"Your sister attacked my mother's memory!" Advika's voice cracked. "She stood there in front of thirty women and basically called my mother a whore. Called me illegitimate trash. And you're angry at me for defending her? For finally, FINALLY standing up for myself?"
"There are better ways—"
"Name one! Name one time I've stood up to Nisha and you didn't find fault with how I did it! There's always something wrong—I'm too aggressive, too confrontational, not diplomatic enough. But she gets to say whatever she wants, hurt whoever she wants, and face no consequences because she's the precious Singhania daughter!"
Sidharth's jaw clenched. "You're being unreasonable—"
"I'm being honest!" She moved into his space, forcing him to look at her. "Your sister crossed a line today. A big one. And instead of asking what she said to make me react that way, instead of considering that maybe I had a reason, you immediately took her side. Just like you always do."
"I didn't take her side—"
"YES, YOU DID!" The scream tore from her throat. "By coming in here angry at me, by not asking my side of the story first, bydefaulting to 'what were you thinking'—you took her side! You always take her side!"
Something in his expression shifted. "Tell me what she said."
"Why? So you can explain why it wasn't that bad? Why I overreacted?" Advika laughed bitterly. "Save it."
"Advika." He grabbed her wrist as she tried to walk past him. "Tell me what she said."
"She said at least her mother was actually married to her father." The words came out flat, emotionless. "Among other things. All afternoon, every comment was designed to remind me I don't belong. To remind everyone there that I'm less than. The illegitimate daughter who married above her station."
His grip on her wrist loosened slightly. "She said that? In front of guests?"
"Among other things. Mihika helped." Advika pulled her wrist free. "But it's fine. I'm used to being treated like garbage. What's one more afternoon?"
"That's not—" He stopped himself, frustration evident. "You still shouldn't have thrown wine on her."
"What should I have done? Smiled politely? Let her disrespect my mother's memory while thirty women watched? Tell me, Sidharth, what's the proper etiquette for dealing with someone who uses your dead mother as an insult?"
He had no answer. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, his jaw working.
"She had no right," he finally said, his voice low. "To say that about your mother. That was... that was wrong."
"Thank you." The words were heavy with sarcasm. "Only took you an hour to admit it."
"Don't—"
"Don't what? Be angry? Be hurt? Be disappointed that once again, you chose your sister over me?" Her laugh was bitter. "I'm tired, Sidharth. I'm so tired of fighting for scraps of respect in this house. Of hoping that maybe today you'll actually defend me. Of loving a man who can't even—"
She stopped abruptly, realizing what she'd almost said.
But it was too late. His eyes had sharpened, focused entirely on her.
"Loving?" His voice was rough. "You said loving."
"I didn't—"
"Yes, you did." He moved toward her, predatory. "Say it again."
"No."
"Advika—"
"Why?" She backed up until she hit the wall. "So you can use it against me? So you can have one more thing to hold over my head?"
"Is that what you think?" He braced his hands on either side of her head, caging her in. "That I'd weaponize your feelings?"
"I don't know what you'd do!" Her chest was heaving, emotions she'd been suppressing for months rising to the surface. "I don't know anything about you except that you're hot and cold, possessive but distant, and you make me feel things I shouldn't feel for someone who treats me the way you do!"
