Katha's POV
The car ride back had been a silent war.
Dhruv hadn't looked at me, but I felt his presence like a physical weight pressing against my side. Every time the car turned, our shoulders brushed, sending a jolt of static electricity through me that I tried desperately to ignore .
When we entered the bedroom, the door clicked shut with a finality that made the large room feel suddenly very small.
I let out a long, shaky breath. The performance was over. The investors were gone. I could finally stop smiling.
I walked straight to the dressing table, my movements heavy with exhaustion. I reached up to unclasp the heavy gold necklace-my mother's necklace-that Dhruv had put on me earlier.
My fingers fumbled with the tiny hook. My hands were shaking too much.
Click. Slip.
I tried again. The clasp was stubborn, tangled in the heavy embroidery of my blouse.
"Ugh," I whispered in frustration, blinking back tears of fatigue. "Come on..."
Behind me, I heard the rustle of fabric. Dhruv was taking off his blazer. He tossed it onto the bed, then loosened his tie with a sharp, jerky motion .
I watched his reflection in the mirror. He was watching me. His dark eyes tracked my struggle with the necklace, intense and unreadable.
He walked toward me.
I froze as I saw his reflection grow larger behind mine. He stopped right behind me, towering over my small frame. He didn't say a word. He just reached out.
"Stop moving," he murmured, his voice low and rough.
He brushed my trembling hands away. "You'll break it."
I dropped my hands to my sides, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
Dhruv's fingers brushed the nape of my neck. His skin was warm, burning against my cool flesh. He wasn't gentle, but he wasn't cruel either. He was focused .
He worked the clasp. His breath fanned over my ear, smelling of the expensive scotch he had drunk at lunch.
"You are a terrifyingly good liar, Katha," he said quietly, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. "For a moment back there... even I believed you."
I looked at his reflection. He was searching me, looking for a crack in the armor.
"I learned from the best, Sir," I whispered back. "You created this lie. I just... decorated it."
His jaw tightened. The clasp finally clicked open.
He didn't step back.
Instead of removing the necklace, his hands lingered on my shoulders. His thumbs slowly, deliberately traced the line of my collarbone. It was a touch that had no place in a contract marriage .
"And the part about the Prince?" he asked, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Was that decoration too?"
A shiver ran down my spine. The air in the room suddenly felt thick, charged with a dangerous energy.
"Yes," I lied, my voice barely audible. "Just a story."
He stared at my reflection. He saw the pulse fluttering wildly in my neck. He saw the flush rising on my chest.
Slowly, he slid his hands down my arms. The friction of his palms against my skin set my nerves on fire.
"You shouldn't tell stories you don't believe in," he murmured.
He turned me around.
I gasped as I faced him. He was too close. Much too close. I had to tilt my head back to look at him .
"Dhruv..." I breathed, his name slipping out without the 'Sir'.
He looked down at me. His gaze dropped to my lips, which were parted and swollen from biting them.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" he growled softly.
"Like what?"
"Like you expect me to do something about it."
He stepped closer, trapping me between his body and the dressing table. His hands gripped the edge of the table on either side of my hips, caging me in .
My breath hitched. I could feel the heat of his body radiating through the layers of silk.
"I... I don't expect anything," I whispered, my voice trembling but my chin held high. "I am just an employee. Remember?"
Dhruv leaned down, his face inches from mine.
"I know," he rasped. "You don't have to remind me."
His hands moved from the table. He grabbed my waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, and pulled my body flush against his hard chest. The contact was electric.
A dark, arrogant smirk played on his lips.
"I like it," he whispered, his thumb grazing my hip bone through the saree. "But be careful, Katha. Don't try to be too close to me. You might get burned."
I flinched at the audacity. My heart was pounding, but a spark of defiance lit up in my chest. I looked up at him, meeting his intense gaze.
"Right now," I whispered, my voice steady despite the chaos inside me, "it is you who is trying to be close to me."
The words hung in the air between us, heavy and true.
Dhruv's POV
Her words hit me like a bucket of ice water.
"It is you who is trying to be close to me."
I looked down. I saw my hands clutching her waist. I saw how I was leaning over her, practically devouring her space, pinning her against the dressing table.
Fuck.
I snatched my hands away instantly, as if her silk saree had turned into red-hot coal. I stepped back, shoving my hands deep into my pockets to hide the way they twitched .
My face heated up. I cleared my throat loudly, looking anywhere but at her knowing eyes.
"I am your husband," I said, my voice regaining its stiff, authoritative edge. "I can do that. It's my prerogative."
Katha straightened her saree, regaining her composure with maddening grace. She looked at me with a sad, knowing expression.
"My Boss," she corrected me softly. "You are not my husband. You told me yourself... we are husband and wife only in front of the world. In this room... I am just the employee."
My jaw clenched. Her words-my own words thrown back at me-stung more than I expected. I felt foolish. I felt exposed.
"I know," I snapped defensively. I gestured a finger at her, trying to regain the upper hand. "It's just that... I wanted to check if you remembered or not. A test."
My ears burned. Even I knew it was a terrible excuse.
A test? Really, Dhruv? You sound like a teenager caught stealing candy.
"You... you remember. Good," I muttered, turning my back on her to hide my embarrassment. "Now you should sleep."
I marched toward the bed, unbuttoning my shirt cuffs aggressively. I sat on the edge of the mattress, running a hand through my hair.
Get it together, Rathore.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement.
Katha had picked up her thin blanket and was heading toward the hard, cold rug on the floor.
I paused. I looked at the vast, empty expanse of my King-sized bed. Then I looked at her small figure curling up on the floor.
The guilt pricked me again. The "Prince" story she told at lunch echoed in my mind. He catches you when you fall.
I hadn't been a Prince. I had been a tyrant.
"Hey..."
She froze halfway to the floor. She looked up, her eyes wide. "Yes, Sir?"
I stared at the ceiling, refusing to look at her softness.
"Umm..." I cleared my throat again. "I think... you should sleep on the bed."
She blinked. "What?"
"The bed," I gestured vaguely to the mattress. "It's massive. It's ridiculous for one person. You... you sleep on the other side."
She hesitated, clutching her blanket to her chest. "No, Sir. I am fine with this. The floor is... okay. I don't want to disturb you."
"It's my order," I cut her off. My voice was firm, the "Boss" persona back in full force to hide my guilt.
Order. The magic word.
How could she disobey an order?
"Yes, Sir," she whispered.
She stood up slowly. She walked toward the massive bed, moving like she was trespassing on sacred ground. She climbed onto the mattress on the far left side, keeping as much distance as humanly possible.
I grabbed a long bolster pillow from the headboard.
"I will put this here," I muttered, placing the pillow heavily between us. It created a physical wall down the center of the bed. "It will separate us. Don't cross it."
"I won't," she said quietly.
She lay down on her back, pulling the duvet up to her chin. I lay down on my side, turning off the bedside lamp.
The room plunged into darkness.
Silence stretched between us. But it wasn't the empty silence of before. It was a heavy, breathing silence.
I stared at the ceiling, my hands behind my head. I could feel her presence on the other side of the pillow. I could hear her steady breathing.
Why did I do that? I wondered, annoyed with myself. Rule Number One: Distance. And now she is sleeping two feet away from me.
I turned my head slightly. I could see the outline of her profile in the moonlight filtering through the curtains.
I sighed, closing my eyes.
Just one night, I told myself. Just because she did well today.
But as sleep claimed us both, neither of us moved away from the pillow wall. We lay there, a husband and a wife who were strangers, separated by feathers but bound by a lie that was starting to feel dangerously real .