Sidharth moved to the bathroom, leaving her alone in the bedroom that was now hers. That would be hers for the rest of her life.
Advika sank onto the edge of the massive bed, still wearing her bridal lehenga, the sindoor heavy in her hair parting, the mangalsutra weighing down her neck. She stared at the unfamiliar room, the unfamiliar life, the unfamiliar future stretching endlessly before her.
This was it. This was her life now.
Mrs. Advika Singhania.
And there was no going back.
Chapter Three
Advika woke up to an empty bed.
The space beside her was cold, the sheets undisturbed. Sidharth hadn't come to bed at all.
She sat up slowly, her body aching from tension more than exertion. The heavy bridal lehenga lay discarded on a chair where she'd finally managed to remove it around two in the morning, her fingers fumbling with hooks and ties in the unfamiliar darkness. She'd found a simple cotton nightgown in the closet—her closet now, she supposed—and had crawled into the massive bed alone.
She'd lain awake for hours, listening for footsteps that never came, her mind a chaotic mess of relief and humiliation.
Her wedding night, and her husband hadn't even bothered to show up.
Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the masculine bedroom in harsh detail. Everything was expensive, tasteful, and utterly impersonal. There were no photographs, no personal items, nothing that gave any hint of who Sidharth Singhania actually was beneath the cold exterior.
A knock on the door made her jump.
"Come in," she called, pulling the duvet up to her chin.
A woman in her fifties entered, wearing a simple salwar kameez and carrying a tray. Her expression was professionally neutral, but her eyes held curiosity.
"Good morning, Mrs. Singhania. I'm Lakshmi, the head housekeeper. I've brought your morning tea." She set the tray onthe nightstand—fine china, perfectly brewed tea, a small plate of biscuits. "Mr. Singhania asked me to inform you that breakfast is served in the dining room at nine. The family usually gathers then."
Mr. Singhania.So formal. So distant.
"Thank you, Lakshmi." Advika's voice came out rougher than she'd intended. "What time is it now?"
"Eight-thirty, ma'am."
Thirty minutes to make herself presentable for her new family. Thirty minutes to armor herself for whatever fresh hell awaited.
Lakshmi hesitated at the door. "If you need anything, anything at all, please ring. I've been with the Singhania family for twenty years. I know this house can be... overwhelming at first."
There was kindness in her voice, and it nearly broke something in Advika. She managed a weak smile. "I'll keep that in mind."
After Lakshmi left, Advika forced herself out of bed. The attached bathroom was larger than her entire apartment above Sinfully Sweet—all marble and gold fixtures and a shower that probably had more settings than her car. She showered quickly, the hot water doing nothing to ease the knot of anxiety in her stomach.
Her clothes had been unpacked and organized with military precision. Expensive sarees she'd never seen before hung beside the few outfits she'd brought from home. More additions to the costume she was expected to wear.
She chose a simple mint green salwar kameez—one of her own, soft and familiar. If she was going to face the Singhania family, she'd do it as herself, not dressed up like a doll.
The mansion was a labyrinth. Advika got lost twice before finding the dining room, her footsteps echoing in hallways lined with portraits of stern-faced ancestors. Everything about this place screamed old money, old power, old secrets.
Voices drifted from the dining room as she approached. She paused outside the door, steeling herself.
"—surprised she even showed up," Nisha's voice, dripping with disdain. "I half expected her to run back to daddy."
"Nisha." That was Rishabh, his tone mildly reproving. "Give her a chance."
"A chance? She's a Pradhan. That's all I need to know."
