ch 13 Whisks and Wanderlust: Baking Dreams in a Gilded Cage

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The silence clung to them like a second skin as they stepped into the elevator. Annika, burdened by her overflowing suitcases and a tote bag, watched Shivay's rigid form reflected in the polished steel doors. He hadn't offered to help, his gaze fixed on a spot far beyond the elevator's confines.

A soft ding announced their arrival. The doors slid open, revealing a gleaming hallway with plush carpeting that muffled the sound of their footsteps as they walked towards Shivay's penthouse. He unlocked the door with a curt click, and Annika's breath hitched.

The sight that greeted her was a designer's dream come true. Shivay's penthouse was a two-story symphony of modern luxury, connected by a sleek, curved staircase with a glass railing. Light poured in from floor-to-ceiling windows lining the entire front wall, offering a breathtaking vista of the city bathed in morning light.

"Follow me," Shivay muttered, his voice devoid of warmth. He led her upstairs and opened a guest room door. "This is yours," he said, his tone clipped. "Decorate it however you like. My room is that one," he added, pointing towards a large oak door. "Don't come in without knocking. I'm heading to the office. Get settled and do whatever you need to do. Mrs. Ahuja, my housekeeper, will be here soon to take care of cleaning." And with that, he was gone, leaving Annika alone in the unfamiliar space.

The air in the guest room was thick, mirroring the knot of emotions in Annika's chest. Her suitcases thudded onto the plush carpet, the sound strangely hollow in the vast emptiness. Opulence surrounded her, yet it felt sterile and impersonal, a stark contrast to the warmth she'd begun to find at the Oberoi mansion.

Shivay's curt dismissal and the constant reminder of their fragile contract marriage sent a surge of anger coursing through her. But defiance flickered within her like a dying ember refusing to be extinguished. She wouldn't crumble under his aloofness. This was her space now, and she would make it her own.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Annika began unpacking. Clothes were hung in the spacious closet, their colors a stark contrast to the bare walls. A hidden compartment in her luggage yielded a treasure trove – photo frames.  With trembling fingers, she placed a picture of her family on the nightstand, their smiling faces a source of silent strength. Another frame, holding a picture of Mrs. Patel, her kind eyes a reminder of the life she'd left behind.

A pang of guilt washed over her.  Caught up in playing the role of the dutiful wife, she had neglected her own dreams. But as she arranged her belongings, a new resolve bloomed within her. This penthouse, a gilded cage of Shivay's control, could also be a canvas for her individuality. She would chase her dreams,

The sharp ring of the doorbell cut through her thoughts. A woman with warm eyes and a gentle smile stood on the threshold. "You must be Mrs. Shivay Singh Oberoi," she greeted in a welcoming voice. "I'm Mrs. Ahuja, here to help you get settled in."

Annika managed a small smile. "Thank you, Mrs. Ahuja. It's nice to meet you."

As Mrs. Ahuja unpacked groceries and explained the intricacies of the penthouse, Annika found herself drawn into a warm conversation. The woman's friendly demeanor was a balm to the tension that had coiled around her.

Later, after Mrs. Ahuja left, Annika stood by the window, the cityscape sprawling beneath her like a glittering tapestry. The view was undeniably breathtaking, but it couldn't erase the emptiness in her heart. She missed the Oberoi mansion, the tentative connections she'd begun to form.

With a newfound resolve, Annika decided to take charge. First, she would visit her old apartment and collect her baking equipment, the tools of her passion. Then, it was off to her evening job at the convenience store. She owed the store manager an explanation for her absence over the past two days. Tomorrow, she would resume her regular routine, the one she followed before this whirlwind marriage had swept her off her feet.

The cityscape blurred past the taxi window, each familiar street corner a whisper of the life Annika had left behind. Relief washed over her as she pulled up to her old apartment building. Stepping inside the modest hallway, a wave of nostalgia hit her. But there was no time for memories, she had a mission.

Her key slid smoothly into the lock, and the stale air held the memory of countless happy moments. Dust motes danced in the afternoon sunlight, a stark contrast to the gleaming penthouse. Ignoring the cleaning that awaited, Annika made a beeline for the heart of her old life – the small kitchen. There, nestled in a corner, stood her haven – her baking equipment. Each item, the mixer, the whisks, the rolling pin, whispered stories of past creations. With practiced ease, she packed them all into a box, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips.

Back at the penthouse, a quick reorganization saw her baking equipment neatly tucked away in the sleek, modern kitchen. A call to the convenience store confirmed her shift was still available. With a final, lingering glance at the luxurious surroundings that felt more like a gilded cage than a home, Annika stepped out, ready to face her reality.

The drive to the store was fueled by a quiet determination. Stepping through the familiar doorway, she was greeted by the chaos of a disgruntled customer berating a new, flustered employee. The sight of Mr. Verma, the store manager, behind the counter brought a wave of relief.

"Annika!" he boomed, his voice laced with surprise and a hint of hidden concern. "There you are! We were worried sick. Where have you been these past two days?"

Annika took a deep breath. "There's a lot going on, Mr. Verma. I, uh, got married."

Mr. Verma's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Married? Well, congratulations then! But surely you don't plan to leave your job after getting married, do you? We missed your sunshine around here, you know. I just hired this girl today, but it seems she doesn't quite grasp things yet. Why don't you get changed and handle that customer?"

Annika sighed, the familiar routine a comfort. She donned her work shirt and stepped forward, her voice calm and confident as she addressed the customer's concerns.

By the end of her shift, exhaustion settled in, a welcome ache that spoke of her strength and resilience. No one, not even Shivay, would dictate her dreams.

Hailing a cab back to the penthouse, Annika gazed at the twinkling city lights, each one a silent promise. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear – she wouldn't be a gilded prisoner. She would find a way to balance her new life with her own aspirations. In the warmth of her kitchen, surrounded by her tools, she would bake her own happily ever after, one delicious creation at a time.

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