Prologue
I stood beside the table, staring at the cake that had been sitting untouched for the past twenty minutes.
Six months.
Six months of being married to Atharva Rajwanshi, and I still couldn't tell whether he deliberately made me feel invisible or if it simply came naturally to him.
I knew he wouldn't come.
He never did.
And no, I wasn't lonely. Not exactly. I had learned to live with his absence long before I had learned to live with his presence. There was a difference, and I preferred not to think too deeply about it.
I was merely upset.
Because how could he be late today?
It was our sixth-month wedding anniversary, for God's sake.
Not that it meant anything to him.
Our marriage had never been about love, anyway. It was an arrangement, a carefully negotiated agreement disguised as a respectable union. Somewhere inside the drawers of our lawyers' offices lay the contracts that bound us together more firmly than any vows ever could. Our families knew nothing about them. To them, we were simply a newly married couple, learning to navigate the beautiful beginning of a life together.
If only they knew.
A faint sigh escaped my lips as I glanced at the clock above the fireplace.
Eight forty-five.
The grand living room of the Rajwanshi estate looked as though it had been prepared for a celebration worthy of a royal family. Warm golden light spilled from the crystal chandeliers overhead, illuminating the polished marble floors and the expensive paintings adorning the walls. Fresh white roses filled the crystal vases, their delicate fragrance mingling with the faint sweetness of the anniversary cake.
Everything was perfect.
The arrangements. The decorations. The cake with its elegant lettering.
Everything except the man I was supposed to be celebrating.
Both our families had arrived earlier that evening, turning what I had expected to be a quiet occasion into a gathering I hadn't quite known how to prepare for. Thankfully, it was the second Saturday of the month, and I had no classes to attend at the kindergarten where I taught. Otherwise, I would have had an excuse to escape this little performance.
Now, we were all gathered in the living room, waiting for my husband.
My mother sat on one of the cream-coloured sofas, her fingers wrapped around a cup of tea that had probably gone cold by now. Every few minutes, she glanced at me, her expression softening with the kind of concern mothers never quite learned to hide.
Across from her, Atharv's mother wore a pleasant smile, though her eyes kept drifting towards the entrance. His father, on the other hand, looked increasingly displeased. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, checking his watch with the sort of restrained impatience that made the room feel smaller with every passing minute.
The others tried to keep the conversation alive.
They spoke about business, the weather, an upcoming family gathering-anything that might distract them from the increasingly obvious absence of the man of the house.
And me?
I stood beside the anniversary cake, feeling like an ornamental piece of furniture someone had forgotten to move.
Every now and then, someone looked at me.
Some offered reassuring smiles, as though a little kindness could compensate for my husband's absence. Others wore expressions of quiet sympathy, their eyes lingering on me a moment longer than necessary. There were even a few glances that I couldn't quite interpret-curious, perhaps, or faintly pitying.
I lowered my gaze whenever I caught them.
I hated being looked at that way.
As if I were a poor, neglected wife.
As if I needed their sympathy.
I didn't.
At least, that was what I kept telling myself.
I smoothed the fabric of my dress, trying to ignore the uncomfortable tightness in my chest. The cake stood directly in front of me, its white frosting decorated with delicate silver details. Two small figurines rested on top-a bride and a groom, standing side by side beneath a tiny sugar arch.
I wondered who had chosen them.
Someone had clearly put thought into every little detail.
Someone had expected my husband to be here.
Someone had expected him to stand beside me, smile for the family, cut the cake, and pretend that six months of marriage had given us something worth celebrating.
I almost laughed at the thought.
Almost.
Instead, I reached for my glass of water and took a small sip, hoping no one would notice how desperately I needed something to do with my hands.
My eyes wandered towards the entrance again.
Ridiculous.
Absolutely ridiculous.
I had known Atharv for long enough to understand that expecting anything from him was a mistake. He had never promised me affection, attention, or even the courtesy of pretending that our marriage mattered to him.
And yet, a foolish little part of me had hoped that tonight might be different.
Not because I loved him.
I couldn't possibly love a man who barely looked at me.
But perhaps I had wanted him to remember.
To acknowledge that six months ago, we had stood before our families and exchanged vows that meant everything to them and almost nothing to us. or may be to him.
Perhaps I had wanted him to arrive on time, look at the cake, and spare me the humiliation of standing alone beside it while everyone silently wondered what kind of husband left his wife waiting on their anniversary.
My fingers tightened around the glass.
No, I wasn't lonely.
I was simply upset.
And if Atharv Rajwanshi thought he could walk into this room whenever he pleased, offer a careless excuse, and expect me to smile as though nothing had happened-
Well.
He was probably right.
Because that was what wives were expected to do, weren't they?
Smile. Understand. Adjust.
Especially when their husbands were men like Atharv Rajwanshi.
I glanced at the clock one last time.
Eight fifty.
The room fell into a brief, awkward silence as another minute passed without his arrival.
And for the first time that evening, I allowed myself to wonder whether my husband had forgotten our anniversary entirely.
Or whether he remembered it perfectly well.
And simply didn't care.
The entrance doors finally swung open.
But the people who stepped inside the mansion were the last ones anyone had expected.
Police officers.
The room fell silent.
"Who is Vedika Maheshwari here?" the inspector asked, his gaze sweeping across the room.
Neil Rajwanshi, Atharv's father, scowled in annoyance before rising to his feet. He stepped in front of me, his posture rigid.
"What happened, Officer?" he asked, his voice authoritative, his calmness almost chilling.
"It's me," I whispered, my heart thundering against my rib cage.
The inspector turned towards me.
For a fleeting moment, his eyes held mine. Then he exchanged a glance with the officer beside him.
Something was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
"Vedika Maheshwari," he announced, his voice cutting through the suffocating silence, "you need to come with us."
My fingers went cold.
"May I ask why?" Neil demanded.
The inspector's expression didn't change.
"I'm afraid this is more serious than you think, sir."
And then he took a step towards me.
"You're under arrest."
The words barely registered before every face in the room turned towards me.
I stared at the officers, unable to comprehend what was happening.
Six months of marriage. One anniversary. One evening that was supposed to mean nothing.
And suddenly, everyone was looking at me as though they had never known me at all.
