"Baking," Advika corrected, not taking the bait. "There's a difference."
"Is there?" Nisha picked up a macaron, examining it like it might be poisoned. "How do we know what you've put in these? You are a Pradhan, after all."
Advika's hand tightened on the platter, but she kept her voice level. "If I wanted to poison you, Nisha, I'd be far more creative than a macaron. Maybe a nice mushroom risotto. Or some expertly prepared fugu. Baking is too obvious."
Nisha's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Are you threatening me?"
"I'm pointing out the flaw in your logic." Advika set the platter down with deliberate care. "If you're so convinced I'm some sort of spy or saboteur, maybe ask yourself why I'd waste three yearsbuilding a successful bakery just to throw it all away for the privilege of being ignored by your brother."
"You didn't throw it away. You married up. Way up."
"Right. Because living in a house where half the people hate me and my husband pretends I don't exist is such an upgrade." Advika's laugh was sharp. "You know what? Don't eat the macarons. More for people who actually appreciate them."
She started to leave, but Nisha's voice stopped her.
"He doesn't love you, you know. He never will."
The words were designed to hurt, and they did. But Advika had learned to hide her wounds.
"Good thing I don't love him either," she lied, meeting Nisha's gaze steadily. "This is a business arrangement, remember? You said so yourself. I'm just the means to an end."
She walked out before Nisha could see the cracks in her armor.
Later that night, alone in her bedroom while Sidharth worked late yet again, Advika allowed herself to cry. Just a little. Just enough to release the pressure building in her chest.
Then she dried her tears, washed her face, and went to bed.
Tomorrow, she'd bake something else. Tomorrow, she'd get through another day of pretending she was fine.
Tomorrow, she'd keep lying to herself about what she felt for her husband.
The shift happened around 2 AM.
Advika was almost asleep when she heard the bedroom door open. Sidharth moved quietly through the dark room, but she'dlearned to recognize the sound of his footsteps, the rustle of fabric as he undressed.
The bed dipped as he slid in beside her. For a moment, there was only silence and the sound of their breathing.
Then his hand found her hip, warm through the thin fabric of her nightgown.
"Advika," he murmured, his voice rough. "Are you awake?"
She could pretend to be asleep. Could roll away and deny him this. But her traitorous body was already responding, heat pooling low in her belly at just his touch.
"Yes," she whispered.
He pulled her back against his chest, his arm wrapping around her waist. She could feel him, already hard against her back, and her breath hitched.
"I can't stop thinking about you," he admitted, his mouth finding the curve of her neck. "All day in meetings, all I could think about was this. You."
The words should have made her happy. Instead, they just made her angry.
"Funny," she said, her voice tight. "During the day, you act like I'm invisible."
His hand stilled on her hip. "Advika—"
"No." She tried to pull away, but his arm tightened. "You don't get to ignore me for eighteen hours and then show up at night expecting me to just—"
He rolled her onto her back, looming over her in the darkness. His eyes gleamed amber in the dim light filtering through the curtains.
