Ishq hua (Duet 1)

Chapter 15: The dress

Aira:

Life is going to be a fucking hell if I am going to be always stuck by his side.

Mai Chand aur wo mera grahan!

Ek naa ek din to wo grahan bhi hata hi doongi.

I didn't see him after he left the room this morning or more like I didn't leave the room the whole day just so I didn't have to face him.

He is a fucking bastard and I didn't want Rekha aunty suffering because of my mistakes.

If I somehow manage to avoid the phone conversation, he will surely forget about it.

Wouldn't he?

How did he even find out about the phone call. There are no cameras in that side of the garden, no gaurd having their eyes on me.

Rishaan! that snitch,

The knock at my door was sharp and abrupt, cutting through the silence of the room. My heart stuttered for just a moment, then fell back into its guarded rhythm.

I just hope it's not him but then again, he never fucking knocks.

He prefers to make his presence felt without being known. I kept the crochet in my lap, its softness pressing painfully against my palm, and stood just as the door creaked open.

"Ma’am," the young staff - I didn't know her name, only that she was Rekha aunty's sister's daughter and new - bowed stiffly. Her eyes flicked around the room as if she, too, was nervous about carrying her master's message. "Mr. Oberoi has asked that you prepare for tonight's event. The car will be here in two hours."

What event?

She held out a garment bag, the expensive fabric peeking through the transparent cover. I didn't need to look to know that it would be exquisite. That was always his way - commanding, opulent, suffocating.

A bitter smile twisted my lips. "Tell Mr. Oberoi that I am not attending."

The young girl's face paled. "Ma’am, he said you should keep the phone conversation in your mind while refusing his demand."

My chest tightened, a familiar coil of defiance and dread fighting for dominance. The warning. It echoed in my mind, soft and lethal.

It won't end up well for the person who gave me the phone.

I looked past the girl to the gleaming chandelier in the hallway beyond, its crystal arms stretched in silent, sparkling mockery. He wanted me to break. He wanted me to surrender, bit by bit, until I forgot who I was without him. And yet, a spark of resistance, long-buried but never extinguished, flared inside me.

Enough of being a fucking weakling.

I reached out, not for the dress she offered but for the heavy oak door. "Leave it on the bed," I said coolly. "You can go."

She hesitated, as if debating whether to push further, but my stare was cold and final. Finally, with a clipped nod, she set the garment down and backed out of the room.

The moment the door clicked shut, I exhaled, my pulse a drumbeat in my ears. The bag sat on the bed like a challenge, all emerald silk and understated cruelty. I approached it, fingers brushing the delicate fabric that had been chosen to match his tastes - and my compliance.

Death was better than having to parade myself in front of him and his circle as his wife.

Not tonight.

Might as well as die a Virgin ghost than dying in Calvin klein.

I turned on my heel, crossing to door that led to the walk - in closet, where my own dresses hung, untouched as if they were relics of another life. Then again, the dresses didn't really match my style. Tara choose them for me and like her they were made for the show - classy and elegant.