Chapter Eight #2
She felt like herself again.
The realization that she'd been gone too long hit around 4 PM.
"I should go," Advika said reluctantly, looking at the array of pastries they'd created. "Before they send a search party."
"Will you be able to come back?" Meera asked.
"I'll try. I can't promise, but I'll try." Advika pulled off her apron, suddenly anxious about what awaited her. "Take photos of everything we made today. Post them on social media. Remind people we're still here."
"Will do, boss."
The drive back to the estate felt far too short. By the time she pulled through the service entrance—successfully again, thank God—the sun was setting and her anxiety had reached critical levels.
She'd just parked in the garage when she saw him.
Sidharth stood in the doorway leading into the house, and even from this distance, she could see he was furious. His entire body radiated rage—jaw clenched, hands fisted at his sides, eyes blazing.
Advika got out of the car slowly, steeling herself.
"Where the hell have you been?" His voice was low, dangerous, barely controlled.
"Out," she said simply.
"OUT?" He stalked toward her, and she instinctively took a step back. "You disappeared for five hours. No warning, no guards, no security. I've had men searching the entire city for you!"
"I didn't realize I needed permission to leave my own home."
"This isn't about permission!" He was shouting now, all that careful control shattered. "You could have been killed! Do you understand that? Do you have any idea what you—"
He stopped abruptly, as if realizing he was about to say something he couldn't take back.
"What do I mean to you, Sidharth?" Advika asked, her voice deadly calm. "Finish that sentence. What do I mean? A bargaining chip? A warm body for your bed? The treaty bride you have to keep alive for political reasons?"
"You're—" He struggled with the words, his jaw working. "You're mine to protect."
"Yours to protect." She laughed bitterly. "Not your wife. Not someone you care about. Just a possession you're obligated to keep safe."
"That's not what I meant—"
"Then what did you mean?" She moved closer, anger overriding her self-preservation instincts.
"Because I've spent a week being treated like a criminal in my own home.
A week of you avoiding me like I'm diseased.
A week of everyone looking at me like I'm the enemy.
And now you're angry because I left without permission? You don't get to have it both ways!"
"I was worried!" The admission seemed torn from him. "I thought—" He ran a hand through his hair, visibly struggling. "When I came home and you were gone, when my men said you'd left without security, I thought..."
"Thought what?"
"That someone had taken you. That they'd hurt you. That I'd—" His voice cracked. "That I'd lose you."
The words hung between them, raw and honest in a way he'd never been before.
"You think I betrayed you," Advika said, her voice breaking. "You've been investigating me, monitoring my phone, treating me like a spy. And now you're upset that I left? You can't have it both ways, Sidharth. You can't suspect me of treason and then claim to be worried about my safety."
"I know." He closed the distance between them in two strides. "I know, and I'm—"
He grabbed her, pulling her against him, and kissed her. It was bruising, desperate, claiming—all the emotion he couldn't voice expressed through touch.
Advika's first instinct was to push him away, to maintain her anger and her dignity. But her body betrayed her, melting into him, her hands fisting in his shirt as she kissed him back with equal desperation.
When he finally pulled away, they were both breathing hard.
"You're mine to protect," he said against her lips, his forehead pressed to hers. "That's all you need to know right now."
"That's not enough," she whispered.
"It has to be." His arms tightened around her. "Because it's all I can give you."
She should have fought harder. Should have demanded more. But she was so tired of fighting, so tired of being alone.
So she let him hold her in the garage as the sun set, surrounded by expensive cars and the ghost of the freedom she'd tasted that afternoon.
"Where did you go?" he asked finally.
"My bakery. I needed to check on it."
He tensed. "Alone? Without security?"
"I needed to feel normal again. To remember who I was before all this." She pulled back to look at him. "I'm not just your wife, Sidharth. I'm not just a Pradhan. I'm Advika. And I built something with my own hands, something I'm proud of. I needed to see it again."
Something shifted in his expression—understanding, maybe, or regret.
"You could have asked me," he said.
"Would you have let me go?"
His silence was answer enough.
"That's what I thought." She stepped out of his embrace, suddenly cold. "I'm going inside. I'm tired."
"Advika—"
"We'll talk later. Or not. Seems like that's your preferred method of communication anyway."
She walked into the house, leaving him standing in the garage, and didn't look back.
The next day, Advika found herself in the garden, sitting on a stone bench beneath an old banyan tree. It was mid-afternoon, and she'd successfully avoided everyone—Nisha at her society lunch, Sidharth at his office meetings, even the staff who seemed to sense she needed solitude.
She was staring at nothing, her mind a chaotic mess of thoughts and feelings, when footsteps on the gravel path made her look up.
Rishabh.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked, gesturing to the bench.
"It's your garden."
"It's yours too." He sat down, careful to leave respectful distance between them. "You've been crying."
It wasn't a question. Advika wiped at her face self-consciously. "I'm fine."
"You're really not."
They sat in silence for a moment. A bird sang somewhere in the trees. The fountain burbled peacefully. It was so at odds with the turmoil inside her.
"He's an idiot," Rishabh said finally. "My brother. A complete idiot."
Despite everything, Advika smiled. "You won't get an argument from me."
"He wasn't always like this, you know." Rishabh's voice was thoughtful, distant. "Before our parents died, he was different. He laughed more. Made jokes. Actually enjoyed life instead of just surviving it."
Advika turned to look at him. "What happened?"
"He loved our parents. Worshipped our father, especially.
And the man who killed them? He was our father's best friend.
Someone we'd known our whole lives. Someone we trusted.
" Rishabh's jaw tightened. "The betrayal destroyed something in Sidharth.
He decided it was safer to trust no one.
To keep everyone at arm's length so they couldn't hurt him. "
"That's no way to live."
"No, it's not. But it's the only way he knows how to survive." Rishabh looked at her, his expression serious. "He cares about you, Advika. More than he wants to admit, even to himself. I've never seen him like this with anyone—so torn up, so conflicted."
"He has a funny way of showing it."
"I know. And I'm not excusing his behavior.
He's handling this terribly." Rishabh paused.
"But I also see how he looks at you when you're not watching.
I see how he was yesterday when you disappeared—I've never seen him that afraid.
And I see how he is now, after last night.
He's barely slept. He's been in his office all night, and I think he's trying to figure out how to fix this. "
"There's nothing to fix," Advika said quietly. "You can't fix something that was broken from the start."
"Don't say that—"
"It's true." She looked back at the garden, at the perfectly manicured lawns and expensive fountains. "This marriage was a business deal. I'm the treaty bride, the peace offering. We were never supposed to actually care about each other."
"But you do." It wasn't a question.
Advika's silence was confirmation enough.
"He does too," Rishabh said gently. "He's just terrified of admitting it. Of being vulnerable again."
"Everyone keeps telling me to be patient with him.
To give him time. To understand he's broken.
" Her voice cracked. "But what about me, Rishabh?
What about what I need? I'm broken too. I'm hurting too.
And I can't keep being the only one trying, the only one bending, the only one willing to be vulnerable while he stays safe behind his walls. "
Rishabh was quiet for a long moment. Then: "You're right. And for what it's worth, I think you're the best thing that's ever happened to him. I just hope he figures that out before it's too late."
"It might already be too late."
"Don't say that. Don't give up on him yet."
"I'm not giving up on him," Advika said, her voice small. "I'm just... running out of strength to keep fighting for someone who doesn't want to be fought for."
"Hey." Rishabh's arm came around her shoulders, pulling her into a brotherly side hug. "You're not alone in this, okay? I know Nisha is awful, and Sidharth is an emotionally constipated idiot, but you have me. You have an ally here. A friend. A brother, if you'll have me."
The words made her throat tight. "I had two half-brothers growing up. They never once treated me like family."
"Then they were fools. Their loss." He squeezed her shoulder. "You're brilliant, Advika. You're strong and talented and funny and you don't take anyone's shit. Including my brother's. That's rare. That's special."
She managed a watery laugh. "You're going to make me cry again."
"Then cry. God knows you've earned it." He didn't let go, just sat there, solid and present in a way no one in her life had been in a long time.
Advika let herself lean into him, let herself accept the comfort being offered. And for the first time since arriving at the Singhania estate, she didn't feel completely alone.
From his office window on the second floor, Sidharth watched his brother make his wife laugh.
Something dark and possessive coiled in his chest, tightening like a vise. Rishabh's arm was around her shoulders. She was leaning into him, smiling at something he'd said. Looking more relaxed than she'd been in weeks.
More relaxed than she ever was with Sidharth.
He should have been happy. Should have been glad she was making connections, finding allies in the family. Rishabh was a good man—kind, stable, emotionally available in all the ways Sidharth wasn't.
But all Sidharth felt was jealousy. Hot, irrational jealousy at seeing her smile at someone else. At seeing her accept comfort from someone who wasn't him.
Because you won't give it to her, a voice in his head whispered. Because you keep pushing her away while wondering why she's not running toward you.
He'd spent the entire night in his office, unable to sleep, replaying their conversation in the garage. The fear he'd felt when he'd realized she was gone. The rage that had consumed him at the thought of losing her. The desperate need to touch her, to confirm she was real and whole and his.
Mine.
The word echoed in his head. When had she become so essential? When had the thought of her being hurt become unbearable?
He didn't know. Couldn't pinpoint the exact moment she'd stopped being the inconvenient treaty bride and started being... more.
All he knew was that watching her with Rishabh made him want to storm down there and claim her. Mark her as his in every way possible. Make it crystal clear to everyone—including his brother—that she belonged to him.
But he'd already pushed her away. Already made it clear he didn't trust her. Already broken whatever fragile connection they'd been building.
And now she was finding comfort elsewhere. With someone who could give her what she needed.
The jealousy burned hotter, mixing with something that felt uncomfortably like regret.
He'd fucked this up. Badly. And he had no idea how to fix it.
Or if it was even fixable at all.
Sidharth turned away from the window, unable to watch anymore. His fist hit the desk hard enough to rattle the items on top, pain blooming across his knuckles.
He'd wanted to keep her at a distance. To protect himself from another betrayal.
But in doing so, he'd pushed her straight into someone else's arms.
And for the first time in years, since his parents' deaths, Sidharth Singhania felt truly, utterly lost.