Inheritance Of You

HUBBY DEAREST

I took a slow, measured breath, fighting the sudden, hot pressure rising in my chest. "Why wouldn't I care?" I asked, my tone dangerously soft. I took another step, now close enough to see the fatigue etched in the lines around his eyes, to smell the faint, clean scent of his cologne. It was maddeningly good. "Hmm? We share a home. A name. Or did you forget that part of the deal?"

His gaze finally met mine then-and without the glasses, which he now held in one hand, he did look younger. More dangerous. The exhaustion in his eyes was raw and unmasked.

"I'm here now," he said, the words quiet, stripped of their usual armor.

I almost laughed. The sound caught in my throat, bitter and sharp. "And I'm supposed to do what with that information? Welcome you home with open arms? Forgive and forget? Should I run you a bath, husband?" I made the word a weapon. "Maybe fluff your pillows?"

He looked away, his hand lifting to run through his perfectly styled hair, a gesture so uncharacteristically messy it was more revealing than any confession. "Your father called me. About the gala tomorrow."

Of course. My father, the master puppeteer, pulling the strings from the wings. Daddy dearest, making sure his assets were performing as expected.

"Let me guess," I said, stepping further into the room, the space between us feeling both vast and suffocatingly small. "He reminded you that your decorative wife still exists and that she needs an escort to the ball?"

Naveen's lips twitched-not in amusement, not in anger. Something else. Something more volatile. "You always make it sound like I chose this arrangement."

"Didn't you?" I fired back, my voice dropping. "You said yes. You stood there and you said 'I do' to a stranger. So don't you bullshit me and act like you're just some pawn in our father's game. You had a choice. I didn't."

That silenced him. For once, the man with an answer for everything, had nothing. The quiet stretched, heavy and electric. I could feel the pulse of the tension threading between us-the same tension that used to keep me awake at night, staring at the ceiling, before I built walls high enough to stop caring.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice all business once more. "We should go together tomorrow. For appearances."

I laughed-a soft, humorless sound. "Right. For appearances." I brushed past him then, headed for the sanctuary of my bedroom.

As I reached my bedroom door, my hand on the cool knob, I paused. I didn't look back.

"You can take the guest room. I had Maria keep it clean." I let the implication hang in the air for a beat. "You know. In case you decided to show up."

"Aisha-"

But I didn't let him finish. I didn't want to hear whatever carefully constructed sentence came next-an excuse, an order, a hollow apology. I didn't want to hear that infuriatingly calm voice of his, try to negotiate this like another business deal.

I closed the door before he could say anything that might sound like sincerity, engaging the soft, definitive click of the lock.

And for a long moment, I just stood there, my back pressed against the solid wood, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. On the other side was the man I was bound to, the ghost in my gilded cage. On my side, the city lights bled through the cracks of my too-perfect life, illuminating nothing but the wreckage of what our families had built for us.

....

The smell of coffee hit me the second I stepped out of my room-warm, rich, and almost cruelly inviting. It was a scent that promised normalcy, a morning ritual. For one disorienting moment, I thought Maria had come in early, maybe she heard that my dear husband was back to torment me.