"Oh god," she gasped. "I'm sitting in the grass, eating street food, being judged by a dog while my husband goes out with another woman. This is my life."
Bruno's expression suggested:Yes. And whose fault is that?
"Shut up," she told him, but she was still smiling as she offered him another plain puri. "Here. Since you're the only male in this house who doesn't make me feel invisible."
The dog took the offering with surprising gentleness, crunched it, and then rested his massive head on her knee.
It wasn't much.
But it was something.
11:43 PM - Secluded Hallway, East Wing
Nimisha had finished her street food, cleaned up the evidence, and retreated to her room hours ago. She'd showered, changed into her comfortable cotton pajama set—loose pants and a simple button-down top—and had been trying to write when her stomach started hurting.
Too much spicy food on an empty stomach before it. Rookie mistake.
She'd gone to the kitchen for some antacid, found it, and was now making her way back through the quiet hallways of the estate. Most of the family had retired for the night. The house was dark except for strategic lighting along the corridors.
She was passing through the east wing—a rarely used section that connected the main house to Samarth's private office—when a hand shot out from the shadows and grabbed her wrist.
She gasped, spinning around.
Samarth.
He'd changed out of his dinner clothes into dark jeans and a black t-shirt that clung to his muscled frame. His hair was slightly disheveled, his eyes burning with something dark and possessive.
"Where have you been?" His voice was rough, edged with something she couldn't identify.
"The kitchen. I needed—"
He didn't let her finish. He backed her against the wall, his body caging hers, one hand still wrapped around her wrist while the other came up to brace against the wall beside her head.
The position was dominant, overwhelming, and her pulse skyrocketed.
"Samarth, what—"
"Did you enjoy your little picnic?" he asked, his voice a dark purr that sent shivers down her spine. "Sitting in the grass, feeding my dog, looking so fucking innocent in your simple clothes?"
She swallowed hard. "I was just eating dinner."
"Street food." His free hand came down to trace her jawline with one finger. "Like you used to before you married me."
"I still am who I was before—"
"No." His thumb pressed against her lower lip, silencing her. "You're Mrs. Samarth Ranawat now. You're mine."
The possessiveness in his tone made her stomach clench. "You didn't seem to remember that when you went to dinner with Kritika."
His eyes flashed. "Jealous?"
"No."
"Liar." He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. "You were sitting there, watching me leave with her, and you wanted to say something. Wanted to tell me to stay."
Her breathing had gone shallow. "You would have gone anyway."
"Probably." His lips brushed the shell of her ear. "But I would have liked to hear you ask."
