Chapter Ten
One Week Later
Advika had fully recovered from the flu and was back to her normal routine—which meant dealing with Nisha's continued hostility. The tenderness Sidharth had shown during her illness hadn't completely disappeared, but it had definitely diminished as life returned to normal.
They were in a strange limbo now—better than before, but not quite okay.
He still came to her at night, but now he stayed after.
They'd have quiet conversations in the dark, learning each other in ways that went beyond physical.
But during the day, he was still the distant mafia king, and she was still the wife he wasn't sure he could trust.
Progress, but slow. Painfully slow.
And Nisha was determined to derail even that.
"You have to come," Nisha said over breakfast, her smile too sweet to be genuine. "It would look strange if you didn't. People would talk."
Advika looked at the elegantly printed invitation. A ladies' luncheon at the estate, hosted by Nisha. Thirty of her closest friends from high society.
A setup. Obviously a setup.
"I'm sure they'll survive my absence," Advika said, pushing the invitation back across the table.
"But I'm specifically inviting you as my sister-in-law. To extend an olive branch." Nisha's eyes glittered with malice. "Unless you're too scared to face my friends?"
The challenge was clear. Refuse, and Nisha would paint her as antisocial, unfriendly, unable to handle basic social obligations. Attend, and walk into whatever trap Nisha had planned.
"What time?" Advika asked, resignation settling heavy in her chest.
"Tomorrow. One PM. Dress appropriately." Nisha's smile widened. "I'm so glad you'll be joining us."
Rishabh, who'd been watching the exchange, caught Advika's eye and shook his head slightly. A warning. But what choice did she have?
The luncheon was held in the garden, beneath white tents strung with flowers and fairy lights. Tables had been set with fine china and crystal, staff moved efficiently serving delicate sandwiches and pastries, and thirty impeccably dressed women chatted and laughed.
Advika, in a simple but elegant coral saree, felt out of place immediately. These were Nisha's people—old money, high society, women who'd known each other since childhood. And she was the interloper. The illegitimate daughter who'd married their way into the family.
"Advika!" Nisha swept over, air-kissing both her cheeks. "I'm so glad you could make it. Come, let me introduce you."
The next hour was excruciating. Nisha introduced her to woman after woman, each introduction laced with subtle digs.
"This is Advika, Sidharth's wife. She used to run a little bakery before the marriage."
"Advika comes from... unique circumstances. But we've welcomed her into the family."
"She's still adjusting to our lifestyle. It's quite different from what she's used to."
Each comment was designed to other her, to mark her as different, less than. And the women responded exactly as Nisha intended—polite smiles that didn't reach their eyes, questions that felt more like interrogations, comments that walked the line between conversation and insult.
"So your father is Yash Pradhan?" one woman asked, her tone suggesting she knew exactly who and what Yash was.
"Yes," Advika replied, keeping her voice neutral.
"And your mother was...?"
The pause was deliberate. Cruel.
"Akshara Singh," Advika said, lifting her chin. "She passed away when I was five."
"Oh, how tragic." The woman's sympathy was as fake as her eyelashes. "And she wasn't... I mean, your parents weren't...?"
"Married. No, they weren't." Advika met her gaze steadily. "My father was already married. My mother was his mistress. Anything else you'd like to know?"
The woman flushed, taken aback by Advika's directness. Around them, conversations quieted as people tuned in to the drama.
"I think that's enough," Nisha interjected smoothly, but her eyes were gleaming. This was exactly what she'd wanted. "Advika is very forthcoming about her background."
"It's not a secret," Advika said, her voice carrying. "I was born out of wedlock. My father never publicly acknowledged me. I grew up in the shadows of his legitimate family. These are facts. Why dance around them?"
"So brave," Mihika's voice cut through the murmurs. She'd been lurking at the edges, and now she moved forward, her smile venomous. "Owning your circumstances like that."
"Someone has to."
"It must be so hard," Mihika continued, settling into the chair across from Advika. "Knowing you weren't chosen for love. Knowing your marriage is just... strategy. A business deal. Nothing personal."
The words were designed to wound, and they did. But Advika kept her expression neutral.
"All marriages in our world are strategic to some degree," she replied. "At least mine came with honesty about what it was."
"But still." Mihika leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that somehow carried to everyone nearby. "Don't you wonder what it would be like? To be married to someone who actually wanted you? Who chose you not because they had to, but because they loved you?"
Advika's hands clenched in her lap, hidden beneath the table.
"I wonder about a lot of things, Mihika.
Like what it must be like to spend years pining after a man who's never looked at you twice.
To attend events as someone's friend's plus-one, hoping maybe today will be the day he notices you.
That must be its own special kind of torture. "
Mihika's face went white, then red. Around them, several women made poorly disguised sounds of amusement. Even Nisha looked surprised by the direct hit.
"You—"
"Advika, darling, how lovely to see you participating!" Nisha cut Mihika off, her voice falsely bright. She raised her glass. "A toast! To family. Even the ones we're stuck with."
The implication was clear. The other women laughed, raising their glasses. Advika didn't move.
"What, no toast?" Nisha pressed. "Or are you still learning proper etiquette?"
"I learned proper etiquette long before I came here," Advika said quietly. "I just choose when to use it."
"Ah yes, your mother must have taught you. Oh wait—" Nisha's smile was poison. "She died when you were five. So who raised you? Servants? Your father's legitimate wife must have just loved that."
The mention of her mother—the cruel dismissal of Akshara's memory—made something inside Advika snap.
"My mother," she said, her voice deadly calm, "was a kind, loving woman who made the mistake of falling in love with the wrong man. She spent her life being punished for that choice, and even after her death, people still use her as a weapon against me."
"I'm just stating facts—"
"You're being cruel. There's a difference." Advika stood, her hands braced on the table. "You want to insult me? Fine. Talk about my marriage, my background, my circumstances. But leave my mother out of it."
"Oh please." Nisha waved a dismissive hand, emboldened by her audience. "At least my mother was actually married to my father. At least I'm not the product of an affair. At least—"
The wine hit Nisha's face before Advika even realized she'd thrown it.
The pristine white dress was suddenly stained red. Wine dripped from Nisha's hair, down her face, onto the tablecloth. The garden went silent—thirty women frozen in shock.
"You bitch!" Nisha screeched, standing. "You threw wine on me!"
"You're lucky it was just wine," Advika said, her voice shaking with barely controlled rage. "Talk about my mother again and you'll get worse."
She turned and walked out, her head high even as her hands trembled. Behind her, she heard the explosion—Nisha's voice rising, Mihika trying to comfort her, the other women breaking into scandalized whispers.
She didn't care. Let them talk. Let them gossip. She was done playing nice with people who would never accept her anyway.
She made it to her bedroom before the adrenaline crash hit. Advika paced the room, her heart racing, replaying the scene over and over.
She'd thrown wine in Nisha's face. Assaulted her at her own luncheon, in front of thirty society women. The gossip would spread like wildfire. By tomorrow, the entire city would know.
And Sidharth... God, what would Sidharth say?
She didn't have to wait long to find out.
The door slammed open forty minutes later. Sidharth stormed in, his expression thunderous.
"What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded.
"Hello to you too," Advika said, her own anger rising to meet his. "Did your sister call you? Or did one of her thirty friends?"
"Nisha called me hysterical. Said you assaulted her at her own event. In front of everyone!"
"I threw wine on her. That's hardly assault."
"You can't just—" He stopped, running his hand through his hair in frustration. "Do you have any idea what this looks like? What people will say?"
"I don't care what people say!" The words burst out of her.
"I care that your sister stood in front of a room full of women and insulted my dead mother!
I care that I've spent months being treated like garbage in my own home!
I care that every time I try to defend myself, I'm the one who gets reprimanded while she gets away with it! "
"She's my sister—"
"And I'm your wife! Or does that not matter?
Does that rank lower than being your sister?
" Advika moved closer, fury making her reckless.
"You never defend me, Sidharth. Never. She insults me, belittles me, makes my life hell, and you do nothing.
You just tell me to be more understanding, more patient, more accommodating. Well, I'm done!"
"What do you want me to do?" He threw his hands up. "She's family—"
"So am I! Or am I not? Am I just the treaty bride? The convenient wife? The woman who warms your bed at night but doesn't deserve basic respect during the day?"
"That's not—"