Inheritance Of You

HUBBY DEAREST

I started to move, desperate to put space between us, to retreat to the safety of my room and get ready. But before I could take a second step, his hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around my bare wrist.

His touch was electric. Warm and firm, his calloused thumb resting against the delicate skin of my inner arm. A jolt shot straight up my spine.

"Aisha."

I turned to face him, my heart hammering against my ribs. His gaze was intent, searching my face as if looking for an answer to a question he hadn't asked.

"I didn't know," he began, the words measured, as if he'd rehearsed them. "I didn't know you would've wanted to hear from me." His jaw flexed, the sincerity in his dark eyes disarming. "I'm sorry if I worried you. I shouldn't have left the way I did."

For a moment, I just stared at him, my breath caught in my chest. The man who had vanished for two months without a word was now apologizing? It felt like a trick. A strategic move in a game I didn't understand the rules of.

I swallowed hard, pulling my wrist from his grasp. The skin where he'd touched me felt branded. "It's fine," I said, forcing a casual shrug, turning back to my coffee. "You were busy. I get it. We both have our own lives."

But the air between us was thick with the lie. We both knew it wasn't fine. The silence of those two months had been a chasm, and his apology, however sincere, felt like a single, fragile rope bridge thrown across it.

He sighed, a soft, weary sound. "It's not fine," he corrected me, his voice low. "And I won't do that again."

The promise, so blunt and unexpected, almost undid me. I turned away, staring into the depths of my mug. "You don't have to promise me anything, Naveen. We're not-" I cut myself off, exhaling sharply. "We're not exactly a real couple, remember? This is just... an arrangement."

The quiet that followed was heavy, filled with the truth we so carefully avoided.

Then, his tone shifted back to business, the moment of vulnerability sealed shut. "The gala's tonight. You're still coming with me, right?"

I blinked, thrown by the sudden change. "The what?"

"The gala," he repeated, his brows drawing together in a faint line of impatience. "It's important. Our presence together is... required."

I let out a small, sharp laugh. "Yeah, no. I'm not going."

His gaze hardened. "Aisha, be reasonable."

"I am being reasonable," I shot back, setting my cup down with a definitive clink. "You don't need me there to schmooze with donors. You can take a plus-one. I'm sure your assistant has a list of suitable, silent, and far more compliant options."

"You're my wife," he said, as if that settled it.

"On paper!" I fired back, my voice rising. "In a contract I didn't write! Not in real life. We don't eat together, we don't talk, we don't even sleep in the same wing of this place. So don't suddenly pull the 'wife' card when it's convenient for your public image."

He took a step closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming. The scent of sandalwood and clean sweat filled my senses. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."