Interlude 2: Ambush

Arnav

He was weak.

The knowledge should not have surprised him, not after he'd agreed to marry Khushi and defied every person in his family to keep her by his side, but somehow it did every time he was reminded anew.

Arnav turned to the sleeping form of his wife on the bed. She'd embraced his suggested exercise with enthusiasm, entertaining him with stories for at least an hour before exhaustion had overwhelmed her.

He sighed, recalling how powerless he'd felt at the poolside that afternoon. There was something in the way she'd looked up at him, her bottom lip trembling and her fingers twisting into her clothes, that made it impossible to think. His body reacted instantly, almost violently, whenever she was near.

She ensnared his senses like nothing else.

Arnav's pulse stuttered as he remembered waking with her fingers gentle on his skin. She'd been ready to protest her innocence yet again when his sister had appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the terrace, clearly drawn by their raised voices, and he'd instantly changed tack, putting on yet another staged edition of Arnav-aur-Khushi-hamesha for her benefit.

It had been freeing, cathartic in a way, to allow himself a few moments of pretend — where he was just Arnav and she was his Khushi and his only concern had been ensuring that she ate something. But the way she'd reacted when he'd mentioned Di, her smile disappearing and the sheen of tears returning to her eyes, had compelled him to give her something real.

Something true.

And even spreadsheets and contracts had not been enough to distract him from the way she slipped past his defences.

. * . * . * .

Aman appeared in the doorway not five minutes after he'd stepped into his cabin.

"Sir?"

"Come in."

Arnav settled behind his desk as his manager sat opposite him, a collection of files in his hands.

"How is everything?" Aman asked tentatively.

"Fine," he said shortly, "report."

"The Aggarwals have sent over a proposal, and a project team has been selected. The timelines seem reasonable."

Arnav took the file his manager offered, nodding.

"The new seasonal line is almost ready," Aman continued, "I've arranged an inspection downstairs in the usual room."

"I'll do it once we're done here."

"And ... the personal matter ..."

Arnav pressed a button on the underside of his desk, temporarily turning off all surveillance inside his office.

"Go on," he steepled his fingers.

"The background check showed nothing you didn't already know. Shyam Manohar Jha was relatively blemish-free before the marriage, though the question of his family history remains. There is no surviving family besides the distant aunt who attended the wedding. Nothing suspicious in the deaths of his parents."

Aman handed over another file, "Sir, you didn't miss anything four years ago."

"I must have," Arnav gritted his teeth, "I must have missed something. All these years ... and all the while he was ..."

"Knowing what we know now, it seems that his first meeting with Anjali-ji at the temple was carefully engineered. But there was no way you could have known or suspected at the time."

His manager continued after a short pause, "By all accounts, the strange behaviour began six months ago. Witnesses at the market confirm that a man saved Khushi-bhabhi when she was accosted on the streets. It was related to the release of the videotapes."

Arnav's fingers curled into a fist as Khushi's words came back to him. "They recognised me from the vi-video. They said I should f-fall into their arms. That I should ... I should ..."

"Two identified the man as Jha, the third remembered the bracelet," Aman continued, "I found something interesting on the security tapes at the Delhi warehouse. Jha spoke to the manager a few days before bhabhi arrived. She only stayed a few minutes but it seemed like she'd misplaced something. The neighbours in Laxmi Nagar confirmed that he lived there as a bachelor."

"That only proves they didn't know the truth, not that Khushi didn't. She could have known. How could she not? She was always in Shantivan."

"May I speak freely, Sir?"

Arnav nodded, staring unseeingly at the files in front of him.

"No evidence will prove intent, Sir. At some point ..."

At some point, I'm going to have to decide whether I trust her or not.

The problem was that his heart already did.

"What else?" he asked briskly.

"Mr Roy confirmed the changes you've asked for. The paperwork is in that last file."

Arnav sighed. He'd asked for Di's monthly payments to be transferred to her personal account instead of her shared account with Shyam. He was aware, however, that nothing could prevent her from moving the money into the shared account. Under the law, everything she owned also belonged to her husband, even her income from the company she co-owned, the company that was named after her.

How can I protect her wealth when the law doesn't?

The change would, at least, serve as a warning to Shyam — a reminder of where his wealth came from.

If Shyam is serious about committing to Di and their child, then he will see this as a sign.

"I'll join you downstairs momentarily," Arnav dismissed his manager with a nod.

"Sir," Aman hesitated, "There is one more thing. The police reports from the car crash came back. The brake lines were not worn. They were cut cleanly."

His chair threatened to tip as he stood abruptly, "What?!"

"The police think you might have been targeted, but they got the wrong car."

"I never drive the other cars," Arnav objected, "The rest of the fleet is for the family to use."

"The people behind this didn't seem to know that. Sir, you should reconsider the security."

. * . * . * .

Now, Arnav lay on his sofa as a war raged inside his heart.

"I only want you, Khushi-ji. I don't accept Rani Sahiba as my wife. And this marriage is meaningless to me. Believe me, Khushi-ji, I love only you, and I love you a lot."

He closed his eyes as he leaned back, breathing deeply in an effort to banish the anger and hurt that roiled inside him.

"He'll see that I don't want ... That I ch-chose someone e-else."

"I've been orphaned again because of what we did today."

"I hate him. I hate him as I've never hated anyone in my life. I hate him so much that it makes me sick to look at him. I hate him so much that I would rather die than have his name and mine be taken in the same breath."

"If that relationship holds no significance for you, then why don't you break your marriage? Leave Anjali-ji."

Arnav's chest seemed to mind raced to that first — no, second — night, when he'd been unable to watch her shivering in the cold night air. And to when he'd been unable to stand her tears as Mami berated her in the kitchen. When he'd been unable to witness her distress during that stupid unveiling ceremony. When he'd been unable to handle her tears as she'd held him on the temple steps.

He still loved her. It was despicable and wrong and felt like an affront to the memory of the mother who'd committed suicide because of adultery. Nearly every waking moment since that night had been spent in the grip of a terrible fear that Di would follow in his mother's footsteps if she were to find out the truth.

And if two living children weren't enough to save Mamma, then what if Di ... and her unborn child ...

Aakash, ever an ally when it came to protecting their sister, could not be recruited to this effort.

"I just want to know whether you want to spend the rest of your life with this girl. You won't regret it later?"

"No, Bhai. Never."

Even if Khushi had been tricked, even if she hadn't willingly encouraged an affair, there was still the matter of the deception.

How will I tell Aakash that the wife he fought his mother for lied to him? Every step of the way.

Yet, despite all his fears, Arnav still cared — he cared about what Khushi wore and how she slept, he cared about whether she ate, whether she smiled and laughed, he cared about how their families treated her. And he wanted, so much that it was sure to destroy him, especially when she was so unguarded with her own desire.

How much of it is a farce? How much of it is real?

She seemed utterly guileless, unaware of the potent desire that ran in his veins.

"What did you think, Arnav? That she wanted you? The dancing, the earring, that kiss by the poolside? Did you think it was real?"

"Are you upset? Is that why you made jalebi?"

Jealousy had slammed into him then, making it impossible to even breathe. In that moment, it had not mattered whether Shyam knew such a thing because Khushi had told him or because he'd tricked her into revealing it somehow. The only thing that had mattered was that he'd known something that Arnav hadn't. Something that he should have known ... wanted to know ... had a right to know.

Damn it.

He sighed, closing his eyes and willing sleep to find him.

Whatever Khushi was, whatever she might claim to be, he was absolutely sure of one truth.

He was weak.

And in his weakness, he had decided to trust.