Page 4 of His Arranged Wife
"But—"
"Let me make something very clear, Nimisha." He stood, his full height and presence suddenly overwhelming in the space. He walked toward her, stopping just close enough to be intimidating. "This marriage is a political arrangement. Nothing more. I fulfilled my duty to my family by marrying you. Don't expect anything beyond that."
She met his gaze, forcing herself not to look away even as her insides trembled. "I understand."
"Do you?" He tilted his head, studying her like a specimen. "Because you're looking at me like you expect something from me. Romance, perhaps? Affection?"
"I expect nothing," she said quietly.
"Good." He stepped back, grabbing his laptop from the desk. "Keep it that way. We'll attend functions together as required. We'll play the part in public. But behind closed doors, we're strangers who happen to share a last name."
"And if—" she hesitated, hating herself for asking but needing to know. "If you need... if you want..."
"If I want sex?" His blunt words made her flinch. His smile was cruel. "I'll let you know. Until then, stay out of my way."
He left without another word, the door closing behind him with a soft click that was somehow worse than a slam.
Nimisha stood alone in the massive bedroom, still wearing her bridal mehendi, her hands trembling. She looked down at her palms where her new husband's name was written in delicate henna.
Samarth.
She had married a man who couldn't stand to be in the same room with her.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she finally allowed herself to cry. Silent tears that left no trace, the kind she'd perfected over the years. She cried for the future she'd lost, for the love she'd never have, for the prison she'd willingly walked into.
Tomorrow, she would be strong. Tomorrow, she would be the perfect Ranawat daughter-in-law.
But tonight, alone in this cold room, she allowed herself to break.
Just a little.
CHAPTER 1
One Year Later
The cursor blinked mockingly on the blank page. Nimisha stared at her laptop screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. She was supposed to be writing the climactic love confession for her latest romance novel, but the words wouldn't come. How was she supposed to write about love when she was living in its complete absence?
The irony wasn't lost on her.
Her readers devoured her books, praised her for the emotional depth, the raw passion, the believable romance. If only they knew that the woman behind those words went to bed alone every night, that her husband barely acknowledged her existence outside of mandatory public appearances and their... physical arrangements.
Don't think about that.
She forced her fingers to type.
"I've loved you since the moment I saw you," Armaan whispered, his hand cupping Meera's face. "Every breath, every heartbeat, every moment—all of it belongs to you."
Nimisha's throat tightened. She deleted the paragraph.
A knock on her study door interrupted her spiraling thoughts.
"Come in," she called, grateful for the distraction.
One of the household staff entered—Radha, a young woman who'd been with the Ranawats for years. She didn't meet Nimisha's eyes.
"Madam, would you like some tea?"
"Yes, please. Thank you, Radha."
