Yamini pushed herself upright. She stared at him, waiting for him to blink first, to soften, to sayof course it will be mine, to apologize for the sick joke.
He didn’t.
“Whenever you are ready,” he said in a calm tone, “we will choose the man whose child you’ll carry.”
The sentence punched the air out of her.
For a second, she couldn’t speak.
Her mouth opened, then closed. Her fingers tightened into the sheet.
“What?” she managed.
His gaze remained steady.
“I will make arrangements,” he said. “Since you want two children, the same man will father both.”
Arrangements. Another man.
Yamini stared at him.
“You’re… serious,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
The simple certainty of that yes snapped something in her.
Heat surged into her throat, into her eyes.
A sick, humiliating burn.
She shook her head once, hard.
“No,” she said, voice rising. “No. This can’t be right. You can’t—what is wrong with you!”
He didn’t flinch.
His calmness turned her nausea into rage.
“You think you can decide that?” she demanded. “You think you can decide whose child grows inside me like I’m a—like I’m a vessel you bought?”
His eyes remained on her face, unblinking.
“Yes,” he said. “The contract you signed allows it.”
Contract.
The word landed like a bomb between them.
And then, she slapped him.
Her palm cracked against his cheek, the sound loud in the quiet room.
For a heartbeat, her hand tingled, pain blooming in her fingers.
Bharat’s head barely turned.
He didn’t recoil or even blink. But the imprint of her fingers showed on his fair skin.
