“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 thanyou 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.
