I stood stunned, staring at a familiar stranger, someone my heart and body knew too well, as if he had once became an inseparable part of me. And yet, the man standing before me felt impossibly distant and world's away from mine.
He looked... astonishing.
The expensive blazer sat perfectly on his broad shoulders, the crisp red tie knotted with deliberate precision, polished shoes reflecting the light beneath him. His hair sleek, styled, was nothing like the wind-tossed mess I remembered. For a moment, I had to look twice, just to reassure myself that this was truly him. That this was the man who had occupied my thoughts for far too long.
Gone were the clothes perpetually stained with paint, as though they were canvases of their own. Gone was the careless chaos of his hair, shifting freely with his moods and the breeze alike, so unmistakably him. The easy, unguarded way he used to walk had been replaced by a confident, measured stride. Even his eyes... the warmth I once knew had hardened into something cold, unreadable, distant.
No.
This was not my Mr. Artist.
This was not Ansh Mishra, the boy I had loved, the man I had known.
"I feel honored to make your acquaintance, Ms. Kiyah Sharma. I am Saransh Awasthi."
His voice cold, indicating no emotional turbulence someone who was once a close tale might showcase. His gaze pierced through me, offering no hint of recognition, no trace of the past I was still clinging to.
Saransh Awasthi.
CEO of the Awasthi Group.
My client.
My boss.
And now... a married man.
The realization settled heavy in my chest, stealing the air from my lungs. Yet one question burned through my mind, impossible to silence, impossible to ignore...
How?
YOU ARE READING
My Mr. Artist
RomanceYou must have heard many stories where two people forced into marriage eventually become eternal lovers. And of course, there's always a villainess-the ex-girlfriend-who tries desperately to break them apart but never succeeds, right? But here, I am...
