The whole car ride to his penthouse, I avoided looking at him as if making eye contact would immediately combust me into flames.
Dinner wasn't any better.
Bed Of Betrayal
I moved toward the dressing table, my reflection staring back at me. Dressed in a delicate pink lehenga, my hair neatly adorned, my partition filled with sindoor-I looked exactly as I was meant to be: a newlywed. A wife. A small giggle escaped me, a mix of nervous excitement and joy. Then, I heard him enter. I turned, my heart racing as my gaze met my husband's. Heat rushed to my cheeks, deepening into a warm blush. He moved with slow, deliberate strides, his presence dominating the room. Without a word, he sprawled onto the couch, his arms resting lazily on the headrest as his dark, piercing eyes raked over me. "Strip." The word landed like a slap. I blinked, confusion clouding my face. "What?" He let out an impatient sigh. "Did you not hear me? I said strip. Come on, remove your clothes and give me a good show to enjoy." Shock paralyzed me. "Reyansh!" I gasped. "I don't like the way you're talking to me. I'm your wife, not some stripper!" He smirked, tilting his head as if amused. Then he laughed-a low, cruel laugh that sent a chill down my spine. "Wife?" he sneered. "Oh, sweetheart, do you really think that's what you are?" He leaned forward, his gaze dripping with mockery. "You're nothing more than A toy I dressed up just to break apart." My breath hitched, my stomach twisting painfully. He continued mercilessly. "Did you really believe the lies I fed you? That I was in love with you? That you meant something to me?" His voice dropped to a whisper, but the venom in his tone was unmistakable. "God, you really are as pathetic as you were twelve years ago." Twelve years ago? What does he mean by that?
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