The moment her cold fingertips touched his wrist to begin the stitch, he tugged his arm toward himself, pulling her with it.
Mishti gasped as she stumbled closer, her chest brushing lightly against his forearm. She steadied herself with one hand on his wrist and the other bracing lightly at his sleeve, but her pulse had quickened beyond her control. He didn’t apologise. He didn’t even blink, just watched her as she stitched the button back onto the cuff.
Every few seconds, when she lifted her eyes, he was already staring at her with a raw intensity. There was something else in his stare today, something she had seen only in flashes before in Lonavala… his desire held tightly in check.
“For a man claiming to be‘disinterested’in his marriage,” she said quietly, unable to stop herself, “you admire your wife an awful lot.”
The line had hit its mark. Karan went still, and his gaze shifted elsewhere for the first time since she began.
Mishti bent slightly, leaning close to his wrist to finish the last stitch. When she caught the extra thread between her teeth to cut it off, her lips brushed the fabric in the process.
He tried hard not to look at her when her fingers grazed his cuff one last time.
“You say you don’t want me,” she continued, eyes lifting to meet his, “but you behave like you can’t decide what to do with me.”
Now that definitely detonated something inside him.
Before she could step back, his hand wrapped around her waist, yanking her against him. Her breath caught, and her palms landed helplessly on the firm planes of his chest to steady herself.
“You wore red,” he finally said, with his eyes sweeping over her like he had no intention of looking away anymore.
“So?” she whispered.
“It’s my favourite colour,” he said, running his gaze over her slowly, almost possessively.
A tiny smile tugged at her lips. “It’s my favourite colour too.”
Karan hadn’t expected that.Red was her favourite colour too?Or was she making that up?
Either way, he couldn’t stop his gaze as it dropped once to her slightly parted lips, coloured in the same shade she wore.
Mishti noticed that shift in his eyes and lifted her chin slightly as her confidence returned.
“At least, our choices match in something,” she added, drawing a slow breath before continuing. “And I didn’t wear this saree just like that. I chose it… because Iwantedyour attention.”
His brow arched slightly, but he didn’t interrupt. That gave her the courage to go on.
“I know,” she murmured, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt at his chest, “time and again you made it very clear that you were never interested in this marriage.”
Her voice trembled once, but only for a heartbeat.
“But people change,” she said softly. “Interests change. Sometimes… without even realising it.”
She forced herself to meet his eyes even as her heart hammered painfully inside her chest.
“I might be inexperienced in relationships, unlike you, but I can definitely read the tug of war in your eyes and expressions.”
He stared at her for a long, taut moment, trying to decode the meaning behind every syllable she’d spoken, before he closed that thin space between them and leaned in. He didn’t touch her mouth. Instead, his lips brushed close to her ear.
“My interest in you or this marriage will never change, Mishti,” he said, each word uttered deliberately cruel. “Even ifyou strip completely bare, I wouldn’t be interested in claiming you as my wife.”
Her body stiffened, but she didn’t move.
“But,” he continued, pulling away but keeping his eyes locked with hers. “Seeing you so desperate for my attention… begging for my love… and weeping for never getting the rights of being my wife…that’s definitely what I crave for.”
His gaze dipped briefly to her trembling mouth before lifting back to her eyes.
“Because I hate you.”
