I unlocked the door and yanked it open, not even looking at who was there.
"I do not want him, Akshita! I do not care if he is handsome or rich or whatever. I am not interested. So please stop—"
My voice died in my throat.
Because it was not Akshita standing in my doorway.
It was Armaan.
My husband was standing right there, his dark eyes locked on mine, his jaw set in that familiar stubborn expression.
And from the look on his face, he had heard every word I just said.
Chapter 18
Viya
It was Armaan standing outside my door.
My husband. The man I had not seen in a month. The man who had occupied every waking thought and haunted every dream.
He was right here. Right in front of me.
I stood frozen, my hand still on the doorknob, my mouth half open from the words I had been shouting at what I thought was Akshita.
My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might break through my ribcage. I could not seem to form a coherent thought. Could not seem to make my mouth work to say anything at all.
Armaan's dark eyes were locked on mine, intense and unreadable. His jaw was set in that familiar way that meant he was holding back something. His hands were clenched at his sides.
Finally, he spoke. His voice was low and rough.
"Can I come inside?"
I nodded mutely and stepped aside, my legs moving on autopilot even though my brain was still scrambling to catch up.
He walked past me into the suite, and I caught the familiar scent of his cologne. The scent that had been missing from our bedroom for a month. The scent I had found myself searching for on his pillow late at night when I could not sleep.
I closed the door and locked it with trembling fingers.
We stood there in the entryway of the suite, facing each other. The silence stretched between us, heavy and loaded with a month's worth of unspoken words.
I did not know what to say. Where to even begin.
I am sorry? I missed you? Why did you leave? Why did you not call?
But before I could formulate any coherent sentence, he spoke again.
"Did I disturb you?"
The question was so formal, so polite, so completely at odds with the intensity burning in his eyes that I almost laughed. Almost.
"No," I managed to say, my voice coming out quieter than I intended. "No, you did not disturb me."
Another pause. He was looking at me like he was trying to memorize every detail of my face. Like he had been starving for the sight of me.
Or maybe I was projecting. Maybe I was the one who had been starving.
"That night," he said suddenly. "The night before I left. When I came back drunk."
