Chapter Three
Advika woke up to an empty bed.
The space beside her was cold, the sheets undisturbed. Sidharth hadn't come to bed at all.
She sat up slowly, her body aching from tension more than exertion.
The heavy bridal lehenga lay discarded on a chair where she'd finally managed to remove it around two in the morning, her fingers fumbling with hooks and ties in the unfamiliar darkness.
She'd found a simple cotton nightgown in the closet—her closet now, she supposed—and had crawled into the massive bed alone.
She'd lain awake for hours, listening for footsteps that never came, her mind a chaotic mess of relief and humiliation.
Her wedding night, and her husband hadn't even bothered to show up.
Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the masculine bedroom in harsh detail.
Everything was expensive, tasteful, and utterly impersonal.
There were no photographs, no personal items, nothing that gave any hint of who Sidharth Singhania actually was beneath the cold exterior.
A knock on the door made her jump.
"Come in," she called, pulling the duvet up to her chin.
A woman in her fifties entered, wearing a simple salwar kameez and carrying a tray. Her expression was professionally neutral, but her eyes held curiosity.
"Good morning, Mrs. Singhania. I'm Lakshmi, the head housekeeper.
I've brought your morning tea." She set the tray on the nightstand—fine china, perfectly brewed tea, a small plate of biscuits.
"Mr. Singhania asked me to inform you that breakfast is served in the dining room at nine. The family usually gathers then."
Mr. Singhania. So formal. So distant.
"Thank you, Lakshmi." Advika's voice came out rougher than she'd intended. "What time is it now?"
"Eight-thirty, ma'am."
Thirty minutes to make herself presentable for her new family. Thirty minutes to armor herself for whatever fresh hell awaited.
Lakshmi hesitated at the door. "If you need anything, anything at all, please ring. I've been with the Singhania family for twenty years. I know this house can be... overwhelming at first."
There was kindness in her voice, and it nearly broke something in Advika. She managed a weak smile. "I'll keep that in mind."
After Lakshmi left, Advika forced herself out of bed.
The attached bathroom was larger than her entire apartment above Sinfully Sweet—all marble and gold fixtures and a shower that probably had more settings than her car.
She showered quickly, the hot water doing nothing to ease the knot of anxiety in her stomach.
Her clothes had been unpacked and organized with military precision. Expensive sarees she'd never seen before hung beside the few outfits she'd brought from home. More additions to the costume she was expected to wear.
She chose a simple mint green salwar kameez—one of her own, soft and familiar. If she was going to face the Singhania family, she'd do it as herself, not dressed up like a doll.
The mansion was a labyrinth. Advika got lost twice before finding the dining room, her footsteps echoing in hallways lined with portraits of stern-faced ancestors. Everything about this place screamed old money, old power, old secrets.
Voices drifted from the dining room as she approached. She paused outside the door, steeling herself.
"—surprised she even showed up," Nisha's voice, dripping with disdain. "I half expected her to run back to daddy."
"Nisha." That was Rishabh, his tone mildly reproving. "Give her a chance."
"A chance? She's a Pradhan. That's all I need to know."
Advika straightened her shoulders and pushed open the door.
The dining room was as ostentatious as the rest of the house—a table that could seat twenty, a chandelier that probably cost more than most people's houses, and walls lined with more judging ancestors.
Sidharth sat at the head of the table, impeccably dressed in a dark suit, his attention on his phone.
Nisha was to his right, beautiful in a designer dress, her eyes cold.
Rishabh sat across from her, looking up as Advika entered.
"Good morning," Rishabh said, his smile polite if not warm. "Please, sit."
Advika took the seat to Sidharth's left—apparently her designated spot. He didn't look up from his phone, didn't acknowledge her presence at all.
The first cut of the day.
"Sleep well?" Nisha asked, her smile sharp as glass. "I'm sure the bed was comfortable. Sidharth had it custom made."
"I wouldn't know," Advika replied, reaching for the teapot. "He didn't seem interested in sharing it."
Sidharth's fingers stilled on his phone screen. Rishabh coughed, poorly disguising a laugh. Nisha's eyes widened, then narrowed.
"How crude," Nisha said. "Is that how people from your... background talk?"
"Only when provoked." Advika met her gaze steadily. "Would you prefer I lie and pretend this is a love match? I thought you valued honesty."
"I value knowing one's place."
"And I value not being condescended to before I've had my morning tea." Advika took a deliberate sip, maintaining eye contact. "So perhaps we can start over. Good morning, Nisha. Lovely weather we're having."
For a moment, silence hung heavy in the room. Then Rishabh laughed—a genuine sound that seemed to surprise even him.
"I like her," he announced, grinning at his brother. "She's got spine."
Sidharth finally looked up, his amber eyes moving from Rishabh to Advika. His expression was unreadable. "Don't encourage her."
"Why not? Someone should." Rishabh turned to Advika. "Welcome to the family, Advika. For what it's worth, I hope you'll be happy here."
The words were clearly sincere, and they settled something in Advika's chest. At least one person in this house didn't actively hate her.
"Thank you," she said softly.
"Don't get too comfortable," Nisha interjected, her voice saccharine sweet. "Marriage doesn't change anything. You're here because we need the Pradhans to stay in line. Nothing more. You're a means to an end."
The words were designed to hurt, to put her in her place. Advika felt the sting but refused to show it.
"Fascinating," Advika said, spreading jam on her toast with exaggerated care. "And here I thought I was here because your brother agreed to marry me. But if I'm just a means to an end, that makes him what? The end that justified the means? Or is he a means too, just better dressed?"
Nisha's face flushed red. "You dare—"
"Enough." Sidharth's voice cut through the room like a blade. He set his phone down, his gaze moving between his sister and his wife. "Both of you."
"She started it," Nisha said, sounding like a petulant child.
"And I'm ending it." Sidharth stood, adjusting his cufflinks. "I have meetings all day. Advika, the staff will show you around the estate. Stay within the grounds for now."
Stay within the grounds. Like a prisoner.
"And if I want to leave?" Advika asked, her voice deceptively calm.
"You don't." It wasn't a suggestion. It was an order. "Security protocols are still being established. Until they are, you stay here."
He walked out without another word, leaving Advika staring at his retreating back.
"Welcome to your new life," Nisha said with a satisfied smirk. "Enjoy your cage, sister."
The days blurred together in a monotonous pattern that felt like drowning in slow motion.
Advika woke alone. Ate breakfast while enduring Nisha's barbs and Rishabh's awkward attempts at civility.
Wandered the massive estate like a ghost, exploring rooms she'd never use and gardens too perfect to feel real.
Ate lunch alone in her room because facing Nisha again was too exhausting.
Spent afternoons staring at her phone, checking messages from Meera about the bakery, feeling her life slipping away.
And at night, Sidharth would return.
He'd enter their bedroom late—always after midnight—moving quietly through his routine.
Shower. Check his phone. Finally, slip into bed on his side, maintaining a careful distance.
He'd built a wall of pillows down the center of the bed the second night, a physical barrier that might as well have been made of concrete.
They never spoke. Never touched. Never acknowledged each other beyond the bare minimum required by cohabitation.
He was a stranger who happened to share her bed, and she was... nothing. A fixture in his house. Less important than the furniture.
By the end of the first week, Advika was going mad.
The estate was enormous—twenty bedrooms, multiple living areas, a library she wasn't sure she was allowed to use, gardens that went on forever. But it felt like a prison. Beautiful, luxurious, and utterly suffocating.
She tried to find purpose. Tried to carve out a space for herself.
"Is there anything I can help with?" she asked Lakshmi one afternoon, desperate for something to do.
The housekeeper looked uncomfortable. "That's very kind, Mrs. Singhania, but we have everything under control. Mr. Singhania is very particular about how the household runs."
Of course he was.
She tried to discuss dinner menus. Was told the chef had already planned the week's meals.
She tried to organize the library. Was informed by a tight-lipped staff member that it was "already organized to Mr. Singhania's specifications."
She tried to work on her laptop, managing Sinfully Sweet remotely. But without being able to visit the bakery, to create, to do what she loved, it felt hollow. Meera sent daily updates that only made the ache worse.
Meera: Mrs. Kapoor loved the cake! Wants to book us for her daughter's engagement.
Meera: The new chocolate tart recipe you sent is amazing. Sold out in two hours.
Meera: When are you coming back? The place isn't the same without you.
Never. The answer was never, and they both knew it.
Advika was forbidden from leaving the estate. "Security reasons," Sidharth had said in one of their rare, clipped conversations. As if she were a target. As if she mattered enough to be targeted.