Chapter 20
Dev
I grip the cold metal railing and stare into the dark night sky as the city lights blur beneath me.
A grin tugs at my mouth as thoughts of my wife spill through me.
The whole day, I didn’t leave her side. Not once.
Not even when she tried to wave me off, muttering that she didn’t need me, that she could manage on her own, throwing me those irritated glances and totally ignoring the fact that she was affected by my closeness.
She can be stubborn like that. So damn proud even when she’s hurting.
But I am just as stubborn. I stayed and continued tending to her wrist. I helped her eat, ignoring every half-hearted protest, and making it clear that her pain was mine to shoulder too, that I felt it with her.
And that’s the damn truth. Every time I saw her wince, my chest burned.
And now, just like that, remembering the pain Meera suffered makes my fury toward Esha flare to life.
I don’t feel even a shred of guilt for throwing her out of my house without letting her utter a single excuse.
Not after what she did to Meera. If anything, she’s lucky I was too wrapped up in my wife to make her pay for it.
I inhale, letting the cold night air bite at my skin. All along our marriage, I never cared enough to untangle the real reason I married Meera. I kept convincing myself that the reason—whether revenge, protection, or some twisted sense of need—didn’t matter, as long as I had her with me.
But now I’m done twisting it. I love her.
I love my wife. And every time she looks at me with those furious eyes that soften for a heartbeat before she turns away, I feel it.
Every time her breath hitches when I touch her or even come close, I know she feels something too. She just refuses to admit it.
That’s fine. I’ve broken stronger walls than this, and I’ll break this one too, patiently, until she finally understands that she’s mine… and that loving me is a truth she can’t keep running from.
Pulling in a breath, I push off the railing and walk back into the room, only to find it empty. My heartbeat slams hard in my chest. It’s ten at night. Where the hell did Meera go?
I rush out of the room and scan the hallway, the stairs, and the kitchen. Each empty corner tightens the fear around my throat. This woman will be the death of my sanity, I growl under my breath.
Just then, I hear her voice drifting from the backyard. I immediately head towards it, and when I finally see her, a deep breath rushes out of me.
She’s standing with her back to me, phone pressed to her ear, the night breeze pushing her hair over one shoulder. Relief loosens my lungs, but the calm lasts only for a second, because her next words slice straight through it.
“Samarth, I’m not discussing my divorce again. When the time is right, I will,” she says, her voice strained.
My hands clench at my sides. I warned that fucking asshole not to even think about bringing up the word divorce around my wife, but some people only learn the hard way.
I’m about to storm over, snatch the phone from her hand, and remind that asshole he’s counting his breaths, when Meera ends the call. Her shoulders sag, and she sinks onto the swing, clutching her injured wrist as she stares ahead, lost in thought.
I stay rooted in place, forcing myself to breathe, to let the rage drain from my muscles before I do something I can’t undo. And through it all, my eyes never leave her… the woman whose mere presence is enough to steady me, no matter what torment I’m drowning in.
A few seconds slip by before my feet carry me towards her.
“You need to stay the hell away from that journalist friend of yours,” I say, stopping beside the swing.
She glares up at me. “You don’t get to control that.”
“I’m not trying to control,” I growl, every instinct in me screaming to rip her phone from her hand and crush it, but I don’t. “I’m protecting my marriage. I won’t stand by while you keep your friendship with a man who is threatening it. That bloody loser.” I bite out the last word with disgust.
“Let me be perfectly clear.” She springs to her feet, the swing lurching behind her. “He can’t break something that doesn’t exist. Our marriage is nothing but a lie.”
“Our marriage is not a lie,” I reply, each word measured but edged with fire.
She scoffs bitterly. “Of course it is. You married me for revenge, and I married you because I had no choice. Don’t twist it just because you’ve suddenly decided to play the part of a caring husband for God knows what game now.”
I draw in a breath, then drop onto the swing and reach for her wrist. My thumb traces over the swollen area. “You’re wrong. I’m not twisting anything. And I sure as hell am not pretending to care. Trust me, I don’t waste this kind of effort on someone I don’t give a damn about.”
She twitches under my touch but doesn’t pull away.
“You really need to cut ties with him. He’s selfish, irritating, and somehow manages to annoy me just by existing.”
She jerks her hand away with a wince. “Trust me, Dev, every single one of those adjectives fits you perfectly. Not him.”
“Every time you defend him, it fucking kills me, sweetheart.” I rise to my feet, towering over her. “But you know what? I am done watching this. I will protect my marriage. And I’ll make sure your little friendship with him ends. You’re not meeting him again.”
Her face freezes. “What?”
“You heard me.”
She exhales sharply. “Newsflash, Dev. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“I am not telling you what to do. I am telling you what not to do. You will not meet him. That’s all.”
“I am not taking orders from you,” she snaps, jabbing a finger into my chest. “And I will meet him. In fact, I am going to work tomorrow, and I will see him.”
My jaw flexes hard. “You’re not going to work tomorrow.”
“Of course. This is exactly why I don’t believe a word of your so-called concern.
This is what I’ve been saying. You pretend to care when it suits your convenience.
First my parents, then my friendships, and now even my work.
This marriage—” she breaks off, shaking her head, “is nothing but your way of intimidating me at every chance you get.”
“I am not taking away your work. I know how important it is to you. I am saying this because the doctor said you need to rest. Not because I am letting my possessiveness do the thinking.” And that’s not a lie.
Yes, I don’t want her meeting that asshole friend of hers, but I won’t stoop so low as to cage her for it.
I have my own ways of making sure that friendship doesn’t interfere with my marriage.
Her nostrils flare. “I am fine.”
“You’re not fine,” I say, as I look at her wrist again.
“Your wrist isn’t. And I will do whatever it takes to make sure you rest tomorrow.
I am not letting you push yourself and make it worse.
” I take a step closer, my jaw set. “If I have to keep an eye on you the whole damn day, I will. But you’re staying home. ”
“You know how stubborn I can be,” she snaps.
“And you know how stubborn I can be.”
“Dev, I am going to work. You won’t be able to stop me,” she tries again.
“We’ll see,” I counter.
“Oh, we’ll see,” she mimics, rolling her eyes. “Now I am calling it a night. I am done listening to your crap.”
With a frustrated huff, she turns on her heel and walks back into the house. I follow after her, my gaze locked on the fire in her stride, each step only stoking the desire burning through me.
Inside the room, she drops onto the couch in irritation, not sparing me a single glance as she presses her wrist. I shake my head, walk to the side table, pick up the painkiller and a glass of water, then step towards her, holding both out to her.
“You can be angry with me and can hate me all you want,” I say quietly, and her eyes finally meet mine. “But don’t take my anger out on yourself. That… actually hurts me.” Her breath hitches, and I add. “Take it.”
She takes the medicine without a word, tosses it into her mouth, and swallows it with a sip of water. Then she hands the glass back to me and sinks back against the couch, pulling the blanket over herself and shutting her eyes, clearly letting me know she’s done dealing with me.
I can’t help but grin. I walk over to the bed, pull the sheets aside, and lie down. I close my eyes, letting sleep tug at me, but even as I drift off, one thought beats steadily in my mind.
Her stubbornness burns like fire, but mine is steel. And steel always outlasts flame. Tomorrow, I’ll make sure she has no reason to step outside.
???
“Dev, we have good news,” Dad says just as our housekeeper sets a fresh pot of coffee on the dining table. “Khurana got approval for the site, and the purchase has been finalised.”
I take a bite of my omelette. “He had no choice but to move things our way and secure the approval.”
Veer whistles from across the table. “That’s huge, bro! We need to celebrate with a proper party. Tonight.”
Dad nods. “Yes. We must celebrate. It’s been ages since we’ve had anything good to toast to…” His eyes lift to me pointedly, “…especially since you got married.”
“I’ll arrange a party here at home,” I say, ignoring his taunt.
Dad immediately shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Obviously not,” Veer agrees.
“Your wife is sure to ruin the mood, and I’d rather not have another scene in front of the guests,” Dad adds.
My jaw locks, but before I can defend Meera, she walks in, dressed in a salwar suit with her laptop bag in hand.
She pulls out the chair next to me and sits.
Using her left hand, the one without a bandage, she reaches for the kettle, but I beat her to it and pour her tea.
She gives me a thankful nod and takes a sip.
“You going somewhere?” I ask.
She sets her cup down. “Yup, work.”
“No, you’re not. Going to work is banned. Remember?” I butter the toast and place it on her plate along with the egg.
Her eyes narrow. “And I told you I am going. I am not sitting at home getting bored.”
“You don’t have to be bored. We have a party tonight. You can attend that,” I say.
Veer pipes up loudly, “Why are you asking her to join the party, bro? You know she’ll ruin all the fun.”
Meera smiles sweetly at him, then turns to me. “Yes, Dev. I will ruin your fun. You know how good I am at that.”
I smirk, leaning back slightly. “Oh, I know exactly how good you are, but you’re still not going.” My gaze sharpens. “And don’t even try. My bodyguards will make sure you don’t set a foot out of this house.”
She raises an eyebrow, “You think a few bodyguards can stop me?”
“Actually, I have a better idea,” I say, pulling my phone from my pocket.
“Let me call your dad and double-check what he thinks about his daughter going to work with an injured hand. I am sure he’ll be thrilled to hear my voice.
Though I imagine you’re not going to like the idea, given how our last meeting went,” I smirk.
She needs to understand exactly how far my stubbornness will go when it comes to taking care of her.
“Don’t you dare get my dad involved in this,” she hisses.
I raise a brow, my thumb hovering over the screen. For a full three seconds, she glares at me. Then she rises to her feet and marches back towards our room.
The moment she disappears, Dad speaks up.
“Dev…”
I don’t respond. I don’t want to start a conversation that ends with him insulting my wife. Instead, I push back my chair and stand. “I need to get my car keys.”
“But—”
“Later, Dad,” I cut him off and make my way to the staircase, ignoring his disapproval burning into my back. I have a more pressing battle waiting for me upstairs.
The moment I enter the room, I find her pacing, the sharp lines of irritation on her face impossible to miss.
“Sweetheart, are you cursing me?” I drawl, stepping inside.
She glares at me. “I don’t need to answer your stupid question, especially when you already know my answer.”
“Come on,” I say, stopping a foot from her. “You should be lucky you have a caring husband.”
“A caring husband? My foot,” she scoffs. “Locking me in this house, telling me not to meet my friend, that’s not caring. That’s being a toxic husband.”
“I am doing this for your own good. Something you need to see and understand.”
She lets out a humourless laugh. “Please, don’t think about what’s good or bad for me. I can take care of myself.”
“You are unbelievably difficult, wife.”
She folds her arms. “Don’t you have work to go to? Why are you wasting your time here?”
“Work can wait. Right now, I have a much more important job. Making sure my wife is taken care of. You didn’t eat breakfast, so I’ll ask the staff to send it up.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but I place a finger over her lips, silencing her. “You will eat your breakfast and take your medicine. No arguments. I’ll be back from work soon. Call me if you need anything.”
I press a soft kiss to her forehead. My heart hammers in my chest at the contact, a surge of desire flaring within me. I want more. I want to claim her, but I won’t cross that line until I’ve truly won her heart.
Not wanting my desire to overpower my reason, and before I give in to the urge to throw her onto the bed and show her how much I love her, I step back, turn and leave, hearing her soft grumble trailing behind me.
I shake my head. God, when will my stubborn wife stop fighting this and finally understand what this marriage, and she, mean to me?