But inside, she was screaming.
Nisha watched from across the room with barely concealed hostility. Rishabh was more polite, toasting them with what might have been genuine good wishes. Mihika was there too, her eyes following Sidharth with open longing, her smile brittle every time she looked at Advika.
And Sidharth noticed none of it. Or pretended not to.
"Time for the first dance," someone announced, and before Advika could protest, she was being ushered to the center of the dance floor.
A slow song began playing—something romantic and utterly at odds with their reality. Sidharth's hand settled on her waist, his other hand clasping hers, and they began to move.
He was a good dancer. Of course he was. Probably had lessons as a child, groomed for high society even as he was being trained to rule the underworld.
"You're stiff," he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "Relax. They're watching."
"Hard to relax when you're dancing with a stranger," she replied, matching his quiet tone.
His hand tightened fractionally on her waist. "We're married now. Not strangers anymore."
"A few rituals and some sindoor don't make us less strange to each other."
She felt him sigh, his breath stirring the hair at her temple. They were close, closer than they'd been even during the ceremonies. She could smell his cologne—something expensive and masculine that made her head spin. Could feel the solid warmth of him, the controlled power in every movement.
Her body responded despite her mind's protests. Heat pooled low in her belly. Her skin tingled where his hand rested on her waist, even through layers of silk. She was hyperaware of every point of contact, every shift of his body against hers.
This was dangerous. This attraction she couldn't control, couldn't explain.
"You'll adjust," Sidharth said, his tone matter-of-fact. "Everyone does."
The words should have been reassuring. They felt like a threat.
The song ended, and Advika stepped back immediately, putting necessary distance between them. Her skin still burned where he'd touched her, and she hated it. Hated this traitorous body that responded to a man who looked at her like she was nothing.
The rest of the reception passed in a blur. More photos, more well-wishes, more pretending. By the time the last guest left, Advika was exhausted down to her bones.
"Come," Sidharth said, appearing at her side. "I'll show you to our room."
Our room.The words sent ice and fire warring through her veins.
She followed him through the mansion, up a grand staircase to the second floor. The master bedroom was at the end of a long hallway, double doors opening into a space bigger than her entire apartment above Sinfully Sweet.
The room was masculine—dark woods, leather, minimal decoration. A massive bed dominated the space, and Advika's eyes skittered away from it immediately.
"Your things have been unpacked," Sidharth said, gesturing to a walk-in closet. "If you need anything, press the button by the nightstand. Someone will come."
He spoke like he was giving a hotel tour, not welcoming his wife to their bedroom.
"Where will you sleep?" Advika asked, hopeful.
His eyes met hers, and for the first time, she saw a flicker of something that might have been amusement. "In my bed. With my wife."
"We don't have to—"
"We're married, Advika." He shrugged off his sherwani, revealing a fitted white kurta underneath. The casual domesticity of the gesture felt wrong. "People will expect... evidence. Eventually."
Her face flamed. "Evidence?"
"Not tonight," he said, his tone dismissive. "You look exhausted. But eventually."
Eventually. The word hung between them like a threat and a promise.
