Advika sank onto the bed, her earlier bravado crumbling. She'd stood up for herself, finally, but it didn't feel like a victory. It felt like she'd just made her already impossible situation worse.
She was alone in a house full of people. Married to a man who couldn't stand to be in the same room as her. Trapped in a life she'd never wanted.
And there was no escape.
Later that night, long after Sidharth had finished in the bathroom and settled into his side of the bed with the pillow wall firmly in place, Advika lay awake staring at the ceiling.
She could hear him breathing in the darkness. Steady. Even. So close and yet impossibly far away.
"I miss my bakery," she whispered into the dark, not expecting a response.
For a long moment, there was only silence.
Then, so quiet she almost missed it: "I know."
Two words. But they were the most he'd said to her that wasn't a command or a reprimand.
It should have made her feel better.
It only made the loneliness worse.
Because knowing he understood and still did nothing about it was somehow crueler than if he simply didn't care at all.
Advika closed her eyes and wished for sleep that wouldn't come. This was her life now.A gilded cage.Beautiful, expensive, and slowly suffocating her.
Chapter Four
One Month Later
The clock on the nightstand read 2:17 AM, and Advika had long since given up on sleep.
She lay in the massive bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to Sidharth's steady breathing on the other side of the pillow wall. A month and a half of marriage, and this was still their routine—sharing a bed while maintaining careful distance, like strangers on a train who happened to be sitting too close.
Her mind wouldn't quiet. Thoughts circled endlessly—her bakery slowly slipping away despite Meera's best efforts, her mother's disappointed face if she could see her now, the constant low-grade anxiety of living in a house where she wasn't wanted.
She needed to create something. Needed to feel her hands working, producing beauty instead of just existing in this expensive limbo.
Slowly, carefully, Advika slipped out of bed. Sidharth didn't stir. She grabbed a robe and padded barefoot through the dark mansion, muscle memory guiding her after six weeks of wandering these halls.
The kitchen was her destination. Not the small breakfast kitchen the family used, but the main one—a chef's dream with commercial-grade appliances, endless counter space, and a pantry that could feed an army.
She'd discovered it two weeks ago and had been sneaking down occasionally when sleep eluded her. The kitchen staff had been surprised at first, then cautiously welcoming. They'd startedleaving ingredients out for her, a silent permission that meant more than words.
Tonight, she wanted chocolate. Something rich and decadent and complex. Something that would require all her focus.
Advika gathered ingredients with practiced efficiency—dark chocolate, butter, eggs, sugar, cream. Her hands moved on autopilot, measuring and mixing, while her mind finally, blissfully, quieted.
This was meditation. This was therapy. This was home.
She melted chocolate over a double boiler, watching it transform from solid to liquid silk. Separated eggs with precision, whipped them to stiff peaks. Created a batter that was more art than science, poured it into pans, slid them into the oven.
While the cake layers baked, she started on the ganache. More chocolate, heavy cream, a touch of espresso to deepen the flavor. The kitchen filled with the rich, intoxicating scent of chocolate and butter and sugar.
Time lost meaning. There was only the rhythm of creation—fold, whip, pour, taste. Her mother had taught her to bake when she was barely tall enough to reach the counter.Baking is love made edible,Akshara used to say.You put your heart into it, and people can taste it.
Advika assembled the torte with meticulous care. Three layers of rich chocolate cake, ganache between each, a final coating that she smoothed to mirror-like perfection. Then came the decoration—chocolate curls she'd prepared earlier, a dusting of cocoa powder, fresh raspberries arranged just so.
She stepped back, surveying her work. It was beautiful. Perfect. Everything in her life wasn't, captured in cake form.
