Chapter 15
Meera
“Samarth, I still don’t have anything,” I mutter into the phone, pacing the length of the balcony.
It’s been almost a month since Dev beat that man in the pub, an encounter that still crawls up my spine every time I think about it.
Yet it didn’t scare me enough to silence me.
I’ve tried to dig in every direction I could—listening in on phone calls, watching patterns, reading expressions. But every trail ends in a dead end.
“Don’t push too hard, Meera. Dev’s family isn’t normal. They’re experts at burying their dirt and at making sure no one ever gets close,” Samarth warns from the other end.
God, they sure are clever enough to leave no trace. But they won’t be clever forever. Soon, I’ll have something on them.
“I know,” I whisper, pressing my fingers to my temple. “But I can’t just sit here doing nothing, Samarth. I need to…”
“You need to be careful,” he breathes, his breath hitching like he’s holding back fear. “We’d rather walk away with nothing than have your stubbornness put you at risk.”
“Samarth, I am always careful.” My fingers tighten around the railing. “I just… need to do this. For my own sanity.”
“I get it,” he says after a moment, his voice softening into that familiar concern he never fails to show every single day. “But tell me honestly… how has Dev been with you? Has he done anything… anything at all that should worry me?”
“He’s… surprisingly happy to keep his distance,” I say quietly. And that’s the truth. Ever since the pub incident, Dev has barely spoken to me. No sharp remarks, no cold jabs, nothing. It’s like he’s decided I simply don’t exist.
On the other hand, Veer and Esha have been constantly poking and prodding, testing their limits with me. But every time they tried, I made sure to show them exactly where their place ended and mine began. They didn’t like it. And I didn’t care.
And then there was Dev’s dad. He didn’t need to say a word.
The way his eyes skimmed over me, heavy with open dislike, made it clear he didn’t want me here.
The feeling was mutual. I wanted to get the hell out just as badly.
But not before I made each one of them regret every single thing they did to me and my loved ones.
“Meera, we can still take revenge without you being in this marriage. You don’t need to stay with—” Samarth begins, as if reading my mind, but I cut him off instantly.
“Samarth, we spoke about this, and I—”
Before I can finish, that infuriating voice cuts from behind me.
“So… you’re busy romancing with your boyfriend?”
“I’ll call you later, Samarth,” I say into the phone, ending the call before turning to face Esha. She’s dressed in yet another skimpy outfit, one hand resting on the handle of a trolley stacked high with bottles of alcohol.
“I think I should tell your husband about this call,” she says, arching a brow as if she’s caught me red-handed.
I give her a faint smile. “You don’t need to trouble yourself.”
She smirks. “Are you scared?”
“Nope. Not scared,” I say lightly, crossing my arms. “But watching your poor theatrics isn’t worth my time, Esha. And trust me, your childish attempt at blackmail doesn’t even come close to rattling me.”
“Don’t act smart with me,” she snaps. “It’ll take me two minutes to kick you out of this house. Don’t forget, Dev’s dad and brother hate you. One word from me, and you’re gone.”
I uncross my arms just long enough to shrug.
“If you could’ve kicked me out, you would’ve done it the first day you walked in.
But I guess you’ve finally realised just how obsessed your ex-boyfriend is with me.
He won’t let me go, no matter how much his brother and father hate me.
Even if the three of you joined hands, you still wouldn’t be able to throw me out, because Dev won’t let that happen.
So spare me the empty threats.” I tilt my head slightly, brushing invisible dust off my short yellow dress.
Her face hardens instantly. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Meera. And when it goes wrong, not even Dev’s obsession will save you.”
I step closer, matching her glare. “Dangerous or not, I don’t care. But if this is a game… you’re already losing.”
“I don’t have the time or patience to argue with you. Dev’s business associates are home for dinner, and they’re waiting for drinks.”
She tries to push the trolley forward, but my hand lands on the handle, stopping it.
“I’ll take it,” I say, a slow smirk curving my lips. “After all, I’m the daughter-in-law of the house. It’s my responsibility to take care of the guests… even irritating ones like you.”
“I am not a guest,” she hisses.
“You sure are,” I counter. “And you’d better start acting like one instead of pretending this house gives you more power than you actually have. Because it won’t take me long to show you your place. And trust me, you won’t like it.”
She ignores me and pushes the trolley again. I tighten my grip, stopping it once more.
“Are you deaf? I said I’ll take the cart.”
Her eyes blaze. “Fine. Be my guest.”
“Thank you,” I reply with exaggerated politeness before pushing the trolley forward, its wheels gliding smoothly over the marble floor.
As I head towards the bar room, a smirk creeps onto my lips. Time to ruin my husband’s mood like the good wife I am.
I push the door open without knocking.
The moment I do, every conversation dies mid-sentence, and all the tailored men snap their heads to look at me.
But my eyes stay locked on my husband, seated at the centre of the room. He’s dressed in a black shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His posture stiffens, his eyes narrowing at me, every line of his face betraying his annoyance at my presence.
Mission accomplished.
I walk further in and stop right beside Dev, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him.
“Hello, everyone,” I say in my sweetest tone, letting my gaze sweep over the group of men before settling on Dev. “Time for some fun… I mean, drinks.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw, and for a moment, he looks like he might actually strangle me.
“What are you doing here?” he grinds out.
I blink, feigning innocence. “I am here to host my husband’s guests.”
Then, turning back to the room, I flash a bright, perfectly polished hostess smile. “But first, let me properly introduce myself.”
Every pair of eyes flicks from me to Dev.
“Hello, gentlemen. I am Mrs. Meera Dev Rathore, and your host for tonight.”
I pick up a whiskey bottle and pour it into a glass, fully aware of Dev’s glare searing the back of my neck. But I ignore it.
I walk over to one of the handsome, young man, probably in his late twenties.
“Your drink, handsome,” I say, offering the glass with a sly smile.
“Thank you, beautiful.” He returns the smile, his gaze trailing down my body.
Before I can flirt further, a hand clamps around my arm. I am spun around to face Dev, his eyes burning not with irritation, but with sheer fury.
“Enough.”
“Relax, hubby. Seems like you could use a drink as well.”
I free myself from his grip, stroll back to the trolley, and grab a beer can. Turning to face him, I pop it open, and the foam bursts instantly, spilling down my neck and soaking the front of my dress.
I gasp dramatically. “Oops.”
A few men cough and exchange uneasy glances, trying hard not to stare. I saunter over to Dev and hold out the dripping can, but he doesn’t take it. His fists clench at his sides, his whole body practically vibrating with barely restrained fury.
I shrug and lift the can in the air.
“A toast to my darling husband,” I announce sweetly, letting my eyes lock on his.
Dev grinds out, “Let’s go.”
I shake my head. “Will you stop being such a boring husband and let me have a little fun?” I turn and set the can on the centre table, then face Dev again. “You know I have a surprise for you. Something that might improve your grumpy mood.”
I pull my phone from my dress pocket, tap a button, and music explodes through the room.
A slow, sultry smile spreads across my face as I begin to dance, my hips swaying in sinuous, teasing rhythm.
I run a hand through my hair, letting it cascade over my shoulder as I feel every eye in the room fixed on me.
Dev’s face darkens. And that only fuels me more.
Within seconds, he storms towards me. His arm snakes around my waist, and he pulls me flush against him. Before I can even blink, he sweeps me up bridal-style.
“The meeting is over,” he announces, addressing the stunned men, before striding out of the room with me in his arms.
The moment we’re beyond earshot, I screech, “Dev! Put me down! PUT ME DOWN!”
But he doesn’t listen. He storms through the hall, up the stairs, and into our room. With a swift kick, he shuts the door behind him and throws me onto the bed. I bounce once, startled.
I push myself up, and the sight of him standing at the foot of the bed, his chest rising and falling, his eyes dark and smouldering, makes me gulp.
“I need to change,” I say, rising to my feet and shoving past him towards the closet, where that asshole had his way and arranged my clothes.
But he blocks my path with a firm arm.
“Why did you do this?” he growls.
“To insult you. Isn’t it obvious?” I snap back. “My darling husband, what will you do about it? Force me to apologise?”
His eyes narrow, and then that dangerous calm settles over him, the kind that’s worse when he’s angry. Much worse.
“I know you’re not the type who apologises. So I won’t waste my time.” Then he leans in, and I can’t help but let out a hitch in my breath.
“And Mrs. Rathore, you’re wasting your energy doing all this to make me angry.
Because no matter what stunt you pull… you will not get rid of me.
” He pulls back, and his gaze drops to the dress clinging to my body, the droplets of beer tracing down my curves.
His jaw flexes once before his gaze returns to mine.
“Now, go and change,” he says, stepping aside.
Without another word, he turns and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.
I stand there, shaking with leftover adrenaline, then flop back onto the bed, staring at the closed door.
“Why is it so impossible to get through to this man?” I whisper into the empty room, my pulse still racing.