𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊
In a world where love can be both. Beautiful or destructive force, the Raghuvanshi brothers hide behind the cold facade guarding their heart from the pain of love.
"Just because you are my wife and we share a bed d...
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Y U V I K A
Sleep was far from my eyes as I stared at Malaika Raghuvanshi's diary. Restlessness consumed me; I was desperate to read every word, to uncover every hidden truth. I needed answers—answers that Viraj couldn’t give me. The urge to lock myself away and read in peace was overwhelming, but with Viraj by my side, it wasn’t possible. In front of him, I pretended that everything was normal, as though I hadn’t read the page where his mother had written that she hated him. I forced myself to act unshaken, pretending nothing inside me had stirred.
We had dinner and retired to our room, talking about our day—something new in our relationship.
Viraj rarely used to share much about his day. He’d only say, “It was busy,” offering nothing more. But now, things have changed.
It is a good change.
He told me everything, even the silly joke his assistant cracked, and details about his latest deals.
I waited for him to fall asleep. Thankfully, he didn’t stay up late working, opting to sleep early since he was tired. Once I was sure he was fast asleep, I carefully slipped out of bed, tiptoeing out of the room without making a sound. Quietly, I closed the door behind me, trying not to get caught. I walked to his study, settling into the chair where he usually sat, typing away at his laptop.
With trembling hands, I opened the diary and began reading from where I had left off.
1st July 1990
Months passed, and the restlessness inside me only grew. Today marked the 20th week of pregnancy, the day I would finally know what was growing inside me. Boy or girl. Blessing or curse. I woke up early, unable to shake the tightness in my chest, and got ready in silence. Standing in front of the mirror, I barely recognized the woman staring back at me. My body had changed—swollen, heavier. Everyone said it was a good thing, a sign the baby was healthy.
My mother-in-law continued her charade, pouring fake love over me like syrup. She dictated every aspect of my life now—my food, my routines, even how much I slept. "You must eat for two," she'd chirp, pushing yet another bowl of something down my throat. Her eyes, though, were sharp. Cold. They didn’t care about me. Just the child.
And then there was Abhimaan. Always around, watching, hovering. It was suffocating.
“He said that he didn’t want to miss this period of our life.”
The words echoed in my mind, each syllable mocking me. Our life. It was almost laughable. I chuckled bitterly whenever I thought of it.
So easy for him to pretend that everything was fine. To believe that this child, this marriage, this life wasn’t forced upon me. He walked through this house with the confidence of a man who thought he had given me a gift—a child, a title, a future. But all I saw was the cage.
