Aditya sat at the head of the table, spine straight, hands clasped over his plate. Dinner together in the house rarely happened and tonight was an occasion he used to announce the pregnancy. His words from moments ago still lingered in the room like a question left unanswered.

"Shradha is pregnant."

And that was it. A blink. A silence. A few murmured "oh"s, but no celebration, no laughter, not even a congratulations from most of them.

His gaze shifted slowly.

Karan, his cousin, looked as disinterested as ever, poking at his food like he hadn't heard a thing. Mrinal, his ever-so-poised wife, gave a sideways glance at Shradha that lingered just a moment too long. There was something unreadable in her eyes, judgment maybe, or disappointment. He couldn't tell. What he did notice, though, was that Shradha hadn't looked up since he'd made the announcement. She kept her eyes down, pushing rice around her plate like a robot. She hadn't spoken a word. Not even when his mother screamed in joy and rushed to the kitchen like a woman possessed.

"Make sweets!" she had shouted at the chef, dragging a maid behind her. "Distribute it to the whole neighborhood!"

Ashish wasn't here. Out on work, as usual. And Arjun... Arjun never sat with them anymore. Aditya didn't blame him. Born out of a scandal, labeled as the stain on the family name, Arjun had long accepted that this table wasn't his. Aditya still remembered the last time Arjun tried sitting here—only to be met with silence colder than today's.

He sighed and looked up as his mother returned from the kitchen, beaming like it was her own pregnancy they were celebrating. She walked straight to Shradha, a fresh ladoo in hand, and without waiting for a response, gently forced a bite into her mouth.

"Eat, beta," she whispered, pressing a kiss to Shradha's cheek before turning to Aditya with another ladoo.

She cradled his face in her hands for a moment longer than necessary before kissing his forehead too. "You've made me so happy."

He let her press the ladoo to his lips and forced a smile. Not for himself. For h is mother. For the woman who, even in this hollow mansion filled with too much silence and too little love, still found a reason to celebrate.

He glanced at Shradha again. Still quiet. Still unmoving.

Maybe she didn't want to be celebrated.

As dinner ended, Chairs scraped softly against the floor. Plates were left half-finished. One by one, family members drifted away to their respective chambers.

Aditya remained seated for a moment longer, watching Shradha gently place her napkin on the table and rise wordlessly, her gaze still avoiding his.

The maids began clearing dishes, their eyes respectfully lowered, trained to pretend they saw and heard nothing.

Then came the sound of slow footsteps stopping in front of him.

Karan.

His cousin stood there, arms folded, the familiar smugness curled at the corners of his lips. "Well, looks like big brother is finally off the market," he said, his tone mocking. "One woman for life? must feel like a cage already."

Aditya exhaled through his nose and didn't respond. He'd learned long ago that silence could burn more than words.

But Karan wasn't done.

He leaned in slightly and said just low enough for the maids not to catch, "Pity though... All this celebration for someone who looks like she'd rather be in a funeral. I mean, you sure she's not already regretting giving you a baby?"

That was it.

Aditya rose from his chair, calm but sharp, eyes narrowing as he stared Karan down. "At least I'm not out screwing anything that moves while pretending to be a family man," he said, his voice quiet but laced with steel. "You've got two kids upstairs and a wife who knows exactly what kind of filth you come home smelling like."

A sharp silence cut through the air.

Mrinal, who was halfway up the stairs, stopped. Her spine stiffened before she slowly turned her head, her eyes locking on the two men. There was no expression on her face—no anger, no shock. Just that frozen, unreadable stillness of a woman who had always known, but hearing it aloud still left a sting.

Karan's jaw tensed, the smirk now wiped clean off his face.

Shradha, who had just begun pushing her chair in, froze mid-movement. Her eyes lifted for the first time that evening, flicking briefly to Aditya, then to Mrinal, and finally back down again. She said nothing.

For a few seconds, no one moved.

Only the quiet clinking of plates and the murmur of the maids in the background reminded them the world hadn't stopped.

Aditya walked ahead without a word, his footsteps steady, almost too composed for what was happening inside him. Behind him, Shradha followed like a shadow—silent, lifeless, drained of color and will. He didn't have to turn around to know her face. He had memorized that blankness by now. the same look she wore when she tried to hold herself together in front of everyone.

She had barely eaten. What little she had managed was probably now gone, flushed out by nausea or anxiety or both.

As they entered his study, he pushed the heavy door open and waited for her to step inside before closing it behind them. The click of the latch sounded louder than it should have.

"Sit," he said softly, motioning toward the leather chair in front of his desk.

She obeyed, wordlessly, sitting like a ghost, hands resting in her lap, eyes avoiding his.

Aditya moved to his table and opened a file that had been prepared in advance. Every page was crisp, organized and signed.

He slid the file toward her without sitting down.

"Read this," he said.

Shradha hesitated for a moment, then opened it. Her eyes skimmed the words, but the weight of them hit harder with each line. Her brows furrowed. A crease formed between them as realization slowly set in.

Her name.

Everything was in her name.

Not the baby's. Not his own. Hers.

Property. Shares. Accounts. Bonds.

A guarantee. A declaration.

She looked up, eyes wide for the first time in weeks—surprise flickering into shock. "Why?" she asked, voice low but laced with confusion. "Why would you do this?"

Aditya leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed loosely, watching her.

"Because I know this house," he said simply. "I know the people in it. And I know how they treat women when they think she's powerless."

She blinked, lips parting slightly.

"You don't owe me anything," he continued. "But if you're going to be here—carrying my child or not—you deserve to be safe. Secure. Unquestionable."

He paused before adding, more quietly, "And maybe someday... you'll stop looking like you want to disappear every time you sit beside me."

Shradha stared at the pages again, her fingers trembling slightly as they hovered over the signatures.

He wasn't asking for her love. Not even her forgiveness.

Just her permission to give her a future she wouldn't have to beg anyone for.

And for once, she didn't know what to say.

Aditya watched her carefully, his eyes never leaving her face as she gently closed the file and placed it back on the table with trembling fingers. The expression on her face didn't shift when she rose up from the chair.

"I don't want anything from you," Shradha murmured, her voice so soft he almost missed it.

She turned to leave, steps quiet against the carpeted floor.

But this time, he reached out.

His hand wrapped around her wrist, gently but firm enough to stop her.

"Then why did you ask me," he said, his voice low, "if I'd leave you after the child was born?"

She froze.

"Why did you doubt yourself when you found out?" he added. "Why did you look at me like I was the threat?"

Still, she didn't speak.

But he saw it, the way her fingers curled slightly, the way her body swayed, like she was on the edge of something.

Shradha's shoulders trembled—barely, but he caught it. She still didn't turn around, but her voice came, raspy and choked.

She slowly turned, her eyes glassy, rimmed red. "You think I doubted you. But it was me. I doubted myself. I still do."

Aditya stepped closer, his hand releasing her wrist only to rest lightly at her elbow .

"You're not failing," he said quietly. "And you're not alone in this."

Her eyes searched his, and for a second, something flickered in her—hope maybe, or fear trying to fight it. And then it faded again, her walls rising just as quickly.

"I'm tired, Aditya," she whispered. "Tired of hoping."

As Shradha turned to leave again, Aditya moved swiftly—this time not letting her take another step. His hand reached for her arm again, but gentler, as if he was afraid she'd break from a firmer grip.

"Shradha..." his voice was low but urgent, like a question rising from the pit of something deeper. "What are you hoping for?"

She didn't respond.

Her gaze shifted to the side, away from him, as if even looking at him would undo the last thread she was holding onto. Her lips parted slightly, but the words tangled somewhere in her throat.

"Look at me," he said, gently cupping her cheek.

Still no response.

He pressed closer, too close. She could feel the warmth of his breath, the intensity in his. His other hand moved to her face, his thumb brushing her other cheek, guiding her to meet his gaze.

"I asked you something," he whispered, firmer this time, "and I want the truth."

For a long moment, all that passed between them was breath. Her chest rose unevenly. Her lashes trembled.

And finally... she looked at him.

With eyes brimming with years of silence, of loneliness, of everything she had never said out loud, she whispered, "I've only hoped for one thing these past two years."

Aditya didn't move. Didn't blink.

She swallowed hard and continued, "Your love."

The words fell like a confession—not heavy, not loud, but quiet and raw enough to cut deep.

"You promised, remember?" Her voice wavered. "The day we got married. You said I could have everything in this house but not that. Never that."

Tears spilled from her eyes, but her expression stayed still—like she had accepted her own sadness a long time ago.

"I wasn't asking for much," she went on, her tone almost apologetic. "I was just a woman with dreams... I wanted to be loved. To live normally. To wake up next to someone who wanted me back. To feel like a wife, not just a... placeholder."

Her voice broke at the end.

And in that moment, Aditya had no words.

Because somewhere in the space between their arranged vows and this, he had forgotten she was more than a name in the family registry.

She was a woman. One who had waited. One who had hoped.

For him.

_____

Some intense chapters coming up as the story is close to climax. Arjun's book will be updated shortly.

Make sure you give Ashish's story a look (Ruining You.)

What tropes would you like in Arjun's story since he is the broken and fucked up brother of the family?

Do let me know in the comments please. I love reading comments and silent readers please express what you feel about the chapter and want you want in the next books.

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