Whether she was ready to admit it yet or not.
Chapter 29
Armaan
Six months had passed since that day in court. Six months since Judge Desai had ordered us to try to reconcile. Six months of fighting for my wife's trust, her forgiveness, her love.
And I had tried everything.
I made her breakfast every morning, even on days when she refused to eat it. I drove her to work and back, even when she insisted she could take her own car. I attended every single doctor's appointment, every ultrasound, every checkup, memorizing the doctor's instructions and making sure Viya followed them even when she rolled her eyes at me.
I moved her desk into my office permanently. Spent every workday with her nearby, where I could watch her, make sure she was comfortable, bring her the pregnancy pillow when her back hurt, fetch her the strange food combinations she craved at odd hours.
I held her every night. She had stopped fighting that part after the first week. Now she curled into me naturally when we laydown, her head on my chest, her hand over my heart, her growing belly pressed against my side.
We talked. About everything and nothing. About her childhood and mine. About her dreams for the future. About the baby and what kind of parents we wanted to be. About movies and books and whether pineapple belonged on pizza.
But we never talked about the one thing that mattered most. Whether she would stay. Whether she had forgiven me. Whether, when we went back to court, she would choose our marriage or choose to walk away.
I could see her softening. Could see the way she looked at me sometimes when she thought I was not paying attention. Could feel it in the way she touched me now, casual and familiar, her hand on my arm, her fingers brushing my cheek.
But I needed more than softness. I needed her faith. Her trust. Her complete and unwavering belief that I would never hurt her again.
Which was why I was currently sitting in my lawyer's office, signing papers that transferred everything I owned into Viya's name.
The company shares. The house. The investments. The cars. The bank accounts. Everything.
My lawyer had tried to talk me out of it.
"Sir, this is extremely unwise from a legal standpoint. If the marriage does not work out, she will own everything. You will have nothing."
"Good," I had said. "Then she know how much I want her."
"But sir—"
"Draw up the papers, Sharma. I want this done today."
So now I sat and signed my name over and over, watching my entire empire legally transfer to my wife's control. And I felt nothing but relief.
Money did not matter. Property did not matter. Power and status and everything I had spent years building, none of it mattered compared to her.
If losing everything I owned was what it took to prove my love was real, then I would sign it all away without a second thought.
When the last signature was complete, Sharma handed me the file of documents.
"These are her copies. You need to give them to her and have her sign the acceptance forms."
I took the file and stood.
"Thank you, Sharma."
"I hope you know what you are doing, sir."
"I do. For the first time in my life, I know exactly what I am doing."
I drove home with the file on the passenger seat, my heart strangely light despite the magnitude of what I had just done. The late afternoon sun was warm, and traffic was mercifully light.
When I arrived home, the house was quiet. Dadi was at her afternoon prayer session. Papa had gone to visit a friend. The staff was in the kitchen preparing dinner.
