"Right," she whispered. "Of course. How silly of me."
She moved to blow out the candles, and he should let her. Should leave. Retreat to his office like he always did.
But his feet wouldn't move.
"I've followed every rule, Samarth," she said quietly, her back to him. "Every single one. I don't question your business. I don't embarrass you publicly. I attend every function. I stay out of your office. I don't expect emotional intimacy. I'm available whenever you need me." She turned to face him. "What more do you want from me?"
"I want you to stop expecting something I can't give."
"Love?" She laughed bitterly. "Don't worry. I've learned that lesson well enough."
"Good. That's what wives do. They accept reality."
"Reality." She wrapped her arms around herself. "You want to know what my reality is? It's being married to a man who touches me in the dark but can't look at me in the daylight. It's living in a house where everyone wishes I was someone else. It's loving someone who—"
She cut herself off.
But he'd heard.
Loving someone.
"Don't," he said. "Don't say that word."
"Why? Because it makes you uncomfortable? Because it complicates your neat little arrangement?"
"Because it's a lie. You don't love me. You love the idea of being loved."
Her expression hardened. "You're right. How could I possibly love you? The man who treats me like I'm invisible except when he wants to fuck me. The man who lets his family humiliate me. The man who—"
"Enough."
"No, not enough! Do you want to know what really bothers me? It's not that you don't love me. It's that you won't even try." Her voice broke. "It's watching you be kind to Kritika. Watching you smile at her. Watching you give her all the things you refuse to give me."
"Kritika is—"
"What about her, Samarth?"
His eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"The access she has to you. The way she's always here, bringing you things, calling you Rey, finishing your sentences. If another man had that kind of access to me—if I smiled at him the way she smiles at you, if I brought him gifts, if I spent evenings in his study—would you be okay with it?"
The question detonated in his chest like a bomb.
The image of Nimisha smiling at another man. Bringing him gifts. Spending time alone with him.
Rage flooded through Samarth so fast and violent he saw red.
"She's family," he bit out.
"I'm your wife!"
"In name only!"
The words hung between them, sharp and cutting.
Nimisha laughed, but the sound was broken. "Would you accept it? If another man had that access to me? If I smiled at him the way she smiles at you?"
Samarth went very, very still.
