Aarav Malhotra did not apologize easily.
In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he had apologized at all.
So instead of words, he changed things.
Quietly.
The morning after Ishita asked for space, the house felt different.
Not emptier — softer.
She woke up alone in the guest room she had chosen the night before. For a brief, disorienting moment, she wondered if the argument had been a dream. But then she noticed the small details.
The door wasn't locked.
There were no guards outside her room.
Her phone, which usually showed silent location-sharing notifications she never remembered agreeing to, was clean.
No tracking alerts.
No missed calls.
She sat up slowly, suspicion curling in her chest.
Downstairs, the house was unusually calm. The staff moved with the same efficiency as always, but something was missing — the constant sense of surveillance.
At breakfast, her place at the table was empty.
Aarav wasn't there.
That alone unsettled her more than his presence ever had.
She poured herself tea, her movements slow, cautious. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty.
Finally, the housekeeper spoke gently. "Mr. Malhotra has already left for the office, ma'am."
"Oh," Ishita replied, surprised by the faint sting in her chest. "Did he… say anything?"
The woman hesitated. "Only that breakfast is optional now."
Optional.
Not scheduled. Not monitored.
Ishita nodded, unsure how to process the unfamiliar freedom.
---
At Malhotra Group headquarters, Aarav sat through a board meeting without truly hearing a word.
A graph glowed on the screen, profits rising sharply after a recent merger. Applause followed. Someone congratulated him.
He didn't respond.
"Sir," one of the senior directors said carefully, "about the security detail assigned to Mrs. Malhotra—"
"Withdrawn," Aarav said flatly.
The room stilled.
"Completely?" another man asked. "With respect, that exposes her to—"
"I'll handle the risk," Aarav replied.
The implication was clear.
The board exchanged uneasy glances.
"And the PR team?" someone added. "They were scheduled to release another appearance set—"
"Cancel it."
Murmurs rippled through the room.
"That will affect public sentiment," the director pressed. "Your image as a family man has stabilized the stock—"
Aarav's gaze lifted slowly, sharp enough to silence the room.
"I said cancel it."
That decision alone cost him two points on the market by noon.
He didn't care.
---
Ishita noticed the changes in fragments.
No one corrected how she dressed anymore.
No reminders about posture, timing, appearances.
When she went out, the driver asked where she wanted to go instead of informing her where she was expected to be.
The house felt less like a cage.
And that terrified her.
Because it meant he had listened.
That evening, she found a neatly folded note on her bedside table.
No signature. Just one line.
Dinner is at eight. You're welcome, not required.
Her chest tightened.
She went anyway.
Aarav was already seated when she entered the dining room, sleeves rolled up, tie discarded. He looked… tired. Not the polished exhaustion he wore at events, but something rawer.
He looked up when he heard her footsteps.
Their eyes met.
No tension. No command.
Just awareness.
She sat across from him, keeping her distance.
They ate in silence.
Halfway through, Ishita realized something strange.
He wasn't watching her plate.
He wasn't correcting her posture.
He wasn't touching her.
The absence felt louder than his control ever had.
"Why?" she asked suddenly.
Aarav paused. "Why what?"
"All of this," she said, gesturing vaguely. "The change."
He considered her for a moment. Then, calmly, "Because you asked me to learn."
Her throat tightened. "And you decided to listen?"
"Yes."
The simplicity of it disarmed her.
"You didn't have to," she said quietly.
"I did," he replied. "If I wanted you to stay."
The honesty unsettled her more than anger would have.
---
The cost of his decision came faster than expected.
Two days later, a major investor pulled out.
The reason was simple.
Unstable domestic image.
Aarav stared at the report, expression unreadable.
"This could have been avoided," his advisor said cautiously. "If Mrs. Malhotra had attended the gala—"
"She chose not to," Aarav replied.
"Sir," the man pressed, "you're risking control over the board."
Aarav leaned back. "Then let them try to take it."
That night, Ishita learned about it by accident.
She overheard two staff members whispering near the stairs.
"…lost the Singapore deal."
"…all because the wife didn't show."
Her steps slowed.
Her chest tightened.
Later, when she found Aarav in his study, she stood quietly in the doorway.
"You lost a deal," she said.
"Yes."
"Because of me."
"No," he corrected. "Because of my choice."
She swallowed. "You didn't tell me."
"I wasn't asking for gratitude."
She stepped closer. "You're giving things up."
His gaze lifted to hers, steady. "So are you."
She didn't know what to say to that.
---
The protective act came unexpectedly.
Ishita had gone to the hospital alone to visit her father, something she hadn't done without accompaniment since the marriage. She needed the familiarity. The grounding.
She didn't notice the man until he spoke.
"You're difficult to reach these days."
Her blood ran cold.
She turned slowly.
It was the investor from the dinner. The one whose gaze had lingered too long.
"I don't think we've been introduced properly," he continued, smiling. "You should be careful wandering alone."
Fear crawled up her spine.
"Excuse me," she said, stepping away.
He blocked her path.
"I could make things very easy for you," he murmured. "Your husband isn't as powerful as he thinks."
The next second, the man was yanked backward violently.
Aarav stood behind him, eyes dark, hand twisted in the man's collar.
"You will never speak to her again," Aarav said quietly. "Or look at her."
The man laughed nervously. "Malhotra, you can't—"
"I can," Aarav interrupted. "And I will."
Security arrived moments later.
The fallout was immediate.
The investor threatened legal action. Accused Aarav of assault. The media caught wind of it within hours.
By morning, headlines questioned Aarav Malhotra's temperament.
His authority wavered.
He didn't care.
---
Ishita sat beside him that night, closer than she had in days.
"You didn't have to do that," she whispered.
"Yes," he said. "I did."
"You could lose everything."
He looked at her then, really looked.
"I almost lost you first."
Her breath caught.
For the first time since the contract, she reached out on her own.
Her fingers brushed his sleeve.
Not possession.
Not obligation.
Choice.
"I'm still scared," she admitted. "But… I see you trying."
His voice was low. "Is that enough?"
She hesitated.
Then, softly, "It's a start."
Aarav closed his eyes briefly, as if absorbing the words.
For the first time, redemption didn't feel like punishment.
It felt like hope.