By late afternoon, the house sat in silence, so heavy it felt like a weight pressing on her chest. Sanya hadn't moved much from the couch—curled up in a corner with her knees tucked to her chest, a book balanced on her lap that she hadn't turned a page of. Her eyes were dry but heavy, like they'd forgotten how to cry, and her head throbbed with the exhaustion of too many sleepless nights and too many thoughts screaming at once.
She felt… hollow.
Like something inside her had cracked open and nothing was left to hold her together.
The sound of the front door unlocking made her jump. Her breath caught before she could stop it.
Arush stepped in, a storm of elegance in his perfectly cut charcoal suit, his expression carved from stone. No warmth. No flicker of familiarity. Just that cold indifference she was beginning to recognize far too well.
She straightened instinctively, not because she wanted to—but because some part of her still responded to him, even when her heart begged her not to.
He didn't look at her right away. He moved to the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water, and sipped it with the kind of calm that contrasted cruelly with the chaos inside her.
Then came his voice—sharp, low. "We have a party to attend tonight."
She blinked. "What?"
"A corporate event," he said, setting the glass down. "Carter and Associates. You'll be accompanying me."
Her stomach twisted. She rose slowly, unsure of what to say. "I don't think that's—"
"It wasn't a question." His voice cut cleanly through her hesitation. He finally looked at her, and for a second, she wished he hadn't. His eyes held no softness. No memory of the man who once looked at her like she mattered. "We're married. You'll come."
The words struck her like a slap. Not because of what he said—but how.
She bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to stay composed. "Why me?"
He took a few steps forward, standing just close enough that she could feel the chill rolling off him. "Because I need you to play your role tonight," he said. "Just like I'm playing mine."
The floor felt unsteady beneath her. A dull ache spread through her chest, slow and cruel.
He walked past her, heading toward his room, and before disappearing, he added flatly, "There's a black dress upstairs. Be ready by seven."
She stayed rooted to the spot, the silence left in his wake louder than his words.
Sanya didn't know how long she stood there, staring at the space he had just occupied. Her hands shook as they clenched the fabric of her sweater, grounding herself in that moment. Her eyes burned—but tears refused to come. She was past crying. Or maybe she was too broken to feel even that.
Climbing the stairs felt like dragging her heart behind her.
The black dress lay on the bed like it belonged to someone else. Someone more beautiful, more confident—someone not shaking in her own skin. It was elegant, off-shoulder, designed to hug the curves of a woman who knew who she was.
But Sanya had no idea who she was anymore.
She dressed slowly, her movements quiet and robotic. As she brushed her hair and touched up her face, she barely looked in the mirror.
Because she didn't want to see herself.
Didn't want to see the girl who was pretending so well—pretending to be strong, pretending to be unaffected, pretending she hadn't fallen for a man who now looked at her like a burden.
When she finally met her own reflection, all she saw was a stranger.
But she still whispered to herself, Just tonight. Just breathe.
She didn't wear a ring—not because she didn't care—but because they hadn't needed one. The wedding had been traditional, Indian. Sacred. She had believed in it. Believed in him.
Now all she had was the silence in this house and the bitter chill in his voice.
And still… something in her chest ached for him.
Even now.
Even after everything.
The car ride to the venue was painfully quiet.
Sanya sat beside Arush, her hands clutched in her lap, the soft fabric of her black dress pooling around her. Her eyes stared out the window, watching the world pass in streaks of gold and grey, trying not to let the tightness in her throat show. Beside her, Arush remained a statue of silence—his jaw locked, one hand lazily resting on the steering wheel, the other checking his phone.
He hadn't said a word since they left the house.
Not a compliment. Not a glance. Not even the barest acknowledgement that she existed.
When they finally pulled up to the grand hotel entrance, lit by shimmering chandeliers and buzzing with guests, Arush stepped out first. He didn't offer his hand. He didn't wait. He simply walked ahead, leaving her behind to follow like a shadow.
She stepped out carefully, gathering the edge of her dress, willing her legs not to tremble.
Inside, the ballroom glittered—men in crisp suits, women in elegant gowns, champagne flutes clinking, laughter rising in waves.
Sanya had been to such events before, but never like this. Never as a stranger in her own story.
Arush walked ahead with a confidence that turned heads. People greeted him, nodded, smiled. He responded with curt nods, always poised, always collected.
She tried to stay close, tried not to look out of place.
He didn't introduce her. Not once.
Not even when they reached Mr. Carter—whose eyes widened with surprise upon seeing her.
"Sanya?" he said, blinking. "You… I didn't know you were—"
Arush cut in smoothly, his tone icy. "She's just accompanying me."
Carter looked between them, confused. "I thought she—"
"She doesn't work at the firm anymore," Arush said before Carter could finish. "Let's not talk about irrelevant things."
Sanya's breath caught.
The dismissal in his tone—like she was nothing. Like she never mattered.
She lowered her gaze, blinking away the sting in her eyes.
Later, as waiters passed trays of champagne, Arush leaned close to her for the first time that evening. But his voice was sharp against her ear.
"Try not to embarrass me."
She stiffened. "I never intended to."
"Good," he said, still not looking at her. "Because tonight isn't about you. Smile when needed. Nod when you're spoken to. Don't talk too much."
Her fingers clenched around her clutch. "I'm not a child, Arush."
"No," he said, finally turning to face her. His eyes were colder than the chilled glass in his hand. "You're worse. At least a child doesn't pretend."
Her lips parted, a sharp breath escaping, but he had already turned away, already moving toward a group of investors with that same charming smile he used to wear around her—back when he still looked at her like she meant something.
She stood there, alone in a room full of people, trying to breathe through the ache building inside her chest.
She hadn't cried yet.
But she was close.
So close.
Sanya stood near the edge of the ballroom now, a glass of untouched champagne in her hand, her fingers trembling slightly. The room buzzed with chatter, laughter, clinking glasses. She was surrounded by people, yet it had never felt so lonely.
Then—
"Excuse me… are you okay?"
A gentle voice broke through the noise.
She turned to find a man standing beside her, his expression kind but cautious. He looked to be in his early thirties, a little taller than Arush, in a navy suit and clear eyes that didn't scan her like she was a stranger out of place.
"I'm fine," she said softly, the lie barely holding.
He gave her a half-smile. "I saw you earlier. You looked like you wanted to vanish."
That made her blink. "I didn't mean to stand out."
"You didn't," he said gently. "You just looked… sad."
That word cracked something inside her.
Sad.
No one had said it aloud. Not even her. But there it was, wrapped in honesty. She looked away, her voice low. "Some nights are harder than others."
The man nodded, not pressing. "I'm Aarav. Carter's cousin."
She glanced at him with slight surprise. "Oh."
"So," Aarav continued, leaning against the wall beside her. "You're with Arush Rathore, right?"
The question made her chest tighten. She hesitated. "It's complicated."
"Everything with Arush is," he said lightly, with a dry chuckle. "I've met him a few times. He's… sharp. Controlled."
Cold, she thought.
But she only nodded.
Aarav tilted his head. "If you ever need to breathe, there's a quiet balcony down the hall. People usually forget it exists."
She offered a faint, grateful smile. "Thank you."
He smiled in return, then moved away, sensing she needed space.
But from across the room, Arush had seen the exchange.
His eyes were fixed on her—on the way she smiled, however faintly, at another man. The way her shoulders relaxed for the first time that night. The way someone else saw the softness in her that he himself had tried so hard to ignore.
He turned away, downing the rest of his drink in one go, jaw locked.
His chest felt tight. Annoyingly so.
She was supposed to be invisible tonight. Quiet. Obedient. There for show.
Not… admired.
Not seen.
Not smiling for someone else.
When she turned slightly, her eyes caught his across the ballroom.
For a moment—just a split second—she saw something in his gaze.
Something like jealousy.
Something like pain.
But then, like always, he blinked it away.
And when she expected him to come over, say something, anything—he turned his back and walked the other way.
Leaving her staring into the space he left behind, wondering if she imagined that flicker of feeling.
Wondering why it still hurt so much.
The cool night air hit her skin like a balm.
Sanya stepped onto the balcony, wrapping her arms around herself. The distant sounds of the party softened behind her, muffled by the thick ballroom doors. Out here, it was quiet. She could finally breathe.
City lights blinked in the distance, sharp and beautiful. But her eyes weren't focused on them.
Her thoughts were louder than anything else.
She hated that she'd smiled back at Aarav. Not because of him—but because it reminded her how long it had been since someone looked at her without anger, without judgment.
Since someone made her feel like she mattered.
She leaned against the railing, tilting her head to the sky. She looked beautiful in the black gown, her hair loose, a few strands brushing her cheek. But all she felt was… hollow.
She hadn't even noticed the door open behind her.
"Is this where you escape to now?"
His voice was sharp. Icy.
She turned around instantly. Her breath caught.
Arush stood at the doorway, the shadows from inside casting a line across his face. He looked like a painting—flawless and distant, as if emotions were beneath him.
Her fingers curled slightly at her side. "I just needed air."
He walked closer, every step deliberate. "Or company?"
Her jaw clenched. "It wasn't like that."
"You looked comfortable."
That tone—it was laced with something dangerous. Something bitter.
Her voice trembled. "I was just… being polite."
He laughed softly. But there was no amusement in it. "Is that what you call it now? Smiling like that for a stranger?"
She flinched. "Why do you care?"
"I don't," he said too quickly.
Then silence.
The kind that hurts your ears because of how heavy it is.
She turned away from him again, facing the railing. "You brought me here to play your wife. I'm doing that. I'm wearing your mask, smiling where I should. But I'm not a machine, Arush."
She didn't see him look at her then, didn't see the flicker of emotion he struggled to swallow. But it was there.
Then, as if he needed to hurt her to remind himself of who he was, he stepped closer.
His voice dropped low near her ear. "Don't forget why you're here, Sanya. You're not my wife because I love you. You're here because I hate you."
That hurt.
God, that hurt more than she expected.
She turned to him, her eyes glassy but fierce. "One day, you'll look back at this and realize what you destroyed. And by then—"
"What?" he cut her off. "You'll be gone?"
"I'll be free," she whispered.
He said nothing. Just stared at her for a long second. And then… he left. Just like that.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Sanya stood there, her arms shaking, breath uneven. She blinked up at the sky, as if maybe the stars could carry some of her pain.
She didn't cry.
Not here. Not for him.
But her chest burned with everything she couldn't say.