Advika, in a simple but elegant coral saree, felt out of place immediately. These were Nisha's people—old money, high society, women who'd known each other since childhood. And she was the interloper. The illegitimate daughter who'd married their way into the family.
"Advika!" Nisha swept over, air-kissing both her cheeks. "I'm so glad you could make it. Come, let me introduce you."
The next hour was excruciating. Nisha introduced her to woman after woman, each introduction laced with subtle digs.
"This is Advika, Sidharth's wife. She used to run a little bakery before the marriage."
"Advika comes from... unique circumstances. But we've welcomed her into the family."
"She's still adjusting to our lifestyle. It's quite different from what she's used to."
Each comment was designed to other her, to mark her as different, less than. And the women responded exactly as Nisha intended—polite smiles that didn't reach their eyes, questions that felt more like interrogations, comments that walked the line between conversation and insult.
"So your father is Yash Pradhan?" one woman asked, her tone suggesting she knew exactly who and what Yash was.
"Yes," Advika replied, keeping her voice neutral.
"And your mother was...?"
The pause was deliberate. Cruel.
"Akshara Singh," Advika said, lifting her chin. "She passed away when I was five."
"Oh, how tragic." The woman's sympathy was as fake as her eyelashes. "And she wasn't... I mean, your parents weren't...?"
"Married. No, they weren't." Advika met her gaze steadily. "My father was already married. My mother was his mistress. Anything else you'd like to know?"
The woman flushed, taken aback by Advika's directness. Around them, conversations quieted as people tuned in to the drama.
"I think that's enough," Nisha interjected smoothly, but her eyes were gleaming. This was exactly what she'd wanted. "Advika is very forthcoming about her background."
"It's not a secret," Advika said, her voice carrying. "I was born out of wedlock. My father never publicly acknowledged me. I grew up in the shadows of his legitimate family. These are facts. Why dance around them?"
"So brave," Mihika's voice cut through the murmurs. She'd been lurking at the edges, and now she moved forward, her smile venomous. "Owning your circumstances like that."
"Someone has to."
"It must be so hard," Mihika continued, settling into the chair across from Advika. "Knowing you weren't chosen for love. Knowing your marriage is just... strategy. A business deal. Nothing personal."
The words were designed to wound, and they did. But Advika kept her expression neutral.
"All marriages in our world are strategic to some degree," she replied. "At least mine came with honesty about what it was."
"But still." Mihika leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that somehow carried to everyone nearby. "Don't you wonder what it would be like? To be married to someone who actually wanted you? Who chose you not because they had to, but because they loved you?"
Advika's hands clenched in her lap, hidden beneath the table. "I wonder about a lot of things, Mihika. Like what it must be like to spend years pining after a man who's never looked at you twice. To attend events as someone's friend's plus-one, hoping maybe today will be the day he notices you. That must be its own special kind of torture."
Mihika's face went white, then red. Around them, several women made poorly disguised sounds of amusement. Even Nisha looked surprised by the direct hit.
"You—"
"Advika, darling, how lovely to see you participating!" Nisha cut Mihika off, her voice falsely bright. She raised her glass. "A toast! To family. Even the ones we're stuck with."
The implication was clear. The other women laughed, raising their glasses. Advika didn't move.
"What, no toast?" Nisha pressed. "Or are you still learning proper etiquette?"
"I learned proper etiquette long before I came here," Advika said quietly. "I just choose when to use it."
