Chapter Six
Month Four
The dinner party was Nisha's idea, of course.
"Just a small gathering," she'd announced at breakfast three days ago, her smile sharp enough to cut glass. "Some of my closest friends. Very intimate."
Which meant Mihika would be there. Because Mihika was always there lately, materializing at the estate like a persistent ghost, her eyes following Sidharth with barely concealed longing.
Advika should have been used to it by now. Four months of marriage, and Mihika's presence was as constant as the sunrise. Coffee meetings that ran long. Business dinners where she'd appear uninvited. Casual drop-bys where she'd be dressed like she was going to a nightclub, not visiting a friend.
And Sidharth... Sidharth never encouraged it, but he never shut it down either. He was polite, distant, treating Mihika the same way he treated everyone except Advika in their bed.
But it still made Advika's blood boil.
"Do I have to attend?" Advika asked, pushing her toast around her plate.
"You're family," Nisha said sweetly. "Of course you have to attend."
Rishabh caught Advika's eye across the table, his expression sympathetic. He knew what this dinner was really about—another opportunity for Nisha to make Advika uncomfortable in her own home.
"It'll be fun," Nisha continued. "I've invited the Malhotras—not Vikram, don't worry—and the Kapoors, and of course Mihika. She's been dying to catch up with Sidharth. They have so much history, you know."
History. The word was loaded, deliberately chosen to make Advika feel like the outsider she was.
"Fascinating," Advika said flatly. "I can't wait."
Sidharth, who'd been focused on his phone throughout this exchange, finally looked up. His gaze moved between his sister and his wife, some unreadable emotion flickering in his amber eyes.
"Play nice," he said to both of them. "I don't want drama at dinner."
"When do I ever cause drama?" Nisha asked innocently.
Advika bit her tongue to keep from laughing. Or screaming. She wasn't sure which.
The dinner was exactly as awful as Advika had anticipated.
Nisha had arranged the seating with surgical precision—Mihika to Sidharth's right, herself to his left.
Advika was placed at the far end of the table, between Mr. Kapoor (who spent the entire meal talking about his stock portfolio) and Mrs. Malhotra (who kept asking invasive questions about when Advika and Sidharth planned to have children).
From her vantage point, Advika had a perfect view of Mihika's performance.
And it was a performance. The way she laughed at everything Sidharth said, her hand constantly finding reasons to touch his arm.
The way she leaned in close when speaking to him, her body language screaming intimacy.
The inside jokes she referenced, reminding everyone that she'd known him long before Advika entered the picture.
"Remember that time in Goa?" Mihika was saying, her voice carrying down the table. "When we went parasailing and you were convinced I was going to fall?"
"You almost did fall," Sidharth replied, his tone polite but not warm.
"But you caught me." Mihika's hand landed on his forearm, squeezing. "You always catch me."
Advika's grip tightened on her wine glass. She took a long drink, trying to calm the jealousy burning in her chest.
"Are you alright, dear?" Mrs. Malhotra asked, leaning in with concern. "You look a bit flushed."
"Fine," Advika managed. "Just warm in here."
Across the table, Rishabh was watching her with barely concealed sympathy. He raised his own glass in a small salute, and she managed a weak smile in return.
The dinner dragged on. Course after course, each one beautifully prepared by the estate's chef, each one tasting like ash in Advika's mouth as she watched Mihika work her magic.
Then came the moment that broke something in Advika.
Under the table, she saw it—Mihika's hand sliding from Sidharth's arm to his thigh, her fingers trailing upward with clear intent.
Advika's vision went red.
She stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. "Excuse me," she said, her voice carefully controlled. "I need some air."
She fled before anyone could respond, her heels clicking against marble as she made her way through the mansion. She needed space, needed air, needed to not be in that dining room watching another woman touch her husband while everyone pretended not to notice.
The library. She headed there automatically, seeking refuge among the books and quiet.
She'd been there maybe five minutes, trying to calm her racing heart and furious thoughts, when the door opened.
Sidharth stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing that concerns you," Advika said, turning away to stare out the window at the dark gardens. "Go back to your dinner party."
"Advika." His footsteps approached. "Talk to me."
"Talk to you?" She spun around, anger finally breaking free.
"About what, exactly? About how your sister's best friend has been pawing at you all evening?
About how I had to sit there and watch while she put her hand on your thigh?
Or maybe about how everyone at that table knows she wants you and thinks I'm just the convenient wife? "
His jaw tightened. "Mihika means—"
"Don't." Advika held up a hand. "Don't tell me she means nothing. Because if she means nothing, then do something about it. Tell her to stop. Tell your sister to stop inviting her over every five minutes. Tell them I'm your wife and they need to respect that."
"It's not that simple."
"Why not?" She moved closer, frustration making her bold. "Give me one good reason why it's not that simple."
"Because—" He stopped, running a hand through his hair. "Because I don't owe you explanations."
The words stung, even though she'd heard variations of them before. "Right. Because this is just a business arrangement. Because I'm just the treaty bride. I keep forgetting my place."
"That's not what I meant."
"Isn't it?" Her laugh was bitter. "You come to my bed at night, Sidharth. You touch me, you make me scream your name, you tell me I'm yours. But during the day, I might as well not exist. And I'm supposed to just accept that? Accept watching other women touch you while you do nothing?"
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "Are you jealous?"
"Yes!" The admission burst out of her. "Yes, I'm jealous! Is that what you want to hear? I hate watching her touch you. I hate the way she looks at you. I hate that your sister encourages it. And I hate that you won't—"
She didn't get to finish. Sidharth closed the distance between them in two strides, his hand cupping the back of her neck as his mouth crashed down on hers.
The kiss was angry, possessive, claiming. His other hand gripped her hip, pulling her flush against him. She could feel him, already hard, and heat flooded through her despite her anger.
"You're jealous," he said against her lips, his voice rough with satisfaction. "You actually care."
"Of course I care, you idiot," she gasped as his mouth moved to her neck. "How can you not see that I—"
She stopped herself before she could finish. Before she could admit what had become painfully obvious over the past four months.
"Don't lie to me," he growled, backing her up until she hit the wall. His hands were already working the zipper of her dress. "Don't lie to yourself. You want me."
"Wanting you doesn't mean I like you," she shot back, even as her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.
"Good." His smile was feral as he pushed her dress down, leaving her in just her bra and panties. "Because I don't need you to like me. I just need you to be mine."
He spun her around, pressing her against the wall with his body. His hands roamed her curves, possessive and demanding.
"Is this what you wanted?" he asked, his voice dark in her ear. "My attention? My focus?"
"Yes," she admitted, beyond pride now.
"Then you have it." He unhooked her bra with one hand, tossing it aside. "Every inch of my attention. Every ounce of my focus. All of it on you."
His hands cupped her breasts, thumbs teasing her nipples into hard peaks. She arched back against him, feeling the hard length of him pressed against her.
"Sidharth," she breathed.
"That's right. My name. Not anyone else's." He nipped at her shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark. "Mine."
He hooked his fingers in her panties, dragging them down her legs. The sound of his belt buckle was loud in the quiet library, followed by the rustle of fabric as he freed himself.
"Hands on the wall," he commanded. "Spread your legs."
She obeyed, her body thrumming with anticipation. She felt him position himself at her entrance, the blunt head of his cock teasing her.
"Please," she whimpered.
"Please what?" His hand fisted in her hair, gentle but firm, tilting her head back. "Tell me what you want."
"You. I want you."
"And who do you belong to?"
"You," she gasped as he pushed inside, inch by torturous inch. "I belong to you."
"Don't forget it." He bottomed out, filling her completely, and they both groaned. "Every time you see Mihika touch me, remember this. Remember who I come home to. Who I fuck. Who I think about when—"
He stopped himself, but he'd said enough.
He started to move, hard and fast and claiming. One hand stayed in her hair while the other gripped her hip, holding her in place as he drove into her again and again.
"You like this," he said, his voice strained with pleasure and restraint. "Being taken like this. Knowing I need you so badly I can't even make it to a bed."
She did like it. Loved it, even. The raw intensity, the desperation, the way he couldn't control himself around her.
His hand left her hip, sliding around to find her clit. He rubbed circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts, and Advika felt her orgasm building fast.
"Come for me," he commanded. "Show me you're mine."
She shattered, crying out his name as pleasure crashed through her. He followed seconds later, his groan muffled against her neck as he emptied himself inside her.
They stayed like that for a moment, breathing hard, his weight pressing her into the wall. His forehead rested against her shoulder, his breath hot on her skin.
"Mihika means nothing," he said finally, his voice rough. "She's Nisha's friend. I'm polite to her because of that. Nothing more."
It wasn't a declaration of love. Wasn't even particularly romantic. But it was more than he'd ever given her before—an acknowledgment that her feelings mattered, that her jealousy was justified.
"Then tell your sister to stop," Advika said quietly. "Tell her to stop seating Mihika next to you. Stop letting her think she has a chance."
He pulled out slowly, turning her to face him. His hands cupped her face, his amber eyes intense.
"Fine," he said. "But you need to understand something. This—" he gestured between them "—what we have, it's complicated."
"It doesn't have to be."
"Yes, it does." His thumb brushed across her cheekbone. "Because if I let myself feel more than this, if I let you in..." He shook his head. "People I care about get hurt. Get killed. It's safer this way."
"Safer for who?"
He didn't answer. Just kissed her forehead—a gesture so tender it made her chest ache—and stepped back, adjusting his clothes.
"We should get back," he said. "Before they send a search party."
"Sidharth—"
"I'll talk to Nisha," he interrupted. "About the seating arrangements. About Mihika. Satisfied?"
It wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. But it was something.
"For now," she said.
His lips quirked in what might have been amusement. "Get dressed. And try to look less thoroughly fucked before we go back."
"You're one to talk. I bit your shoulder."
He glanced down at the teeth marks visible through his unbuttoned shirt and smiled—a real smile that transformed his face. "Worth it."
Then he helped her into her dress, his fingers gentle on the zipper. When she was presentable, he pressed one more kiss to her lips—soft, almost sweet.
"For the record," he murmured against her mouth, "I hate when men look at you too. Every single one of them at that gala. I wanted to gouge their eyes out."
"That's not healthy," she said, but she was smiling.
"Neither is this." He pulled back, his walls already going back up. "But here we are."
They returned to the dining room separately. Advika slipped in first, mumbling apologies about not feeling well. Sidharth followed five minutes later, his expression neutral.
But when he took his seat, he moved his chair fractionally away from Mihika. And when she tried to touch his arm again, he shifted, the movement subtle but clear.
A rejection. A boundary. A statement.
Across the table, Nisha's eyes narrowed. She knew something had shifted, even if she didn't know the details.
And Advika? Advika met her sister-in-law's challenging gaze and smiled.
Small victories. She was learning to treasure them.
Even if they came at the cost of falling deeper in love with a man determined not to love her back.
Later that night, long after the guests had left and the house had gone quiet, Sidharth came to their bedroom.
He didn't initiate sex this time. Just climbed into bed, and for the first time in four months of marriage, he didn't build the pillow wall.
Advika lay on her side, facing him across the small distance. His eyes were open, watching her in the darkness.
"Why did you marry me?" she asked quietly. "The real reason. Not the treaty or the alliance. Why me specifically?"
He was quiet for so long she thought he wouldn't answer.
"Because you're a Pradhan, but you're not," he finally said. "You're on the outside of your family the same way I'm on the outside of the world. I thought... maybe you'd understand. What it's like to be alone even when you're surrounded by people."
The admission cost him. She could see it in the tension of his jaw, the way his hands fisted in the sheets.
"I do understand," she whispered. "I've understood from the beginning."
"I know." His hand reached across the space between them, finding hers. Their fingers intertwined, and he squeezed once. "That's the problem."
He fell asleep still holding her hand. And for the first time since their wedding night, he didn't leave.
It was progress. Small, fragile, but real.
Advika watched him sleep, memorizing the relaxed lines of his face, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks.
She was in love with him. Completely, irrevocably in love with her husband.
And she had no idea if he'd ever be able to love her back.
But tonight, with their hands linked in the darkness, she let herself hope.
Just a little.