CHAPTER 7 #2
She didn't hear the approach of footsteps—paws, rather. Didn't realize she had company until a warm, heavy presence settled beside her on the bench.
She looked up, startled, to find Bruno sitting there.
The demon dog. The killing machine. Samarth's most loyal companion.
He didn't try to comfort her. Didn't nuzzle or lick away her tears like dogs in movies did. He simply sat there, solid and warm, his dark eyes fixed on some point in the distance.
But he stayed.
"You can go," she'd whispered, wiping at her tears. "I'm fine."
Bruno didn't move.
"I'm just having a moment. Everyone's entitled to break down occasionally, right?"
No response. Just patient, unwavering presence.
She started talking then. About the loneliness. About feeling like a ghost in her own home. About loving a man who saw her as an obligation.
Bruno listened. Didn't judge. Didn't offer platitudes or false comfort.
Just listened.
When she finally ran out of words, he stood and walked away without a backward glance.
But the next night, when she couldn't sleep and ventured into the gardens again, he appeared.
And the night after that.
A routine formed in silence and shadows.
She would talk. He would listen.
She started bringing treats—expensive ones at first, then realizing he preferred simple things. Bits of chicken. Cheese. The occasional biscuit.
He started bringing her things he found during his patrols. Her scarf that had blown off a chair. A book she'd left in the garden. Once, inexplicably, one of Samarth's cufflinks.
She'd laughed at that, asked if he was trying to get her in trouble.
His expression suggested he found her master's possessions as uninteresting as she did.
"You're a strange dog," she'd told him one night. "Most dogs are friendly, eager to please. You're judgmental and selective."
Bruno's look clearly said: Exactly.
"I'm going to call you Boo Berry," she'd decided. "Since you're sweet underneath all that scary exterior."
He'd snorted but didn't protest.
Their bond had formed in those secret meetings. In shared silence and quiet understanding.
Two souls trapped in lives they hadn't chosen, finding solace in each other.
Present
"You're the only one who doesn't expect me to be someone I'm not," Nimisha told Bruno now, her fingers absently stroking his fur. "The only one who doesn't compare me to what I should be."
She opened her sketchbook—the one she kept hidden in the library—and began drawing. Bruno's profile. The strong lines of his jaw, the ancient wisdom in his eyes, the powerful build that made grown men nervous.
"You're going to be the hero of my next book," she told him. "Dark, protective, loyal to a fault. The kind of love interest who'd burn the world for his person."
The love story she'd never have.
She was so absorbed in her sketching that she didn't hear the door open. Didn't realize she had company until a shadow fell across her page.
She looked up.
Samarth stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable. His eyes moved from her to Bruno and back again, something dangerous flickering in their depths.
"How long?" he asked quietly.
"How long what?"
"How long have you and my dog been..." he gestured vaguely, "whatever this is?"
Nimisha set down her pencil. "A while."
"Define 'a while.'"
"Does it matter?"
His jaw tightened. "He's my dog. He's trained to protect me, to guard this estate. He doesn't fraternize."
"Maybe he got bored protecting someone who doesn't need protecting." She met his gaze calmly. "Maybe he wanted to protect someone who actually needs it."
Something flashed in Samarth's eyes. "You have security now."
"I have shadows following me everywhere. It's not the same as feeling safe."
He was silent for a moment, then: "Bruno. Here."
Bruno didn't move. Didn't even acknowledge the command.
Nimisha's breath caught. In all the months they'd been meeting, she'd never seen Bruno disobey a direct order from Samarth.
Samarth's eyes widened slightly in shock, then narrowed in anger. "Bruno. Now."
The dog's ears twitched, but he remained where he was, his head still on Nimisha's thigh.
"Boo," she said softly, "you should go to him."
Bruno turned his massive head to look at her, and in his eyes, she saw... apology? Understanding?
I'm sorry, but you need me more.
"Go," she urged. "It's okay."
With obvious reluctance, Bruno stood and moved to Samarth's side.
But he looked back at Nimisha once, his expression clear.
This isn't over.
Samarth stared at his dog like he'd never seen him before. Then his gaze lifted to Nimisha, something possessive and dangerous burning in those dark eyes.
"We need to talk," he said.
"We already talked this morning."
"That wasn't talking. That was you throwing accusations and running away."
She closed her sketchbook. "I didn't run away. I walked away. There's a difference."
"Nimisha—"
"What do you want from me, Samarth?" She stood, facing him fully. "You want me to follow the rules? I do. You want me to play the dutiful wife in public? I do. You want me available when you need release? I am. What more could you possibly want?"
"I want you to stop making this harder than it needs to be."
"Harder?" She laughed, the sound brittle. "You think I'm making this hard? You have no idea what hard is. Hard is loving someone who can't love you back. Hard is living in a house where everyone wishes you were someone else. Hard is giving everything and getting nothing in return."
The room went very still.
"You said you love someone," Samarth said slowly, his voice dangerous. "Who?"
She realized her mistake too late. "It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me. Who is it? Is this why you disappeared last night?"
"No one! There's no one!" She was angry now, the words spilling out before she could stop them. "There's only you. It's always been only you. And that's the problem, isn't it? Because you can't love me back. You won't even try."
His expression had gone completely blank. "Nimisha—"
"Don't." She held up a hand. "Don't say anything. I don't want your pity or your guilt or whatever emotion you're about to pretend to feel." She grabbed her laptop and sketchbook. "I have work to do. I'm sure you do too."
She moved to leave, but his hand shot out, grasping her wrist.
"Let me go," she said quietly.
"You said you love me."
"I said a lot of things this morning. Most of them I shouldn't have."
"Do you?" His grip tightened slightly. "Love me?"
She looked at him—really looked at him. At the man who'd been forced to marry her, who'd made it clear from day one that she meant nothing, who'd given her his body but never his heart.
And she made a decision.
"Does it matter?" she asked softly. "Would it change anything?"
He didn't answer.
Because they both knew the truth.
It wouldn't change a thing.
She pulled her wrist free gently. "That's what I thought."
This time, when she left, he didn't try to stop her.
Bruno watched her go, then looked up at his master with what could only be described as disappointment.
Samarth stood alone in the library, staring at the door through which his wife had disappeared, feeling like the ground had shifted beneath his feet.
There's only you. It's always been only you.
She loved him.
His unwanted wife, who he'd treated with cold indifference for a year, who he'd relegated to the margins of his life, who he'd touched in darkness but ignored in daylight—
She loved him.
And he had no idea what to do about that.