Relief flooded through her. "Thank you."
"Is that all?"
She wanted to ask so many other things. Why do you touch me at night but ignore me during the day? Do I mean anything to you at all? Can we at least try to be friends?
But she knew better. So she just nodded and left, feeling his eyes on her back until the door closed between them.
It was a small victory. But lately, Advika had learned to treasure the small ones.
Within a week, Advika had established a routine. She'd spend her afternoons in the kitchen, creating elaborate pastries and desserts. The staff had been wary at first, but quickly warmed to her, especially when they realized she cleaned up after herself and genuinely just wanted to bake.
She made chocolate éclairs filled with vanilla custard. Delicate fruit tarts with pastry cream. A three-layer red velvet cake that took hours but came out perfect. Croissants from scratch, the laminated dough requiring patience and precision she was happy to give.
The staff devoured everything she made. Lakshmi, the head housekeeper, started requesting specific items. "Mrs. Singhania, could you make those lemon bars again? The gardeners have been asking."
Even Rishabh became a regular visitor to the kitchen, showing up with impeccable timing whenever something was coming out of the oven.
"You're going to make me fat," he complained one afternoon, accepting a still-warm cinnamon roll. "But God, these are worth it."
Advika smiled, wiping flour from her cheek. "Glad someone appreciates my work."
"Everyone appreciates it. Even the security guys have been fighting over your cookies." He took a bite, groaning in pleasure."Seriously, Advika, this is professional level. You should open a bakery."
"I had one," she said quietly. "Sinfully Sweet. Before..."
Before she'd been forced to marry his brother. Before her life had been upended.
Rishabh's expression softened. "Right. Sorry."
"It's fine." She turned back to the dough she was kneading, needing something to do with her hands. "This helps. Being able to create something, even if it's just for the household."
"It's not 'just' anything." Rishabh leaned against the counter, watching her work. "You're really talented. And for what it's worth, I think Sidharth is an idiot."
Advika's hands stilled. "What?"
"He's my brother, and I love him, but he's an idiot when it comes to you." Rishabh's voice was gentle. "I see how he looks at you when you're not watching. And I see how you look at him. You're both miserable, and it doesn't have to be this way."
"Your brother made it very clear what I am to him," Advika said, her voice tight. "A means to an end. The treaty bride."
"Is that what he said?"
"More or less."
Rishabh shook his head. "He's scared. After what happened to our parents, after being betrayed by someone we trusted... he doesn't let people in. Doesn't trust easily."
"I'm not asking him to trust me. I'm just asking him to acknowledge I exist during daylight hours."
The words hung in the air, more bitter than she'd intended.
"Give him time," Rishabh said finally. "He's—"
"Broken. I know." Advika went back to her kneading with more force than necessary. "Everyone keeps telling me that. But being broken doesn't give him the right to break me too."
Rishabh had no answer for that. He finished his cinnamon roll in silence and left, leaving Advika alone with her thoughts and her dough.
That evening, Nisha swept into the dining room where Advika was setting out a platter of macarons she'd made—lavender honey, rose pistachio, and dark chocolate.
"How domestic," Nisha said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She was dressed for an evening out, all designer labels and perfect makeup. "Playing housewife now?"
