"I don't care what I'm allowed anymore. I'll be there in an hour."
She hung up before Meera could protest further.
Getting out of the estate required more planning than she'd anticipated. The guards at the gate knew her, knew she wasn't supposed to leave without approval. But Advika had been observing their patterns for weeks, and she'd noticed something—they were less vigilant about the service entrance, the one the staff used for deliveries.
She waited until the midday delivery truck arrived, watched it get waved through with minimal inspection, and made her move.
She'd dressed simply—jeans, a plain kurti, her hair in a ponytail, sunglasses covering half her face. She grabbed the keys to one ofthe older, less conspicuous cars from the garage—a sedan that wouldn't attract attention.
"Mrs. Singhania?" One of the junior guards approached as she got in. "Do you need a driver?"
"No, I'm fine. Just running an errand. I'll be back in a few hours."
"Should I inform—"
"That won't be necessary." She smiled, putting authority into her voice. "Thank you."
She drove out through the service entrance, following closely behind a departing delivery truck. The guard waved her through without question.
Freedom. For the first time in months, actual freedom.
Advika drove toward the city, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. She was probably going to pay for this later, but right now, she didn't care.
Sinfully Sweet looked exactly as she'd left it—the mint green awning, the display window showing off pastries, the hand-painted sign she'd commissioned from a local artist. Her chest ached looking at it.
Home. This place was home in a way the Singhania estate would never be.
She parked in the back and used her key to let herself in through the rear entrance. The familiar smells hit her immediately—butter, vanilla, chocolate, yeast from rising dough. Her eyes actually watered.
"Advika!" Meera appeared from the front, her face lighting up. Then she was pulling Advika into a tight hug. "I can't believe you're actually here."
"I couldn't stay away anymore." Advika hugged her back, feeling something in her chest loosen. "Show me what you've been working on."
The next three hours were bliss. Pure, uncomplicated bliss.
Advika threw herself into baking with a fervor she'd been suppressing for months. She created a new pastry—a pistachio rose tart with cardamom cream. Perfected a recipe for lavender shortbread she'd been tinkering with. Taught Meera a new technique for tempering chocolate.
The small staff—just three people now, down from five—gathered to watch her work, asking questions, laughing at her jokes, treating her like the boss she was instead of the unwanted bride she'd become.
"God, I've missed this," Advika said, piping delicate flowers onto a cake. Her hands were covered in buttercream, flour dusted her cheek, and she'd never been happier.
"We've missed you," Meera said. "The bakery isn't the same without you."
"I know. And I'm sorry. I never meant to abandon you guys."
"You didn't abandon us. You were forced into an impossible situation." Meera's voice was gentle. "How are you holding up? Really?"
Advika's hands stilled. "I'm..." She couldn't lie, not here. "I'm not okay. My marriage is a disaster. My husband doesn't trust me. His family hates me. And I'm in love with a man who sees me as the enemy."
"Oh, Advika."
"But right now, in this moment, I'm okay." She went back to her piping, determined not to cry. "Because I'm here, doing what I love, with people who actually want me around. So let's just... let's just bake, okay?"
They baked. And laughed. And for three perfect hours, Advika forgot about the Singhania estate and Sidharth's cold eyes and Nisha's cruelty.
She felt like herself again.
The realization that she'd been gone too long hit around 4 PM.
