"Remember that time in Goa?" Mihika was saying, her voice carrying down the table. "When we went parasailing and you were convinced I was going to fall?"
"You almost did fall," Sidharth replied, his tone polite but not warm.
"But you caught me." Mihika's hand landed on his forearm, squeezing. "You always catch me."
Advika's grip tightened on her wine glass. She took a long drink, trying to calm the jealousy burning in her chest.
"Are you alright, dear?" Mrs. Malhotra asked, leaning in with concern. "You look a bit flushed."
"Fine," Advika managed. "Just warm in here."
Across the table, Rishabh was watching her with barely concealed sympathy. He raised his own glass in a small salute, and she managed a weak smile in return.
The dinner dragged on. Course after course, each one beautifully prepared by the estate's chef, each one tasting like ash in Advika's mouth as she watched Mihika work her magic.
Then came the moment that broke something in Advika.
Under the table, she saw it—Mihika's hand sliding from Sidharth's arm to his thigh, her fingers trailing upward with clear intent.
Advika's vision went red.
She stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. "Excuse me," she said, her voice carefully controlled. "I need some air."
She fled before anyone could respond, her heels clicking against marble as she made her way through the mansion. She needed space, needed air, needed to not be in that dining room watching another woman touch her husband while everyone pretended not to notice.
The library. She headed there automatically, seeking refuge among the books and quiet.
She'd been there maybe five minutes, trying to calm her racing heart and furious thoughts, when the door opened.
Sidharth stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing that concerns you," Advika said, turning away to stare out the window at the dark gardens. "Go back to your dinner party."
"Advika." His footsteps approached. "Talk to me."
"Talk to you?" She spun around, anger finally breaking free. "About what, exactly? About how your sister's best friend has been pawing at you all evening? About how I had to sit there and watch while she put her hand on your thigh? Or maybe about how everyone at that table knows she wants you and thinks I'm just the convenient wife?"
His jaw tightened. "Mihika means—"
"Don't." Advika held up a hand. "Don't tell me she means nothing. Because if she means nothing, then do something about it. Tell her to stop. Tell your sister to stop inviting her over every five minutes. Tell them I'm your wife and they need to respect that."
"It's not that simple."
"Why not?" She moved closer, frustration making her bold. "Give me one good reason why it's not that simple."
"Because—" He stopped, running a hand through his hair. "Because I don't owe you explanations."
The words stung, even though she'd heard variations of them before. "Right. Because this is just a business arrangement. Because I'm just the treaty bride. I keep forgetting my place."
"That's not what I meant."
"Isn't it?" Her laugh was bitter. "You come to my bed at night, Sidharth. You touch me, you make me scream your name, you tell me I'm yours. But during the day, I might as well not exist. And I'm supposed to just accept that? Accept watching other women touch you while you do nothing?"
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "Are you jealous?"
"Yes!" The admission burst out of her. "Yes, I'm jealous! Is that what you want to hear? I hate watching her touch you. I hate the way she looks at you. I hate that your sister encourages it. And I hate that you won't—"
She didn't get to finish. Sidharth closed the distance between them in two strides, his hand cupping the back of her neck as his mouth crashed down on hers.
