Chapter Eight
One Week Later
A week. Seven days since the confrontation in Sidharth's office. Seven days of him avoiding her like she carried the plague. Seven days of eating meals alone, sleeping in an empty bed, and being treated like a pariah in her own home.
The investigation into the mole was ongoing—Advika knew this because she'd overheard staff talking. Sidharth had brought in outside security consultants. Everyone's movements were being tracked. And she, apparently, was still suspect number one.
The irony would have been funny if it didn't hurt so much.
She'd stopped crying after the third day. Stopped hoping he'd come to the bedroom and apologize. Stopped caring, or at least convincing herself she'd stopped caring.
Instead, she'd channeled all her hurt and anger into becoming the most difficult version of herself possible. If they wanted to treat her like the enemy, fine. She'd act like it.
Nisha bore the brunt of her transformation.
It started at breakfast on day five.
Advika walked into the dining room to find Nisha holding court as usual, this time with two of her society friends. The conversation stopped abruptly when Advika entered.
"Don't stop on my account," Advika said sweetly, pouring herself coffee. "I'm sure whatever you were saying about me was fascinating."
"We weren't—" one of the friends started.
"Please." Advika settled into her seat. "This is the Singhania estate. Everyone talks about everyone. I'm just the most interesting topic lately because apparently I'm a criminal mastermind capable of orchestrating warehouse attacks while baking croissants."
Nisha's eyes narrowed. "No one said—"
"You did. A week ago. In Sidharth's office. Excellent acoustics in this house, by the way. You should remember that next time you're plotting."
The friends exchanged uncomfortable glances. Nisha's face flushed.
"I was simply raising concerns—"
"You were accusing me of treason based on nothing but my last name and your own insecurity." Advika took a deliberate sip of coffee. "There's a difference."
"How dare you—"
"Oh, I dare." Advika smiled, all teeth. "You know what I've realized this past week? I've been too nice. Too accommodating. Trying so hard to fit in, to be accepted, to not make waves. And where did that get me? Accused of crimes I didn't commit and treated like garbage in my own home."
"This isn't your home—"
"Actually, it is. I'm married to the owner. That makes it legally mine too. You're just the sister who never moved out." Advika stood, grabbing her coffee. "Enjoy your breakfast, ladies. Try not to choke on your judgment."
She walked out, leaving stunned silence behind her.
It felt good. Terrifying, but good.
Day six, Advika found Nisha in the library—her library, the one place she'd claimed as her sanctuary.
"This room is occupied," Advika said from the doorway.
Nisha looked up from her magazine, surprised. "I've been using this library since I was a child—"
"And I use it now. So find another room." Advika crossed her arms. "The house has four libraries. Use one of those."
"You can't just claim entire rooms—"
"Watch me." Advika moved into the room, standing her ground.
"You've made it very clear I don't belong here.
That I'm just the treaty bride, the Pradhan spy, the unwanted addition to your perfect family.
Fine. I accept that. But this room? This is mine.
And I'm done sharing it with people who can't stand the sight of me. "
Nisha stood, her magazine forgotten. "You're being childish—"
"I'm being honest. For the first time since I arrived, I'm being completely, brutally honest. I don't like you, Nisha.
I've tried to. God knows I've tried. But you've made it impossible.
So let's stop pretending. You hate me, I hate you, and we're stuck with each other because I married your brother. "
"You didn't marry him. You were sold to him." The words were meant to wound.
They did, but Advika didn't let it show. "True. And yet here I am, his wife, whether you like it or not. Now get out of my library."
For a moment, she thought Nisha would fight. Would pull rank or threaten to tell Sidharth or do something.
Instead, Nisha grabbed her magazine and stormed out, muttering something about "ungrateful bitch" under her breath.
Advika sank into her favorite chair, her hands shaking with adrenaline and satisfaction.
Small victories. She was collecting them like armor.
By day seven, even the staff had noticed the change in her.
"Mrs. Singhania seems different," Advika overheard one of the housekeepers whisper to another.
"Stronger," the other replied. "About time, if you ask me. The way Miss Nisha treats her..."
Advika smiled to herself. At least someone was on her side.
But it wasn't enough. The anger and hurt that had been building for months needed an outlet beyond verbal sparring with Nisha. She needed to do something for herself. Something that reminded her she was more than just the unwanted wife.
She needed her bakery.
That night, lying alone in the empty bed, Advika made a decision.
The next morning, she waited until Sidharth left for whatever mysterious meetings he had. Nisha was out shopping. Rishabh was at the gym. The house was as empty as it ever got.
Advika pulled out her phone—the one she knew was being monitored—and called her bakery manager using the burner phone she'd bought from one of the kitchen staff for an exorbitant amount.
"Meera? It's me."
"Advika!" Meera's voice was filled with relief and concern. "Oh my God, are you okay? I've been so worried—"
"I'm fine. How's the bakery?"
A pause. Then, carefully: "It's... managing."
"Meera."
"Okay, it's struggling. Without you here to create new items, to handle the high-profile clients, to do the things that made us special..." Another pause. "We're losing customers, Advika. I'm trying, but I'm not you. I can follow your recipes, but I can't innovate like you can."
The words hit hard. Her bakery—her dream, her creation, the one thing that was completely hers—was dying without her.
"I'm coming over," Advika said, her mind made up. "Today."
"But isn't that dangerous? I thought you weren't allowed—"
"I don't care what I'm allowed anymore. I'll be there in an hour."
She hung up before Meera could protest further.
Getting out of the estate required more planning than she'd anticipated.
The guards at the gate knew her, knew she wasn't supposed to leave without approval.
But Advika had been observing their patterns for weeks, and she'd noticed something—they were less vigilant about the service entrance, the one the staff used for deliveries.
She waited until the midday delivery truck arrived, watched it get waved through with minimal inspection, and made her move.
She'd dressed simply—jeans, a plain kurti, her hair in a ponytail, sunglasses covering half her face. She grabbed the keys to one of the older, less conspicuous cars from the garage—a sedan that wouldn't attract attention.
"Mrs. Singhania?" One of the junior guards approached as she got in. "Do you need a driver?"
"No, I'm fine. Just running an errand. I'll be back in a few hours."
"Should I inform—"
"That won't be necessary." She smiled, putting authority into her voice. "Thank you."
She drove out through the service entrance, following closely behind a departing delivery truck. The guard waved her through without question.
Freedom. For the first time in months, actual freedom.
Advika drove toward the city, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. She was probably going to pay for this later, but right now, she didn't care.
Sinfully Sweet looked exactly as she'd left it—the mint green awning, the display window showing off pastries, the hand-painted sign she'd commissioned from a local artist. Her chest ached looking at it.
Home. This place was home in a way the Singhania estate would never be.
She parked in the back and used her key to let herself in through the rear entrance. The familiar smells hit her immediately—butter, vanilla, chocolate, yeast from rising dough. Her eyes actually watered.
"Advika!" Meera appeared from the front, her face lighting up. Then she was pulling Advika into a tight hug. "I can't believe you're actually here."
"I couldn't stay away anymore." Advika hugged her back, feeling something in her chest loosen. "Show me what you've been working on."
The next three hours were bliss. Pure, uncomplicated bliss.
Advika threw herself into baking with a fervor she'd been suppressing for months. She created a new pastry—a pistachio rose tart with cardamom cream. Perfected a recipe for lavender shortbread she'd been tinkering with. Taught Meera a new technique for tempering chocolate.
The small staff—just three people now, down from five—gathered to watch her work, asking questions, laughing at her jokes, treating her like the boss she was instead of the unwanted bride she'd become.
"God, I've missed this," Advika said, piping delicate flowers onto a cake. Her hands were covered in buttercream, flour dusted her cheek, and she'd never been happier.
"We've missed you," Meera said. "The bakery isn't the same without you."
"I know. And I'm sorry. I never meant to abandon you guys."
"You didn't abandon us. You were forced into an impossible situation." Meera's voice was gentle. "How are you holding up? Really?"
Advika's hands stilled. "I'm..." She couldn't lie, not here. "I'm not okay. My marriage is a disaster. My husband doesn't trust me. His family hates me. And I'm in love with a man who sees me as the enemy."
"Oh, Advika."
"But right now, in this moment, I'm okay." She went back to her piping, determined not to cry. "Because I'm here, doing what I love, with people who actually want me around. So let's just... let's just bake, okay?"
They baked. And laughed. And for three perfect hours, Advika forgot about the Singhania estate and Sidharth's cold eyes and Nisha's cruelty.