"No, it's not. But it's the only way he knows how to survive." Rishabh looked at her, his expression serious. "He cares about you, Advika. More than he wants to admit, even to himself. I've never seen him like this with anyone—so torn up, so conflicted."
"He has a funny way of showing it."
"I know. And I'm not excusing his behavior. He's handling this terribly." Rishabh paused. "But I also see how he looks at you when you're not watching. I see how he was yesterday when you disappeared—I've never seen him that afraid. And I see how he is now, after last night. He's barely slept. He's been in his office all night, and I think he's trying to figure out how to fix this."
"There's nothing to fix," Advika said quietly. "You can't fix something that was broken from the start."
"Don't say that—"
"It's true." She looked back at the garden, at the perfectly manicured lawns and expensive fountains. "This marriage was a business deal. I'm the treaty bride, the peace offering. We were never supposed to actually care about each other."
"But you do." It wasn't a question.
Advika's silence was confirmation enough.
"He does too," Rishabh said gently. "He's just terrified of admitting it. Of being vulnerable again."
"Everyone keeps telling me to be patient with him. To give him time. To understand he's broken." Her voice cracked. "But what about me, Rishabh? What about what I need? I'm broken too. I'm hurting too. And I can't keep being the only one trying, the only one bending, the only one willing to be vulnerable while he stays safe behind his walls."
Rishabh was quiet for a long moment. Then: "You're right. And for what it's worth, I think you're the best thing that's ever happened to him. I just hope he figures that out before it's too late."
"It might already be too late."
"Don't say that. Don't give up on him yet."
"I'm not giving up on him," Advika said, her voice small. "I'm just... running out of strength to keep fighting for someone who doesn't want to be fought for."
"Hey." Rishabh's arm came around her shoulders, pulling her into a brotherly side hug. "You're not alone in this, okay? I know Nisha is awful, and Sidharth is an emotionally constipated idiot, but you have me. You have an ally here. A friend. A brother, if you'll have me."
The words made her throat tight. "I had two half-brothers growing up. They never once treated me like family."
"Then they were fools. Their loss." He squeezed her shoulder. "You're brilliant, Advika. You're strong and talented and funnyand you don't take anyone's shit. Including my brother's. That's rare. That's special."
She managed a watery laugh. "You're going to make me cry again."
"Then cry. God knows you've earned it." He didn't let go, just sat there, solid and present in a way no one in her life had been in a long time.
Advika let herself lean into him, let herself accept the comfort being offered. And for the first time since arriving at the Singhania estate, she didn't feel completely alone.
From his office window on the second floor, Sidharth watched his brother make his wife laugh.
Something dark and possessive coiled in his chest, tightening like a vise. Rishabh's arm was around her shoulders. She was leaning into him, smiling at something he'd said. Looking more relaxed than she'd been in weeks.
More relaxed than she ever was with Sidharth.
He should have been happy. Should have been glad she was making connections, finding allies in the family. Rishabh was a good man—kind, stable, emotionally available in all the ways Sidharth wasn't.
But all Sidharth felt was jealousy. Hot, irrational jealousy at seeing her smile at someone else. At seeing her accept comfort from someone who wasn't him.
Because you won't give it to her,a voice in his head whispered.Because you keep pushing her away while wondering why she's not running toward you.
He'd spent the entire night in his office, unable to sleep, replaying their conversation in the garage. The fear he'd felt when he'd realized she was gone. The rage that had consumed him at the thought of losing her. The desperate need to touch her, to confirm she was real and whole and his.
Mine.
The word echoed in his head. When had she become so essential? When had the thought of her being hurt become unbearable?
He didn't know. Couldn't pinpoint the exact moment she'd stopped being the inconvenient treaty bride and started being... more.
