Chapter Twelve
Nine Months Into Marriage
Things had been good. Better than good, actually.
Advika's bakery was thriving—word had spread quickly about the quality of her work, and she had orders booked weeks in advance.
The ambassador's event had been a massive success, leading to more high-profile clients.
She spent her days doing what she loved, surrounded by her small staff, creating beauty from flour and sugar.
And Sidharth... Sidharth had been different. Not perfect—he still struggled with vulnerability, still defaulted to possession rather than affection when emotions ran high. But he was trying. Really trying.
He'd started saying things like "I missed you" when she came home late from the bakery.
He'd show up with coffee during her work hours, claiming he was "just passing by" even though they both knew he'd gone out of his way.
He'd hold her hand during dinner, trace patterns on her skin while they talked in bed at night, kiss her forehead for no reason at all.
It felt like they were finally building something real. Like maybe, just maybe, they were going to make it.
Advika should have known better than to trust happiness.
It was a Thursday evening. Advika had stayed late at the bakery working on a complicated wedding cake order, losing track of time the way she always did when she was creating. By the time she got home, it was past ten.
The house was quiet. Most of the staff had retired for the night. Advika kicked off her heels in the foyer—God, her feet were killing her—and headed toward the stairs. She'd shower, maybe find Sidharth in their bedroom, fall asleep in his arms like she'd been doing for the past few months.
But as she passed his home office, she heard voices. The door was slightly ajar, light spilling out into the hallway.
Sidharth's voice, firm: "Mihika, you need to leave."
Mihika's voice, sultry and insistent: "But I just got here. We haven't really talked in so long. I've missed you."
Every instinct told Advika to walk away. To give him privacy to handle this. But something made her pause, made her look through the narrow opening.
And her heart stopped.
Mihika was there, dressed in a skin-tight dress that left little to the imagination, her hand splayed across Sidharth's chest. And his hand was on her wrist, their bodies close, the lighting casting shadows that made it look... intimate.
Advika's vision tunneled. She couldn't see the tension in Sidharth's jaw, couldn't see that he was actually pushing Mihika away. All she could see was another woman touching her husband, and him not immediately removing himself from the situation.
"Advika."
She spun to find Nisha behind her, perfectly coiffed even at this hour, a small smile playing on her lips.
"I see you've discovered our little... situation," Nisha said softly, her voice dripping with false sympathy.
"What?" Advika's voice came out strangled.
"Mihika and Sidharth. They have history, you know. Before you." Nisha moved closer, her perfume cloying. "She's always been there for him. Always will be. You can't compete with that kind of connection."
"They're not—"
"Aren't they?" Nisha gestured toward the office. "Look at them. The way she touches him. The way he lets her. Some things never change, Advika. No matter how much you want them to."
"You're lying." But even as she said it, doubt crept in. All the months of Mihika's presence, Nisha's constant undermining, the way Sidharth never completely shut it down.
"Am I?" Nisha's smile widened. "I let her in tonight. Gave her the code to his office. Because I know what you refuse to see—you're temporary. A means to an end. But Mihika? She's permanent. She's one of us."
The words hit like physical blows. Advika stumbled back, away from the office, away from Nisha's poisonous smile.
"Where are you going?" Nisha called after her. "Don't you want to see how this plays out?"
But Advika was already running, her bare feet silent on the marble floors as she fled to the bedroom. Their bedroom. The one place that had started to feel like a sanctuary.
Now it felt like a cage.
She grabbed a suitcase from the closet, throwing it open on the bed. Her hands shook as she started pulling clothes from hangers, shoving them into the bag with no care for organization.
Nine months. Nine months of trying, of hoping, of falling deeper in love with a man who might never fully be hers.
She couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't handle the jealousy, the uncertainty, the constant feeling that she was fighting for scraps of affection while other women—women who'd known him longer, who fit into his world better—circled like sharks.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Sidharth's voice made her jump. She turned to find him in the doorway, his expression thunderous. His shirt was slightly disheveled, and the sight made her stomach turn.
"What does it look like?" She went back to packing, blinking back tears. "I'm leaving."
"Like hell you are." He crossed the room in three strides, grabbing the suitcase and throwing it to the floor. "You're not going anywhere."
"You can't stop me."
"Watch me." He planted himself between her and the closet. "What happened? What's going on?"
"I saw you," she said, her voice shaking. "With Mihika. In your office."
His expression shifted—surprise, then understanding, then anger. "Advika, that's not—"
"Don't." She held up a hand. "Don't lie to me. I saw her touching you. Saw you touching her."
"I was removing her hand!" His voice rose, frustration evident. "She showed up uninvited, threw herself at me, and I was getting her off me when you apparently decided to spy through the door!"
"I wasn't spying—"
"Then what were you doing?"
"Walking past! Hearing voices! Being an idiot who thought maybe my husband was working late instead of entertaining the woman who's been trying to steal him for nine months!" The words burst out of her, months of insecurity finally exploding. "God, I'm so stupid. Nisha was right—"
"Nisha?" His eyes narrowed dangerously. "What does my sister have to do with this?"
"She let Mihika into your office. Gave her the code.
And then very helpfully explained that I'm just temporary, that Mihika is permanent, that some connections can't be broken.
" Advika laughed bitterly. "And you know what?
She's right. I've been here nine months, and I'm still the outsider.
Still fighting for a place in your life while women who've known you longer just waltz in whenever they want. "
"That's not true—"
"Isn't it?" She moved to grab her suitcase, but he blocked her. "Move, Sidharth."
"No."
"I'm done." Her voice cracked. "I'm done with the jealousy and the games and never knowing where I stand. I'm done fighting for scraps of affection from a man who can't even—"
"Can't even what?" He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "Say it. Finish that sentence."
"Can't even love me back!" The words tore from her throat, raw and honest and devastating.
"I love you. I've loved you for months. And I know you care about me, I know you want me, but it's not enough anymore.
I can't keep being the only one all in. I can't keep wondering if one day you'll wake up and realize you married the wrong woman. "
"You think I don't—" He stopped, jaw clenching, the words clearly struggling to come out.
"You don't have to love me," Advika continued, her voice breaking. "This marriage was never about love. I know that. But I can't keep doing this—being married to someone I love while wondering if he'll ever feel the same. It's killing me."
"So you're just going to leave?" His grip tightened. "Give up?"
"I'm not giving up. I'm saving myself." She pulled free of his hold. "I'm going to my bakery. Don't follow me. Don't send guards. Just... let me go."
"Advika—"
"Give me one reason to stay." She looked at him, her eyes swimming with tears. "One real reason. Tell me you love me. Tell me I'm not just convenient. Tell me something that makes this worth fighting for."
He stared at her, his amber eyes stormy with emotion. His mouth opened, closed. The words were right there—she could see them in his eyes, in the way his hands reached for her then dropped.
But he couldn't say them.
"That's what I thought." She grabbed her purse, her phone. "Goodbye, Sidharth."
She walked past him, out of the bedroom, down the stairs. Every step felt like she was ripping her own heart out, but she didn't stop.
He didn't follow.
At the bottom of the stairs, she found Nisha, still wearing that satisfied smile.
"Leaving so soon?" Nisha asked. "What a shame. I was just getting used to having you around."
"Go to hell," Advika said flatly. "And take your bitch of a friend with you."
She walked out the front door, into the night, and didn't look back.
The bakery was dark and quiet when Advika let herself in. She locked the door behind her, set the security system, and only then did she let herself collapse.
Great, heaving sobs shook her body as she sank to the floor of her beautiful kitchen—the kitchen he'd given her, the space he'd created for her, the gesture that had made her think maybe he really did care.
But caring wasn't loving. Wanting wasn't needing. And she deserved more than just being wanted.
She cried until there were no more tears, until her throat was raw and her eyes were swollen. Then she pulled herself up, washed her face in the bathroom sink, and stared at her reflection.
"You're going to be okay," she told herself. "You survived losing your mother. You survived growing up unwanted. You'll survive this too."
The words felt hollow, but she repeated them anyway. A mantra against the pain threatening to consume her.
She pulled out her phone, turned it off before she could be tempted to check for messages from him. Then she curled up on the small couch in her office, wrapped herself in a spare apron that smelled like vanilla and chocolate, and closed her eyes.