Chapter 14
Dev
Loosening my tie, I walk towards my room, every muscle in my shoulders knotted from the long, grinding day. Locking down the new location for our expansion was one thing; shutting the cops up about the drug lead they had on us had been another. But in the end, both were dealt with.
Now all I want is a shower and, more importantly, a glimpse of my wife. But the moment I open my bedroom door, my mood sours.
Esha is sitting on the edge of my bed in a barely-there black dress, clearly trying to be seductive, but it does absolutely nothing for me.
“Hi, Dev,” she purrs.
Great. Looks like I am not done entertaining bullshit tonight.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I snap, moving past her towards my wardrobe.
But she grabs my wrist and pulls me down onto the bed beside her.
“What is this rude behaviour? I missed you so much,” she whines, sliding closer, her overpowering perfume sending my irritation to the edge.
“Esha, I am tired, and I am in zero mood for your crap,” I say, yanking my hand free from her grip.
Esha and I met three years ago on a business trip to Australia, where she’d been out partying with a friend.
Since then, we’ve hooked up and had our fun.
But even with us being the same age, sharing the same obscenely rich backgrounds, and the same belief that relationships are overrated and sex is nothing more than a release, she never became anything more than that.
Neither interesting nor impressive. And certainly not worth a second thought.
“You’ve become boring after marriage, you know that?” she drawls, her fingers tracing over my shirt. “How about we have some fun, for old times’ sake?”
“I don’t do old times, Esha,” I reply.
Right at that moment, the door opens, and my head turns to see Meera.
She freezes, her gaze taking in the scene. I don’t even get a chance to open my mouth to explain or push Esha’s hands off me, because Esha deliberately pulls back her hands and smirks at Meera.
“I am so sorry, Meera. What you’re thinking… it’s not like that.”
“It doesn’t matter to me,” Meera says with tired indifference, stepping further inside. She lifts her suitcase from beside the couch, places it on the table, and unzips it, pulling out her clothes with calm, precise movements. “You guys can carry on.”
My jaw tightens at her words, red-hot anger pulsing through me.
“Good to hear,” Esha coos at her, then turns to me, her fingers brushing my arm lightly. “Dev, let’s party tonight.”
“Fine,” I say, but my eyes never leave Meera.
“I knew you wouldn’t say no to me,” Esha beams, rising to her feet. “Let me quickly get dressed, then we both can—”
“Not just we,” I interrupt. “My wife will join us too.”
Her smile falters as she looks down at me. “But, Dev, she—”
“She is coming. Or you can cancel your plan,” I cut in, my voice leaving no room for argument.
“I’ll get dressed,” Esha huffs, stomping out without another word.
Meera pulls out her nightdress and zips her bag shut, then turns to me. “I know you can’t say no to your darling girlfriend, but I am not going with you two.”
I rise to my feet, my gaze locking onto hers. “You are coming with us, Mrs. Rathore.”
“I am not.” Her eyes harden. “Look, I’ve had a long day, and I am not dealing with this right now.”
At her words, I study her carefully. Her hair is slightly mussed, her peach salwar suit rumpled, her face tired.
“Where were you the whole day?” I ask, my tone edged with both concern and command.
“None of your business.”
I step towards her. “It’s my business to know everything about my wife.”
“Really?” she snaps. “You want me to give you a timetable now? Should I ask your permission for every damn thing I do? Even if I drink water, like some obedient housewife?”
“Yes.” I fold my arms. “Now tell me where you were, because I won’t be this patient for long.”
She huffs. “Work.”
I raise a brow. “Work?”
“Yes, Dev. Work. I still have my job.”
“Did you meet that loser journalist friend of yours?” I grind out.
“Yes. And you’ll be happy to know we’ve cleared up the misunderstanding you created,” she responds, an infuriating smile playing on her lips.
Heat surges through my veins. Anger, jealousy, desire… all twisting my thoughts together. I step closer. So close that she has to tilt her head to hold my gaze.
“If that loser journalist friend of yours dares to touch what’s mine—”
“I am not yours,” she snaps, cutting me off sharply.
I grab her arms and pull her closer. “Don’t test me, sweetheart. I fucking won’t tolerate that loser anywhere near you.”
“Will you stop with this possessiveness crap of yours?” She yanks her hands free, fury blazing in her eyes. “You don’t get to say that. And you sure as hell can’t have an issue with me meeting Samarth, not when you were just here with your girlfriend… in our room. So stop being a hypocrite, Dev.”
“Hypocrite or not, understand this clearly,” I say, forcing control over the darker edge in my voice.
“Being with him is a line you don’t get to cross.
” Then, I nod towards her suitcase and change the subject.
“You need to unpack. It’ll be more comfortable.
I’ll have the staff arrange your clothes in the wardrobe. ”
She shakes her head. “You’re impossible.
One moment you’re possessive, the next you’re a devil warning me away from my own friend.
And now, suddenly, you’re all concerned about my comfort?
From where I am standing, you only care about making me miserable.
Isn’t that why you married me? To make me suffer? ”
Hell… if only I could make sense of why I married her. Why these emotions burn the way they do. None of it makes sense, except that it’s her I want. And that thought messes me up more than anything.
I don’t reply to her. Instead, I say. “Stop being stubborn and unpack.”
“I am not doing it, especially when I don’t plan to stay here for long.”
“You’re not leaving. Not anytime soon… not ever. End of discussion,” I say, forcing to steady my voice, even though every nerve in me screams to kiss her and shut her up. “Now get dressed. We’re going partying.”
“I am not going with you and your girlfriend,” she snaps, pushing past me.
I grab her hands and pull her back. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
“She acts like she is,” Meera shoots back.
“And you encourage her by declaring that seeing her and me together doesn’t matter to you,” I snap, my voice tight.
“I am stating the facts,” she fires back.
“You really have a talent for being difficult.” I exhale sharply. “Now just get dressed. If not—”
“Go on,” she cuts in. “Threaten me. That’s your favourite thing to do, right?”
“I don’t need to threaten you,” I reply coolly. “I just need to remind you that I can make your loser boyfriend lose his job.”
Her breath falters. “You will do no such thing.”
“You want me to prove what I am capable of? Try me.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows.
I press on. “Or you can get dressed and come with me. And save yourself from watching your dear loser journalist friend lose his job.”
“I’ll come,” she mutters after a few long seconds.
“That’s my good wife,” I smirk, releasing her hand. She tosses her nightdress onto the couch and pulls out a maroon saree from her suitcase. Then, without a word, she heads to the bathroom.
The moment the door closes behind her, a slow smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.
Another battle won.
???
It’s been an hour since we settled into the VIP lounge of the club. Esha sits opposite me, rambling nonstop about her new villa or some vacation she went on. I nod, barely listening. My gaze keeps drifting to the woman beside me. My wife.
Meera sits with a bored expression, scrolling through her phone, taking slow sips of her Coke.
Fuck, she looks ravishing in that maroon saree.
So breathtaking it almost hurts to look at her.
Her hair falls loosely around her shoulders, her face devoid of makeup, yet she outshines every woman in this place.
And of course, every man in the damn pub checks her out, making my blood boil.
My jaw ticks. I need to get the hell out of here before I end up killing someone.
Meera shifts beside me, setting her phone in her bag.
“I need to go to the restroom,” she says, already rising from the couch.
The moment she stands, I am on my feet too.
“I’ll come with you,” I say. No way in hell I am letting her walk through this place alone, not with the way every bastard in here has been eyeing her.
She shakes her head. “No. I can go by myself.”
“I am coming with you,” I repeat.
Esha lets out a laugh, swirling her drink. “Relax, Dev. She can manage. It’s just the restroom.”
I shoot Esha a cold look, but Meera has already turned away, walking towards the hallway.
The moment she disappears, something sharp twists inside me.
I drop back onto the couch, but my body remains coiled tight, my gaze fixed on the direction she’s gone, as though I could drag her back with sheer will.
Esha keeps talking, some nonsense about her spa appointment tomorrow, but I don’t pay attention. I can’t focus on anything except the fact that Meera is out of my sight in a place full of drunk men.
My fingers drum restlessly against my knee, my eyes focused on the hallway.
A full minute passes. Then another.
Fuck. She’s taking too long. Or maybe it just feels like that because every part of me is on high alert. Damn, I just can’t take this torture.
Esha sighs dramatically as she sips her drink. “Dev, she’s fine. Stop acting like a possessive husband.”
I turn my head, giving her a look sharp enough to cut through the dim lounge lighting. “I am a possessive husband.”
“Possessive husband? That’s rich. I sure didn’t get to see this side of you when you were with me,” she taunts, gulping down her drink in one go.
“That side of me wasn’t for you, so you didn’t get to see it,” I respond flatly, and her eyes widen, caught off guard.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check on my wife,” I add.
Just as I am about to rise to my feet, Esha’s hand lands on my thigh, stopping me. “Dev, don’t…”
I shove her hand away. And before she can protest again, I am already moving through the corridor, the music fading behind me. The deeper I walk into the dimly lit hallway, the colder something burns in my chest.
And when I turn towards the corner near the restrooms, I freeze.
Meera’s hand is pinned against the wall, her mouth smothered as a drunk bastard towers over her, his body nearly pressed into hers, his mouth hovering by her ear as she struggles, trying to shove him away. But the fucker is twice her size, making it impossible for her to push him away.
My vision darkens at the edges, and before I register even moving, my legs carry me across the short distance in a blur. My hand shoots out, clamping onto the bastard’s collar, his entire shirt bunching in my fist, and I yank him off her so hard his feet leave the damn floor.
Meera gasps, a breath of relief that dies the moment my fist connects with his jaw.
“How dare you touch my wife?” I snarl.
He staggers, dazed, blood already spilling from his split lip. “I—I—”
I don’t let him finish. Instead, I grab him again and slam him into the wall. “This is the last mistake you’ll ever make,” I growl. “Because I am going to kill you.”
He chokes, his eyes bulging, legs scrambling for balance.
“Dev, leave him!” Meera grabs my arm, trying to pull me back, but I don’t loosen my grip on the asshole.
I am seconds away from choking him when two of my men appear at the entrance of the corridor.
“Sir?”
I yank the bastard forward and shove him into their arms.
“Handle him,” I snap.
They nod instantly and drag him away down the hall.
Once they’re out of sight, I turn to Meera, my pulse still roaring in my ears.
“Are you okay?” I ask, cupping her cheek. I shouldn’t have let her go alone. My gut had been screaming that it was a bad idea.
She pushes my hand away and steps back. “You really are a devil. The way you beat that man… you’ll always be an asshole.”
“I saved you,” I fire back, stepping closer. “You should be thanking me, not cursing me.”
“I don’t owe you a damn thing, least of all a thank you. And as for saving me? I’d rather have him touch me than have you swoop in like some hero.”
My jaw clenches. If she wants to see the worst in me, then that’s exactly what she’ll get.
“You’re right, I am not the hero, sweetheart.
I am the villain of your life.” I smirk.
“And the only reason I saved you is because I don’t tolerate any bastard laying a hand on what carries my name.
Not because I care about you.” I hold her gaze.
“But because the name Dev Rathore is something that people fear. And I won’t let anyone tarnish that, ever. ”
She swallows hard, her breath catching for a second.
“And the sooner you understand that,” I add, brushing away a loose strand from her cheek, “the better it will be for you.”
She doesn’t respond.
She just looks at me—furious, scared, shaken—all at once.