✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
[ 𝐒𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐋 1 ]
Because this is where love fades and hate resides and intensifies, broken hearts produce the most tragic stories.
Their treachery is told through their bleeding hearts: their unrequited love was never reciprocated. The...
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"We should call off the wedding," I said, the words pale and tense, tasting metallic on my tongue.
He paused, one cufflink halfway undone, his back still toward me. He didn't look startled, just... observant.
"You're hungry, you're tired, and you're overthinking the Shanaya incident," he said dismissively, turning around and sensing my rising panic. "Come inside, we will talk about this, but first eat." Saying this, he simply walked away toward the dining room.
My jaw dropped. That was it? That was his response to me calling off our billion-dollar contract? I frowned, then, unable to resist the pull of confusion—and frankly, hunger—I followed him.
The dining room table was set. Not just set, but beautifully laid out. White china, heavy silver cutlery, two cloth napkins folded precisely, and a vase with a single white orchid. In the center, two covered dishes sat steaming.
"I thought you were living here alone, then how come this?" I asked, pointing accusingly at the opulent table setting.
He walked over to the table and removed the lids. The smell of freshly baked bread and rich, slow-cooked lamb filled the air. "You don't know anything about me, Miss Sharma," he said, his tone flat, revealing nothing. He wiped his hands on the napkin and put his plate on the table. "Sit." He gestured to my chair.
I nodded, feeling the protest die in my throat. I was starving. The entire day had been an energy drain, and we hadn't waited for dinner after the Shanaya fiasco. We ate in charged silence. The food was complex, rich, and ridiculously good—definitely not takeout. He'd cooked again. The fact that the most ruthless businessman in the country secretly harbored the talent of a five-star chef was maddening. It added layers to his personality that I desperately didn't want to explore.
I finished my last bite of the perfectly seasoned lamb, savoring the flavor for a moment before pushing the plate away. I took a deep breath. Time to re-engage the war.
"Now, can we talk?" I asked, my voice firmer. He didn't answer and continued to eat his sandwich—yes, a sandwich, after a meal—with infuriating leisure. "Listen, Mr. Agarwal, our deal was supposed to end by last week, but it didn't due to some unplanned things, but I can't live here with you forever," I pressed.
