A Scandalous Affair |COMPLETE| AnuPre Fiction

3. The Depth of Guilt

A/N: So peeps! How are you guys? Enjoying the story, excited? Well I know you want more for sure, judging  by the overwhelming amount of comments!

Well I had asked a question about updates. So, as it turns out, everybody who commented wants REGULAR UPDATES. Well then who am I to stop you? :) <3

REGULAR UPDATES IT IS! 

Happy reading for now, catch up more with you, at the end of this chapter! :)

Anurag:

I was sitting in my home-office and working on my laptop, not to the world, but I was trying to convince myself that I was planning meaningful strategies for my business, the next bestseller product in the market, but my heart was not in it. This was not the first time I was having a nights stand with a woman, judge me if you want, but I am an ace multi billionaire business man, I am Anurag Basu the scion of BWW industries, I am one of India's most desirable bachelor. I had women who would give it all to me, willingly, fully knowing there was no future with me, and I? I would spend many solitary nights with them, and make love to my content. I respected them - I wouldn't ever think of a different girl when I was with one, I wouldn't ever wreck their bodies, just because I knew they would allow me, I always ensured it was a fulfilling moment for both of us - but random meaningless sex has never found its path into my heart or mind when I planned business, my next great venture - my work is the cry of my soul, how did something so powerful hit the inner chamber of my heart, that it muffled the voice of my soul, I wondered. It wasn't my feelings for Prerna that caused such havoc in my life; that was a chapter I have shut for good I know. It wasn't that - it was something far more superior then that. It was the knowledge of guilt - the guilt that was consuming me, ever since I returned from Delhi.

Here in Calcutta, I wasn't Prerna's Anurag. I was Anurag Basu, the nation's most sought after entrepreneur. And Anurag was guilty of doing this to his fiancée Mishka. I was guilty of making my di's best friend sin. I was ashamed at the idea of having to look at Prerna di in the eye - ever again. Will she actually come for the wedding now, or would she abandon her own sister's wedding? Would my act compel her to snap ties with Nivi di? A few days lost to an age old infatuation, and here I was, at a loss for life.

I noticed the mug of coffee at the table next to me. It was plain black coffee that Mishka had indulgently asked the butler to leave on the table sometime back - she had come here to try out the Sangeet lehenga di had bought for her - I looked at the coffee. True, it wasn't cinnamon flavoured, because she didn't know how to make it, but it was there, kept for me, lest I wanted it. Mishka herself was like that too, she wasn't ever demanding - she was child-like and accepting - I feel somewhere that she knows that I will honour the wedding but she isn't my soul-mate. But she doesn't whine about it. She accepts it silently and silently stands in the corner of my life, like a silent spectator, waiting, lest I need her sometime.

I was lost in my thoughts when there was a knock on the door, I looked up to see my butler, he was pushing 'ma's' wheelchair into the studio. I looked at 'ma' she looked back enquiringly at me. I realized it was one of those rare days when 'ma' wanted to confront me about something, her look said it all - I gulped. Maybe my 'ma' is paralyzed now, and what she says with the movable right side of her lips are hardly coherent, but since childhood she had been my guiding light, and till date that stare scares me a bit. Once 'ma' came right in front of me, I motioned the butler to leave; I would take 'ma' back to her room, once we were done. I squatted before her, gently holding her knees with both my hands, and looked down. Somehow, the guilt in me was so great that I couldn't look her in the eye.

"What happened 'ma', is there something you want to talk about?" I asked still with my head bent. She didn't say anything, she just sighed, which made me finally look up at her. She wasn't looking at me; she was looking at the mug of coffee kept untouched at the table.