𝗕𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝗢𝗻𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗟𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗹 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗦𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀
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He stood there, pressing the gun against my forehead, his eyes burning with anger, betrayal, and hate.
Hate-something I never wanted to see in his...
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Three weeks had passed since the last court hearing, and tomorrow was the second hearing for Reyansh's case. I was in my office, diligently working on his case.
"Aashvee, except for the rod we found on the beach, we don't have any proof. I don't think it's enough,"
Om's voice pulled me out of my chain of thoughts. He was right; it wasn't enough to prove anyone innocent.
I set aside my diary and pen, having been writing some important notes for tomorrow's hearing.
"No, it's not, Om. But we have something that can prove him innocent. Remember someone stole the evidence from the forensic lab and the bomb blast?"
He nodded while working on his laptop, looking up when I didn't say anything further.
"We have the bomb planter too," he said, and I hummed in response.
"Yeah, someone stole the fake evidence, and the real one's report proves that there were no fingerprints on the rod and the blood on it was Reyansh's. So, it's definitely not Reyansh who stole the evidence. Someone wants to frame him, that's why they stole it. And about the bomb blast, maybe the same person is behind it. It's enough to prove him innocent."
It was easy to say the proof was enough, but somewhere deep down, I still felt like it wasn't.
"But do you think that guy will give up his boss's name?" Om's question was indeed valid and concerning.
"He won't, Om, and we shouldn't depend on him." He closed his laptop.
"Still, I will try once; if he agrees directly, it's fine. Otherwise, a little persuasion might be needed."
His smile clearly indicated that it wouldn't be just a little.
"By the way, how's married life going?"
he asked with a mischievous smile, and I felt like smashing his laptop over his head. Only he had the audacity to ask me questions like that.
I sighed. It wasn't good, but it wasn't bad either.
Since the day I told him he couldn't meet his mother, things had changed.
He left for the office early in the morning and came back late, around 11 or 12 at night.
The next day, his car was in our parking lot with his driver. He didn't ask me to drop him off, and I didn't offer.
Om's men were always following him, though he wasn't aware of it.
It wasn't like he had stopped talking to me completely, but it was less. Somewhere, I knew it wasn't just because I had stopped him from meeting his mother.
He was hurt—yeah, he was hurt because I wasn't reciprocating his feelings. Would I ever, in the way he wanted.
All he wanted was something simple: a bit of care, love, softness, and affection.
