Her Deviant Husband

Chapter 34 (M)

Mature Content: Not sex though.

Reyansh's pov

The room was pretty dim, shadows stretching across the walls as I sat there, watching the CCTV feed.

The screen showed the feed from the CCTV I'd installed in Athira's bedroom. Yes, I knew it was wrong—crossing boundaries she'd never forgive me for. But I wasn't seeking forgiveness. Not when it came to Athira.

My wife.

Or more accurately, in her words "I am your unwilling hostage masquerading as a bride."

Athira was on her bed, casually swirling a glass of wine in her hand, her fingers twirling around the stem like it didn't even matter.

Her eyes were distant, focused on the window, lost in thought—or maybe scheming something.

"What the hell is she wearing?" I muttered, my voice low, my jaw tightening.

She'd changed into something utterly maddening: a white lace lingerie set paired with a sheer robe that was as good as useless. It wasn't modesty I wanted from her—I wasn't a saint—but she wasn't wearing it for me. That thought alone made my blood boil.

A sly smile tugged at her lips. "Let's see how I far I have to go for him to let me go," she muttered, her voice low and teasing. "Fuck.. it's going to be a long time."

I leaned back, narrowing my eyes. She thinks she can annoy me? Nothing she does can ever annoy me. But fascinate and drive me to the brink of madness possible.

She paused and stood up abruptly as she started muttering something while pacing back and forth as if she was plotting mayhem.

And then she paused mid-stride, tilting her head as if she could feel my eyes on her. Her lips moved, words spilling out, and I cranked up the audio to catch what she was saying.

"...arrogant, unfeeling, insufferable bastard," she hissed under her breath, throwing her free hand into the air. "How does one person manage to be so impossible?!"

I smirked. That tone—sharp with frustration, tinged with fire—was as familiar to me as her name. Athira Roy Sehgal didn't just despise me; she loathed me.

And I... I thrived on it.

Reyansh Sehgal ahhhh!?" she muttered, pacing again. "You think just because we're married, you have gotten everything you wanted and more in your grand scheme of vendetta? Ha! You've got another thing coming."

The way she moved, her robe trailing behind her like a tempest, was mesmerizing. Every step, every flick of her wrist, every flash of defiance in her eyes—it called to something dark and obsessive inside me. She hated me, and yet she couldn't stop reacting to me.

And that reaction was everything.

She stopped in front of the mirror, eyeing her reflection critically.

"Maybe I should burn all his suits," she mused aloud. "The man treats them like children anyways and wears only suits and turtlenecks... But then I don't think he would be affected either... I might as well have given him a reason to roam around me NAKED."

I chuckled softly. Her ideas were always dramatic, always ridiculous, and yet they were so... her.

"Or maybe I'll move out," she muttered, her tone icy. "Find a way to annul this sham of a marriage."

Annulment? That word made my chest tighten, anger stirring in the pit of my stomach. No. There was no getting out of this marriage—not for her, not for me.