Chapter Four
One Month Later
She lay in the massive bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to Sidharth's steady breathing on the other side of the pillow wall.
A month and a half of marriage, and this was still their routine—sharing a bed while maintaining careful distance, like strangers on a train who happened to be sitting too close.
Her mind wouldn't quiet. Thoughts circled endlessly—her bakery slowly slipping away despite Meera's best efforts, her mother's disappointed face if she could see her now, the constant low-grade anxiety of living in a house where she wasn't wanted.
She needed to create something. Needed to feel her hands working, producing beauty instead of just existing in this expensive limbo.
Slowly, carefully, Advika slipped out of bed. Sidharth didn't stir. She grabbed a robe and padded barefoot through the dark mansion, muscle memory guiding her after six weeks of wandering these halls.
The kitchen was her destination. Not the small breakfast kitchen the family used, but the main one—a chef's dream with commercial-grade appliances, endless counter space, and a pantry that could feed an army.
She'd discovered it two weeks ago and had been sneaking down occasionally when sleep eluded her. The kitchen staff had been surprised at first, then cautiously welcoming. They'd started leaving ingredients out for her, a silent permission that meant more than words.
Tonight, she wanted chocolate. Something rich and decadent and complex. Something that would require all her focus.
Advika gathered ingredients with practiced efficiency—dark chocolate, butter, eggs, sugar, cream. Her hands moved on autopilot, measuring and mixing, while her mind finally, blissfully, quieted.
This was meditation. This was therapy. This was home.
She melted chocolate over a double boiler, watching it transform from solid to liquid silk. Separated eggs with precision, whipped them to stiff peaks. Created a batter that was more art than science, poured it into pans, slid them into the oven.
While the cake layers baked, she started on the ganache. More chocolate, heavy cream, a touch of espresso to deepen the flavor. The kitchen filled with the rich, intoxicating scent of chocolate and butter and sugar.
Time lost meaning. There was only the rhythm of creation—fold, whip, pour, taste. Her mother had taught her to bake when she was barely tall enough to reach the counter. Baking is love made edible, Akshara used to say. You put your heart into it, and people can taste it.
Advika assembled the torte with meticulous care. Three layers of rich chocolate cake, ganache between each, a final coating that she smoothed to mirror-like perfection. Then came the decoration—chocolate curls she'd prepared earlier, a dusting of cocoa powder, fresh raspberries arranged just so.
She stepped back, surveying her work. It was beautiful. Perfect. Everything in her life wasn't, captured in cake form.
"Impressive."
Advika spun around, her heart leaping into her throat.
Sidharth stood in the doorway, still wearing his pajama bottoms but shirtless, his hair slightly mussed from sleep. He looked... different. Less composed. More human.
"I didn't mean to wake you," she said, suddenly self-conscious. She probably looked ridiculous—her robe dusted with flour, her hair in a messy bun, a smudge of chocolate on her cheek she could feel but couldn't see.
"You didn't." He moved into the kitchen with that predatory grace she'd never quite gotten used to. "I woke up and you were gone."
The words hung between them. He'd noticed her absence. That was... new.
"I couldn't sleep," Advika said, turning back to her torte. "So I came down here. Baking helps me think."
"At two in the morning?"
"Insomnia doesn't keep business hours."
He made a sound that might have been amusement. Might have been. With Sidharth, it was hard to tell.
She felt him move closer, looking over her shoulder at the finished torte. He was close enough that she could smell him—that expensive cologne mixed with something uniquely him. Close enough that her skin prickled with awareness.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Chocolate torte. Dark chocolate cake layers with espresso ganache, finished with chocolate curls and fresh raspberries.
" She gestured to the components as she spoke.
"The espresso brings out the chocolate notes without making it taste like coffee.
And the raspberries add a tartness that cuts through the richness. "
"You put a lot of thought into this."
"I put thought into everything I bake." Advika glanced at him, finding his gaze already on her.
Those amber eyes were less cold than usual, almost curious.
"Baking isn't just following a recipe. It's understanding how flavors work together, how textures complement each other. It's chemistry and art combined."
"Philosophy of baking at two AM," Sidharth murmured. "Interesting."
"Mock all you want. This is what I love."
"I'm not mocking." He reached out, his thumb brushing across her cheek. The touch was startling in its gentleness. "You have flour. And chocolate."
Her breath caught. His hand lingered for just a second too long before dropping away.
"Occupational hazard," she managed, her voice embarrassingly breathless.
Sidharth's eyes darkened, but he stepped back, putting necessary distance between them. "Can I taste it?"
"The torte? Yes. Of course." Advika grabbed a knife, cutting a perfect slice and plating it. Her hands trembled slightly. "Fair warning—it's very rich."
She handed him the plate and a fork, watching as he took his first bite.
For a moment, his expression remained neutral. Then something shifted—his eyes widened fractionally, his posture relaxed a degree.
"This is..." He took another bite, slower this time, savoring. "This is exceptional."
Pride bloomed warm in her chest. "Thank you."
"No, I mean it." Sidharth looked at her, really looked at her, for what felt like the first time since their wedding. "This is restaurant quality. Better than restaurant quality. You made this from scratch? In the middle of the night?"
"It's what I do. What I did." The past tense tasted bitter. "When I had my bakery."
Something flickered across his face—regret, maybe. But it was gone too quickly to be sure.
"You're good at this," he said quietly. "Really good."
Four words. Simple. But they meant everything.
For a moment, they just stood there in the kitchen, surrounded by the evidence of her passion, and Advika felt a connection forming. Fragile as spun sugar, but real.
Then Sidharth set down the plate, his walls slamming back up with almost audible force. His expression closed off, becoming the cold mask she knew so well.
"Clean up when you're done," he said, his tone dismissive. "The kitchen staff will be up in a few hours."
And just like that, the moment shattered.
Advika watched him walk away, her heart sinking. For just a few minutes, she'd glimpsed something beneath the ice—a man who could appreciate beauty, who could connect with another person's passion.
But he'd locked it away again, retreating behind his walls where she couldn't follow.
Still, as she cleaned up the kitchen, carefully boxing the remaining torte, Advika couldn't quite suppress the small spark of hope.
He'd noticed she was gone from bed. He'd tasted her creation. He'd seen her—really seen her—for just a moment.
It wasn't much. But it was more than she'd had before.
Two Weeks Later
"Oh, Advika, could you bring me some tea?" Nisha's voice drifted from the living room where she sat with two of her society friends. "Earl Grey, please. And make sure it's not too hot."
Advika, who'd been walking past on her way to the library, stopped dead. She turned slowly to face Nisha, who was smiling that particular smile that said she knew exactly what she was doing.
They'd had an uneasy truce since Sidharth had "spoken" to his sister—which apparently meant a conversation that changed nothing except making Nisha more creative with her cruelty.
"The kitchen is that way," Advika said, pointing. "I'm sure you remember where it is, having grown up here and all."
Nisha's friends exchanged uncomfortable glances.
"I'm asking you," Nisha said, her voice saccharine sweet. "Surely you're not too busy?"
"Actually, I am. I was just about to read a book. You know, that thing with pages? Very time-consuming."
One of Nisha's friends—Priya, Advika thought her name was—made a sound that might have been a suppressed laugh.
Nisha's eyes flashed. "It's just tea—"
"Then it should be easy for you to get it yourself."
"You're being incredibly rude—"
"Am I?" Advika stepped fully into the room, done with dancing around this. "Because from where I'm standing, you asking me to serve you tea in front of your friends, when there's a full kitchen staff available, seems pretty rude. Unless you'd like to explain how that's different?"
"It's different because I'm asking my sister-in-law for a favor," Nisha said through gritted teeth. "Which normal people do in normal families."
"Right. And in normal families, sisters-in-law don't ask each other for 'favors' that look suspiciously like orders.
" Advika smiled, all teeth. "So here's a thought—next time you want tea, ring for the staff.
That's literally their job. Or, radical idea, make it yourself. The kettle isn't that complicated."
"Bhai is going to hear about this," Nisha hissed.
"Great. I'll wait here while you call him. I'm sure he'll love being interrupted from whatever meeting he's in to hear about the tea emergency."
Rishabh's voice came from behind her. "What tea emergency?"
Advika turned to find him leaning against the doorframe, clearly trying not to smile. He'd been doing that more lately—showing up during Nisha and Advika's confrontations like he was watching a particularly entertaining show.
"Nisha wants tea," Advika explained. "I suggested she get it herself. Apparently, this is controversial."