five minutes later, Radha appeared again, this time carrying a tray laden with tea, fresh coconut biscuits, and even some ladoos.
She walked right past Nimisha's chair.
"Here you are, ma'am," Radha said warmly, setting the tray on the table where Kritika had just settled with a book.
"Thank you so much, Radha," Kritika said, her smile bright. "You always know exactly what I need."
"My pleasure, ma'am."
Radha left without a backward glance at Nimisha.
Kritika looked up, noticed Nimisha watching, and her smile faltered. "Oh! Nimisha, did you want tea? Radha, could you—"
"It's fine," Nimisha interrupted, her voice even. "I'll get it myself."
"Are you sure? It's no trouble—"
"I'm sure."
She closed her laptop and stood, moving toward the kitchen with measured steps. This wasn't the first time. It wouldn't be the last.
In the grand scheme of humiliations she endured in this house, being ignored by the servants barely registered anymore.
The kitchen was bustling with staff preparing lunch. Nimisha navigated to the tea station, finding a clean cup and starting the kettle herself.
The cook, Lakshmi, glanced over. "Mrs. Ranawat? Do you need something?"
"Just making tea."
"I can do that for you—"
"I've got it. Thank you."
Lakshmi nodded and returned to chopping vegetables, but Nimisha caught the exchanged looks between the staff. The unspoken question: Why is the mistress of the house making her own tea?
Because asking for it apparently didn't work.
She finished preparing her tea and returned to the sitting room, only to find it now occupied by not just Kritika, but Saroj as well.
"There you are," Saroj said. "We were just discussing the gala seating arrangements. Since you'll be handling those, we should go over the guest list."
Nimisha set her tea on the side table and took her seat. "Of course."
"The Mehras need to be near the front, obviously," Saroj began. "And the Kapoors—they're major donors. The Sinhas should be at table one with us..."
The list went on. Nimisha made notes, nodded in the right places, and watched as Saroj and Kritika essentially planned the entire seating chart without her input.
She was a secretary, not a planner.
"Oh, and make sure Kabir is at our table," Saroj added. "Since he's practically family now."
"Of course."
"He seems like a nice young man," Kritika said. "Very successful for his age."
"Tanisha has excellent taste," Saroj agreed. "Not like—" she caught herself, but the implication hung in the air.
Not like Samarth, who'd been forced to marry someone unsuitable.
"I should get back to my writing," Nimisha said, gathering her things.
"Of course, beta. Your little stories." Saroj's tone was dismissive. "Though do try to finish the seating arrangements by tomorrow. We're running behind schedule."
"I will."
Nimisha retreated to her study, closing the door firmly behind her. She set down her laptop and tea, then crossed to the window, needing to see something other than these walls.
A dark shape in the garden caught her eye.
Bruno.
The dog was sprawled in a patch of sunlight near the fountain, looking utterly relaxed in a way he never did around others.
She smiled despite her foul mood.
A soft knock on her door made her turn. "Come in."
The door opened to reveal not Saroj or Kritika, but Shaurya, carrying a large box.
"Special delivery for my favorite bhabhi," he announced, setting the box on her desk.
"I'm your only bhabhi."
"Semantics." He grinned. "This came from bhaiya—your brother. He sent it from Singapore."
Nimisha's throat tightened. Abhay, her older brother, was one of the few people from her previous life who still contacted her. Their father had essentially cut her off after the wedding, viewing her as a chess piece successfully deployed.
But Abhay... Abhay still cared.
"Thank you for bringing it up."
"No problem. What is it?"
"Probably books and snacks. He knows I have a weakness for imported chocolates."
"Speaking of which," Shaurya pulled up a chair, "you should open it. I want to see what big brother Shah sent."
Nimisha pulled the box closer and began working on the tape. It was sealed tightly, the edges resistant to her attempts to open it.
"Here, let me—" Shaurya reached over.
"I've got it." She tugged harder, her nails scraping uselessly against the packaging tape.
A huff from the doorway made them both look up.
Bruno stood there, his expression radiating pure canine exasperation.
"How did you get in here?" Nimisha asked. "I closed the door."
Bruno walked over and sat beside her desk, his eyes fixed on the stubborn box.
Are we really associated, human? his expression seemed to say. You can't even open a box?
"Don't start," Nimisha muttered, attacking the tape with renewed vigor.
Shaurya stared between them. "Are you... having a conversation with Bruno?"
"No."
"You are. You're literally arguing with a dog."
"I'm not arguing. I'm simply acknowledging his judgmental presence."
Bruno sighed dramatically, the sound so human-like that Shaurya laughed.
"This is the weirdest thing I've ever seen," he said. "And I've seen Abhay wrestle a guy twice his size while wearing a three-piece suit."
Nimisha finally got the box open, pulling out the contents. Books, as expected—the latest releases from her favorite romance authors. A package of Belgian chocolates. Japanese Kit-Kats in exotic flavors. And a box of her favorite biscuits from the bakery near their childhood home.
"Your brother has good taste," Shaurya observed, eyeing the chocolates.
"He knows what I like." She pulled out a particularly stubborn package of mochi, the plastic wrap sealed tight. "Unlike this packaging, which clearly hates me."
She twisted and pulled, her fingers slipping uselessly against the smooth plastic.
Bruno watched her struggles with what could only be described as disappointment.
"Oh, shut up," she told the dog. "Not all of us have teeth designed for tearing things apart."
Shaurya choked on his laugh. "Did you just tell Bruno to shut up?"
"He started it," Nimisha said defensively.
"I'm pretty sure he didn't say anything."
"You don't know that. He's very expressive."
Bruno huffed in agreement.
"Okay, this is officially the strangest conversation I've ever been part of," Shaurya said. "And my family runs a criminal empire."
Nimisha stuck her tongue out at Bruno.
The dog's ears perked forward, his eyes widening slightly.
Shaurya made a strangled sound. "Did you... did you just stick your tongue out at Bruno? The Bruno? The dog that once killed a man for looking at bhai wrong?"
"He's being judgmental."
"HE'S A DOG."
"A very judgmental dog who apparently has opinions about my manual dexterity."
Bruno's tail swished once, a gesture that somehow conveyed amusement.
"How long has this been going on?" Shaurya asked, fascination evident in his voice. "This whole... friendship thing?"
"We're not friends."
Bruno's expression suggested otherwise.
"We have an understanding," Nimisha clarified, finally giving up on the mochi and setting it aside. She opened the chocolate instead, popping a piece in her mouth. The rich Belgian cocoa melted on her tongue, a small moment of bliss.
"What kind of understanding?"
"The kind where he judges me silently, and I feed him treats occasionally."
"You feed him treats?"
"Sometimes."
Shaurya leaned back in his chair, studying her with open curiosity. "Does bhai know about this?"
"There's nothing to know."
"Bhabhi, his dog is currently sitting in your study like he owns the place. That's not nothing."
"Bruno goes where he wants."
"Bruno goes where bhai goes," Shaurya corrected. "Except, apparently, when he's with you."
Nimisha said nothing, unwrapping another chocolate.
"This is fascinating," Shaurya continued. "Absolutely fascinating. The demon dog has befriended the unwanted wife."
The words stung, even though Shaurya hadn't meant them cruelly. He was simply stating facts.
"I'm not unwanted," she said quietly.
"Bhabhi—"
"I'm just... not preferred. There's a difference."
The silence that followed was uncomfortable.
Bruno, sensing the shift in mood, moved closer to Nimisha's chair. His massive head came to rest on the arm, dark eyes fixed on her face.
"Judgmental for a dog," she murmured, running her fingers through his fur. "Takes after your master, I suppose."
Bruno's expression clearly said: Obviously.
Shaurya's phone buzzed. He checked it and grimaced. "Bhai wants me at the office. Something about a shipment."
"Go. I know you're busy."
He stood but hesitated at the door. "Bhabhi... for what it's worth, I don't think you're unwanted. I think my brother is an idiot who doesn't know what he has."
"Shaurya—"
"And I think someday he's going to realize that. I just hope it's not too late when he does."
He left before she could respond.
Nimisha sat in the silence, her fingers still buried in Bruno's fur.
"Your master doesn't want me," she told the dog quietly. "He made that very clear from the beginning."
Bruno's eyes held an ancient wisdom that transcended species.
"But you're here anyway. Why?"
The dog didn't answer, of course. But his presence was answer enough.
Sometimes loyalty wasn't about logic. Sometimes it was about recognizing something in another creature that resonated with your own soul.