Chapter Ten #2
"That's exactly what it is!" She was shouting now, past caring.
"You won't stand up for me because deep down, you still see me as the Pradhan.
The outsider. The woman who might betray you at any moment.
So why bother defending me, right? Why risk upsetting your real family for someone who'll never truly be one of you? "
"You attacked my sister," he said through gritted teeth.
"Your sister attacked my mother's memory!" Advika's voice cracked. "She stood there in front of thirty women and basically called my mother a whore. Called me illegitimate trash. And you're angry at me for defending her? For finally, FINALLY standing up for myself?"
"There are better ways—"
"Name one! Name one time I've stood up to Nisha and you didn't find fault with how I did it!
There's always something wrong—I'm too aggressive, too confrontational, not diplomatic enough.
But she gets to say whatever she wants, hurt whoever she wants, and face no consequences because she's the precious Singhania daughter! "
Sidharth's jaw clenched. "You're being unreasonable—"
"I'm being honest!" She moved into his space, forcing him to look at her. "Your sister crossed a line today. A big one. And instead of asking what she said to make me react that way, instead of considering that maybe I had a reason, you immediately took her side. Just like you always do."
"I didn't take her side—"
"YES, YOU DID!" The scream tore from her throat. "By coming in here angry at me, by not asking my side of the story first, by defaulting to 'what were you thinking'—you took her side! You always take her side!"
Something in his expression shifted. "Tell me what she said."
"Why? So you can explain why it wasn't that bad? Why I overreacted?" Advika laughed bitterly. "Save it."
"Advika." He grabbed her wrist as she tried to walk past him. "Tell me what she said."
"She said at least her mother was actually married to her father." The words came out flat, emotionless. "Among other things. All afternoon, every comment was designed to remind me I don't belong. To remind everyone there that I'm less than. The illegitimate daughter who married above her station."
His grip on her wrist loosened slightly. "She said that? In front of guests?"
"Among other things. Mihika helped." Advika pulled her wrist free. "But it's fine. I'm used to being treated like garbage. What's one more afternoon?"
"That's not—" He stopped himself, frustration evident. "You still shouldn't have thrown wine on her."
"What should I have done? Smiled politely? Let her disrespect my mother's memory while thirty women watched? Tell me, Sidharth, what's the proper etiquette for dealing with someone who uses your dead mother as an insult?"
He had no answer. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, his jaw working.
"She had no right," he finally said, his voice low. "To say that about your mother. That was... that was wrong."
"Thank you." The words were heavy with sarcasm. "Only took you an hour to admit it."
"Don't—"
"Don't what? Be angry? Be hurt? Be disappointed that once again, you chose your sister over me?" Her laugh was bitter. "I'm tired, Sidharth. I'm so tired of fighting for scraps of respect in this house. Of hoping that maybe today you'll actually defend me. Of loving a man who can't even—"
She stopped abruptly, realizing what she'd almost said.
But it was too late. His eyes had sharpened, focused entirely on her.
"Loving?" His voice was rough. "You said loving."
"I didn't—"
"Yes, you did." He moved toward her, predatory. "Say it again."
"No."
"Advika—"
"Why?" She backed up until she hit the wall. "So you can use it against me? So you can have one more thing to hold over my head?"
"Is that what you think?" He braced his hands on either side of her head, caging her in. "That I'd weaponize your feelings?"
"I don't know what you'd do!" Her chest was heaving, emotions she'd been suppressing for months rising to the surface. "I don't know anything about you except that you're hot and cold, possessive but distant, and you make me feel things I shouldn't feel for someone who treats me the way you do!"
"The way I treat you," he repeated, his voice dropping to something dangerous. "You mean like this?"
He kissed her, hard and claiming. She shoved at his chest, but he caught her wrists, pinning them above her head with one large hand.
"Or like this?" His free hand slid down her side, over her hip, pulling her against him. She could feel him, hard and ready, and her traitorous body responded despite her anger.
"I hate you," she gasped against his mouth.
"Liar." He bit her lower lip, hard enough to sting. "You just said you love me."
"I take it back."
"Too late." He released her wrists only to spin her around, pressing her against the wall face-first. His body was a line of heat behind her. "You love me. Admit it."
"Never."
His hand fisted in her hair, gentle but firm, tilting her head back. His mouth found her neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin.
"You're mine," he growled against her throat. "Say it."
"You don't get to—ah!" His other hand had found the zipper of her saree blouse, dragging it down in one smooth motion.
"Don't get to what?" He pushed the fabric off her shoulders, his hands mapping her skin with possessive touches. "Don't get to claim what's already mine? Don't get to make you admit what we both know is true?"
She should fight this. Should maintain her anger and her dignity. But when his fingers found her breast, thumb teasing her nipple through the thin fabric of her bra, she melted.
"Sidharth," she breathed.
"That's right. My name." He unhooked her bra, his hands cupping her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until she was gasping. "Who makes you feel like this? Who touches you like this?"
"You," she admitted, hating herself for it.
"And who do you love?" His hand slid down, beneath the waistband of her saree, finding her wet and ready. "Say it, Advika. Say you love me."
"I—" The words stuck in her throat, pride and fear warring with need.
He withdrew his hand, leaving her aching and empty. "Say it, or I stop."
"That's not fair—"
"Nothing about this is fair." He spun her around, backing her toward the bathroom. "But I need to hear it. Need you to admit it."
They reached the bathroom, and he lifted her onto the counter, settling between her legs. The mirror behind her reflected their image—her saree disheveled, his hands dark against her skin, both of them flushed with desire and anger.
"Look," he commanded, turning her head so she had to watch their reflection. "Look at us."
His hands slid up her thighs, pushing her saree higher. He hooked his fingers in her panties, dragging them down and off. Then his hand was between her legs, fingers sliding through her wetness.
"Watch," he ordered, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror as he pushed two fingers inside her.
Advika whimpered, her hands bracing on the sink. In the mirror, she could see everything—the way her body responded to his touch, the way her back arched, the way her lips parted on a moan.
"You see this?" His voice was rough in her ear, his eyes locked on hers in the reflection. "You see how perfect you are? How beautiful you are when you let yourself feel?"
His fingers moved inside her, thumb circling her clit, and she was already close, wound too tight from months of tension and emotion.
"Say it," he demanded. "Tell me you love me, Advika. Let me hear it."
"I love you," the words burst out of her, half sob, half moan. "God help me, I love you."
His eyes flashed with something fierce and possessive. "Again."
"I love you," she gasped as his fingers worked her higher. "I love you, I love you—"
She came apart with his name on her lips, watching herself fall apart in the mirror, seeing the satisfaction in his eyes as he made her unravel.
Before she could catch her breath, he was lifting her, carrying her into the shower. He turned on the water—hot, steaming—and pushed her against the tiled wall.
"My turn," he growled, freeing himself from his pants. "My turn to show you what you mean to me."
He entered her in one hard thrust, swallowing her cry with a bruising kiss. The water cascaded over them as he moved, each thrust harder than the last, claiming her in the most primal way possible.
"You're mine," he said between thrusts. "Mine. Not a treaty. Not a bargaining chip. Mine."
"Prove it," she gasped, meeting him thrust for thrust, nails raking down his back. "Stop just saying it and prove it."
Something in him snapped. He pulled out, turning her to face the wall, and entered her from behind. His hand found her hair again, tilting her head back as he drove into her with punishing force.
"Is this proof enough?" His voice was ragged. "The way I can't stay away from you? The way I think about you constantly? The way the thought of losing you terrifies me?"
"Yes," she sobbed, overwhelmed by sensation and emotion. "Yes!"
"Say my name," he demanded. "Say it while I'm inside you. Say it so I know you know who you belong to."
"Sidharth!" His name was a prayer and a curse, torn from her throat as another orgasm built. "Sidharth, please—"
"I've got you," he said, his hand snaking around to find her clit. "Come for me, Advika. Come for me and know you're mine."
She shattered, her inner walls clenching around him as pleasure tore through her. He followed with a groan, her name on his lips as he emptied himself inside her.
They stayed like that, breathing hard, the water sluicing over them, for a long moment. Then he gently turned her around, pulling her into his arms.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, his lips against her wet hair. "For not defending you. For making excuses for Nisha. For making you feel like you don't matter."
The apology was unexpected, and it made her throat tight.
"She had no right to say that about your mother," he continued. "No right at all. And I should have said that immediately instead of being angry at you."
Advika pulled back to look at him. His amber eyes were softer than she'd ever seen them, vulnerable in a way that made her chest ache.
"Nobody has the right," she said quietly. "Nobody."
"I know." He cupped her face, thumbs brushing away the water—or maybe tears, she couldn't tell. "I'll talk to her. Make it clear that it crosses a line."
"Will it help?"
"I don't know." His honesty was painful. "But I'll try. For you."
They stood under the water for a while longer, just holding each other. Then he turned off the shower and wrapped her in a towel, drying her off with gentle hands.
They ended up in bed, still damp, skin pressed against skin. He made love to her again—slower this time, tender, with words whispered against her skin that sounded almost like confessions.
Afterward, he didn't leave. He pulled her into his arms, her head on his chest, his hand stroking her hair.
"You said you love me," he murmured into the darkness.
"I know."
"I'm not good at this," he continued. "At feelings. At being open. At trusting."
"I know that too."
"But I'm trying." His arms tightened around her. "For you, I'm trying."
It wasn't an I love you. It wasn't a grand declaration. But it was something. It was progress.
"That's all I ask," she whispered. "Just keep trying."
They fell asleep tangled together, and for the first time in their marriage, Advika felt like maybe—just maybe—they had a chance.
Even if the road ahead was still uncertain. Even if trust was still fragile.
They were trying.
Together.
And for now, that was enough.