Chapter Five
Month Three
The pattern established itself with cruel efficiency.
During the day, Sidharth was a ghost. He left before she woke, returned long after dinner, and when they did cross paths, he treated her with the same cool politeness he'd show a business associate.
His eyes would slide past her like she was part of the furniture.
Conversations were limited to necessities: "I'll be late tonight.
" "There's an event on Friday." "The blue dress, not the red one. "
But at night...
At night, he was fire and possession and desperate hunger.
It started three days after their first time. Advika had been in bed, pretending to read, when Sidharth had emerged from the bathroom in just his pajama bottoms. Their eyes had met across the room, and something had shifted in the air—charged, electric, inevitable.
He'd crossed to her in three strides. The book had fallen from her hands. And then his mouth was on hers, and all the careful distance of the day evaporated in the heat between them.
Now, two months later, it happened two or three times a week.
Always at night. Always initiated by him with that same intense, wordless hunger.
He'd reach for her in the darkness, and her body would respond before her mind could protest, arching into his touch like she'd been waiting for it all day.
Because she had been. God help her, she had been.
The sex was incredible—passionate, intense, sometimes tender, sometimes rough, always leaving her boneless and satisfied.
Sidharth was an attentive lover, learning her body with the same focused precision he applied to everything else.
He knew where to touch, where to kiss, what made her gasp and what made her scream.
But afterward...
Afterward, he always left.
He'd roll out of bed, his breathing still heavy, and disappear into the bathroom. She'd hear the shower running. When he emerged, he'd dress in fresh clothes—usually a t-shirt and sweatpants—and leave without a word. Sometimes he went to his office. Sometimes to one of the guest rooms.
He never stayed. Never held her. Never whispered sweet things in the aftermath or asked if she was okay.
It was just sex. Physical release. Nothing more.
At least, that's what Advika told herself.
She was lying.
It was a Tuesday afternoon when Advika finally worked up the courage to approach Sidharth in his home office. She'd been rehearsing her pitch for days, knowing she'd only get one shot at this.
She knocked on the heavy wooden door, her heart hammering.
"Come in."
Sidharth sat behind his massive desk, surrounded by papers and screens, looking every bit the powerful businessman. He didn't look up from his laptop.
"I need to talk to you," Advika said, closing the door behind her.
"I'm busy."
"It'll just take a minute."
He sighed, the sound conveying his irritation clearly, but finally looked up. His amber eyes were cool, assessing. During the day, he looked at her like this—like she was an inconvenience he had to tolerate.
It made what they did at night feel even more surreal.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I want permission to use the kitchen. To bake." The words came out in a rush. "Not interfere with the staff or anything, just... I need to create something. I need to do what I love, even if it's just for the household."
Sidharth leaned back in his chair, studying her. "The kitchen staff can make whatever you want."
"That's not the same. I need to do it myself. With my own hands." She hated how desperate she sounded. "Please. I'm going insane with nothing to do."
A long silence stretched between them. Advika forced herself to hold his gaze, to not look away first.
"Fine," he finally said. "But clear it with the head chef first. And don't disrupt the household schedule."
Relief flooded through her. "Thank you."
"Is that all?"
She wanted to ask so many other things. Why do you touch me at night but ignore me during the day? Do I mean anything to you at all? Can we at least try to be friends?
But she knew better. So she just nodded and left, feeling his eyes on her back until the door closed between them.
It was a small victory. But lately, Advika had learned to treasure the small ones.
Within a week, Advika had established a routine. She'd spend her afternoons in the kitchen, creating elaborate pastries and desserts. The staff had been wary at first, but quickly warmed to her, especially when they realized she cleaned up after herself and genuinely just wanted to bake.
She made chocolate éclairs filled with vanilla custard. Delicate fruit tarts with pastry cream. A three-layer red velvet cake that took hours but came out perfect. Croissants from scratch, the laminated dough requiring patience and precision she was happy to give.
The staff devoured everything she made. Lakshmi, the head housekeeper, started requesting specific items. "Mrs. Singhania, could you make those lemon bars again? The gardeners have been asking."
Even Rishabh became a regular visitor to the kitchen, showing up with impeccable timing whenever something was coming out of the oven.
"You're going to make me fat," he complained one afternoon, accepting a still-warm cinnamon roll. "But God, these are worth it."
Advika smiled, wiping flour from her cheek. "Glad someone appreciates my work."
"Everyone appreciates it. Even the security guys have been fighting over your cookies." He took a bite, groaning in pleasure. "Seriously, Advika, this is professional level. You should open a bakery."
"I had one," she said quietly. "Sinfully Sweet. Before..."
Before she'd been forced to marry his brother. Before her life had been upended.
Rishabh's expression softened. "Right. Sorry."
"It's fine." She turned back to the dough she was kneading, needing something to do with her hands. "This helps. Being able to create something, even if it's just for the household."
"It's not 'just' anything." Rishabh leaned against the counter, watching her work. "You're really talented. And for what it's worth, I think Sidharth is an idiot."
Advika's hands stilled. "What?"
"He's my brother, and I love him, but he's an idiot when it comes to you." Rishabh's voice was gentle. "I see how he looks at you when you're not watching. And I see how you look at him. You're both miserable, and it doesn't have to be this way."
"Your brother made it very clear what I am to him," Advika said, her voice tight. "A means to an end. The treaty bride."
"Is that what he said?"
"More or less."
Rishabh shook his head. "He's scared. After what happened to our parents, after being betrayed by someone we trusted... he doesn't let people in. Doesn't trust easily."
"I'm not asking him to trust me. I'm just asking him to acknowledge I exist during daylight hours."
The words hung in the air, more bitter than she'd intended.
"Give him time," Rishabh said finally. "He's—"
"Broken. I know." Advika went back to her kneading with more force than necessary. "Everyone keeps telling me that. But being broken doesn't give him the right to break me too."
Rishabh had no answer for that. He finished his cinnamon roll in silence and left, leaving Advika alone with her thoughts and her dough.
That evening, Nisha swept into the dining room where Advika was setting out a platter of macarons she'd made—lavender honey, rose pistachio, and dark chocolate.
"How domestic," Nisha said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She was dressed for an evening out, all designer labels and perfect makeup. "Playing housewife now?"
"Baking," Advika corrected, not taking the bait. "There's a difference."
"Is there?" Nisha picked up a macaron, examining it like it might be poisoned. "How do we know what you've put in these? You are a Pradhan, after all."
Advika's hand tightened on the platter, but she kept her voice level. "If I wanted to poison you, Nisha, I'd be far more creative than a macaron. Maybe a nice mushroom risotto. Or some expertly prepared fugu. Baking is too obvious."
Nisha's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Are you threatening me?"
"I'm pointing out the flaw in your logic.
" Advika set the platter down with deliberate care.
"If you're so convinced I'm some sort of spy or saboteur, maybe ask yourself why I'd waste three years building a successful bakery just to throw it all away for the privilege of being ignored by your brother. "
"You didn't throw it away. You married up. Way up."
"Right. Because living in a house where half the people hate me and my husband pretends I don't exist is such an upgrade." Advika's laugh was sharp. "You know what? Don't eat the macarons. More for people who actually appreciate them."
She started to leave, but Nisha's voice stopped her.
"He doesn't love you, you know. He never will."
The words were designed to hurt, and they did. But Advika had learned to hide her wounds.
"Good thing I don't love him either," she lied, meeting Nisha's gaze steadily. "This is a business arrangement, remember? You said so yourself. I'm just the means to an end."
She walked out before Nisha could see the cracks in her armor.
Later that night, alone in her bedroom while Sidharth worked late yet again, Advika allowed herself to cry. Just a little. Just enough to release the pressure building in her chest.
Then she dried her tears, washed her face, and went to bed.
Tomorrow, she'd bake something else. Tomorrow, she'd get through another day of pretending she was fine.
Tomorrow, she'd keep lying to herself about what she felt for her husband.
The shift happened around 2 AM.
Advika was almost asleep when she heard the bedroom door open. Sidharth moved quietly through the dark room, but she'd learned to recognize the sound of his footsteps, the rustle of fabric as he undressed.
The bed dipped as he slid in beside her. For a moment, there was only silence and the sound of their breathing.
Then his hand found her hip, warm through the thin fabric of her nightgown.