47. WALKING AWAY?
DIYA
My phone suddenly vibrates against the glass vanity, breaking the silence in the bedroom.
I glance at the screen.
The moment I see the caller's name, my stomach drops.
Papa.
Just seeing his name feels so wrong in this palace. Like a piece of my old life has forced its way into the one I'm trying so hard to build.
My fingers tremble as I answer the call and slowly lift the phone to my ear.
"I see you've finally remembered the man who gave you a roof over your head for twenty years." His voice is exactly the same.
Cold.
Sharp.
Full of quiet judgment.
He doesn't ask how I am. He doesn't ask if I'm happy. He gets straight to the reason he called. "The regional textile distribution lease is up for renewal next month," he says. "Veeraj has the final say on the ministry board."
His tone hardens. "I need that signature." I shut my eyes. "You married into that family. The least you can do is help your own father."
"I am not a lobbyist, Papa," I whisper, gripping my kurti tightly in my fist. "Our marriage has nothing to do with government decisions. I won't ask him."
"You will do exactly what I tell you." His voice turns colder.
"Use your position. Convince him. Charm him if you have to.
I don't care how you do it." A cruel laugh escapes him.
"Although I suppose that might be difficult.
" He doesn't stop. "With skin like yours, I'm surprised he even looks at you.
" My breathing stops. "You should be grateful I got you into that family.
Without me, you'd still be wasting your life at that NGO.
You owe me. Don't forget where you came from. "
The call ends. I stare at the dark screen for a long moment before my hand goes numb..The phone slips from my fingers and falls onto the rug with a dull thud.
The first sob escapes before I can stop it.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands as another wave of tears crashes over me.
It feels like every cruel word I've spent weeks trying to forget comes rushing back all at once.
My chest aches so badly I can barely breathe.
What am I doing?
The thought keeps repeating inside my head.
Maybe Papa is right. Maybe he has always been right. Maybe I'm just someone people feel sorry for.
A girl with too many scars. Too much baggage. Someone who forgets her place the moment she's shown a little kindness. Fresh tears run down my cheeks, I think about Veeraj. About everything he is.
Strong.
Respected.
Confident.
The kind of man who walks into a room and owns it without saying much. He belongs in this world. Beside kings, ministers, and world leaders. Not beside someone like me.
Someone whose confidence can fall apart because of one phone call. Someone who still carries every cruel word people have ever said. The memory of our first kiss flashes through my mind.
A few days ago, it made me feel safe.
Tonight, it only hurts.
A woman born into this world would fit beside him so easily. Someone graceful. Someone confident. Someone who never doubts whether she belongs standing next to him. She wouldn't need him to defend her every time someone looked at her differently.
She wouldn't bring old wounds into his life. Maybe that's the woman Veeraj deserves.
Not me.
Our marriage starts because of an arrangement.
A solution to a public relations problem.
Somewhere along the way, I forget that. Somewhere along the way . . . I fall in love with him. Completely. Hopelessly.
And now all I can think about is how badly it will hurt if one day he realizes I was never meant to stay.
I wrap my arms tightly around myself, making myself as small as I can in the middle of the huge bed.
Maybe it's better if I rebuild every wall I've let him break down. Maybe if I create enough distance now . . . It won't destroy me later when he finally decides to walk away.