Samayra's POV
Three days into this marriage... and how come a husband can ignore his wife like this?
No words. No gestures. No conversations.
Not even a stolen glance in the hallway or a simple "How are you?" over breakfast.
Was he for real?
But I'm Samayra. Not just any girl he can push aside and expect her to disappear into silence.
I don't fade into the background. I was born to shine-and I know exactly how to make a man like him look.
So, one sharp look at my phone... and a call to his P.A. was all it took.
That evening, I sat in a quiet, upscale café-one of the finest in the city-crossing my legs as I glanced out the glass window. The city outside was glowing under the night sky, tall buildings glistening like dreams waiting to be chased.
I wrapped my hand around the cup of freshly brewed coffee. The scent was bold, strong-much like the man I was waiting for.
Then I heard them.
Those footsteps.
Confident, slow, and powerful.
I didn't need to turn around.
I knew it was him.
Abhimanyu Singh Ranawat.
But no-there was no way I was giving him that satisfaction of seeing me wait for him.
I straightened my back, adjusted the drape of my saree, and kept my expression neutral... regal. Until his shadow loomed near me.
"Samayra," he finally spoke, voice low and deeply masculine.
My heart did thump. Okay, maybe more than just one.
I slowly lifted my gaze. And God-why is he this good-looking?
Sharp jawline? Check.
Broad shoulders? Double check.
Hair tousled like he walked out of a luxury perfume ad? Damn.
This man didn't just walk into the restaurant-he owned the air in it.
And to think... this is the man who hasn't spared me a word in three days?
I cleared my throat to steady the inner drama queen in me, then rose to my feet with poise, holding my saree with a gentle grace.
I extended my hand with a confident smile, eyes locked with his.
"Welcome, Mr. Ranawat," I said sweetly. "It's Mrs. Samayra Kapoor Ranawat...."
His brows knitted slightly in confusion-adorably, might I add.
But I didn't let my smile falter. I tilted my head slightly and gestured toward the chair across from mine.
He didn't say anything as he removed his coat and sat down. Every inch of his movement-refined, restrained, deliberate.
I couldn't help the slow curve that rose on my lips.
"I heard you spend your entire day buried in professional meetings," I spoke, crossing my fingers over the table.
"So... I thought we might as well have our conversation professionally."
Let's see how well Mr. Business Tycoon handles his Mrs. with a plan.
He raised his brows, then a faint smile tugged at his lips. Extending his hand across the table, his voice dipped low,
"Good evening, Miss Samayra..."
I slid my palm into his, grip firm, eyes steady.
"Mrs. Samayra Kapoor Ranawat," I corrected, my tone silk wrapped around steel.
His smile stretched further, amusement glinting in his eyes.
"So, what are we going to talk about?"
I lifted my coffee cup with deliberate poise, letting the steam veil my face for a moment before answering,
"About our marriage..."
His head tilted slightly, curiosity sparking.
"Are you sure we're going to proceed in it?"
I let the rim of the cup brush my lips before I replied softly, almost like a challenge,
"What other choice do we have?"
Just then, the waiter arrived with his coffee. Abhimanyu didn't move, didn't shift his gaze-his dark eyes stayed locked on mine as though the world around us didn't exist.
"Thank you," he muttered to the waiter without breaking eye contact, then leaned back in his chair, unbuttoning his coat with that unhurried dominance only he could carry.
Turning fully toward me now, his voice dropped lower, intimate, almost dangerous.
"So tell me, Mrs. Ranawat..." he said slowly, each word deliberate,
"...are you here to negotiate terms... or to set conditions?"
"Both... or maybe just to inform you... that relationships need time, Mister Ranawat," I said, my tone calm but layered with meaning.
His eyes flickered, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"I agree... I strongly agree."
I arched a brow, tilting my head.
"Better for a husband to agree, don't you think?"
He exhaled softly, almost a scoff, leaning back in his chair.
"You seem ready to work on this relationship... one that, at its core, is nothing but a business deal."
I placed my cup back on the saucer with a delicate clink, then met his gaze head-on, my voice steady but edged with quiet fire.
"Not when it had sacred seven pheras... not when this crimson sindoor rests in my hairline... not when those vows, however forced, were spoken under fire that witnesses truth."
I leaned forward slightly, my bangles clinking against the table.
"If it were just a business deal, Mr. Ranawat... I wouldn't be sitting here adding your name with mine... I would've been sitting as your partner on a contract. But I'm not.That fact itself speak volumes.."
For the first time, his smile faded into something deeper-something unreadable. His eyes lingered on my face, almost as though he was seeing me differently now.
"You're not what I expected," he murmured finally, voice lower, rougher.
I allowed a slow, knowing smile.
"Then maybe, Mr. Ranawat, it's time you stop expecting... and start accepting."
He nodded once, eyes steady on me.
"Sure... so? What are we supposed to discuss about?"
I folded my hands neatly over the table and gave him a pointed smile.
"About each other, of course. We don't know anything beyond our names, Mr. Ranawat."
His brow arched in faint amusement, but he didn't interrupt. That was enough for me to extend my hand toward him across the table-graceful, deliberate.
"About me," I began, my voice soft yet brimming with confidence.
"I completed my MBA this year in London. After that, I was supposed to return and manage Dad's empire... but to be honest, that was never my dream."
His fingers brushed mine briefly before pulling back, but his gaze lingered-curious now, sharper.
I leaned in a little, lowering my voice like I was sharing something forbidden.
"At eighteen, I won Miss Gujarat." A faint smile tugged at my lips as I watched his eyes flicker in surprise.
"And without Dad knowing... I trained myself for modeling. Competitions, shoots, the runway-I did it all. It's a secret very few know."
I let the confession hang between us, then tilted my head, smirking slightly.
"Now, Mr. Ranawat... that secret belongs to you as well."
For the first time, his lips curved-not in mockery, not in indifference, but something that resembled intrigue. His silence wasn't cold anymore; it was heavy, assessing, almost dangerous.
And for a brief moment, I realized-he wasn't just listening.
He was studying me.
"That's something different..." he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "So... you don't want to rise in modeling after being trained?"
I let out a soft, almost amused sigh, fingers tracing the rim of my coffee cup.
"I may... eventually," I admitted, tilting my head so he could see the determination in my eyes.
"But first... I need to make Dad understand that I'm not his puppet. That I'm not someone he can tie down with expectations."
I paused, letting the weight of my words settle. Then, with a graceful shift, I leaned back and gestured slightly, inviting him to speak.
"Leave that for now... tell me about yourself, Mr. Ranawat.. I'm into knowing my husband.."
His eyes darkened slightly, the smirk softening into something unreadable.
He murmured, voice low and deliberate, a hint of amusement threading through.
"Very well... I'll tell you. But only if you promise to listen as carefully as you expect me to listen to you."
I held his gaze, unflinching, letting a teasing smile play on my lips.
"I promise... just make sure it's worth my attention, Mr. Ranawat."
For a moment, the air between us shifted. The conversation that began as a polite negotiation was becoming something far more dangerous-and far more intoxicating.
"To be honest... there's not much," he began, leaning back in his chair, fingers tapping lightly against the coffee cup. His gaze flickered, serious now. "But I guess... you must be wondering why I didn't marry until now."
Hmm. Past heartbreak? A tragic love story?
God, I wasn't really in the mood to hear him mourn over some ex-girlfriend-but fine. Since this is "professional discussion," I should at least pretend to listen.
I didn't move my eyes from him, silently urging him to go on. He sighed, the sound heavy, burdened.
"Marriage never became ideal for me. I've never seen a loving relationship in my life."
Oh-ho. I mentally gave myself a proud nod. Guessed it right.
Sherlock Samayra: one.
Abhimanyu Singh Ranawat: zero.
His voice dropped lower.
"Neeta... my sister, you know her, right?"
I nodded lightly.
"She was married off at eighteen. The very next year, she had a baby boy. And just five years later... her husband left her. For another woman."
I caught the muscle in his jaw tightening as he said it.
"I was just twenty then," he continued, voice controlled but bitter. "But the worst... the worst was when I was five. My father. I saw his ugliest side-beating, abusing my mother in a drunken state. Every night. That's why..." His eyes flickered with something darker, something pained.
"...I never liked the concept of marriage."
Silence settled for a moment. His fingers tapped once on the table, then stilled.
"I know I'm not like those men from my past. I'll never be one. But still... I thought you should know. That's my family background, Samayra."
He paused. His eyes one.
And I. My lips slightly partrd.
I know myself. I'm not the kind of woman who sheds tears over stories. Even these two cases-tragic as they sound-are, sadly, too common in our country. Normally, I would have just nodded, maybe even moved on.
But today... I felt a sting at the corner of my eyes. And it wasn't because of the story itself.
It was because Abhimanyu felt it. Because his voice, usually so composed and commanding, carried the weight of wounds he never deserved.
I bit my lower lip, unsure. Consoling someone has never been my strength, and consoling him? A man like Abhimanyu Singh Ranawat doesn't need pity, doesn't crave soft words. Yet... something inside me urged me to speak, to at least try.
My voice wavered as I leaned forward slightly.
"I... understand. I mean, I know you're not like that."
His eyes flicked to mine, searching, and I forced myself not to look away.
"And... if we could really understand each other," I continued carefully, "if we talk through our issues, support each other when needed... maybe we can be that couple people call ideal."
The words surprised even me. They weren't planned. They just spilled, raw and hesitant, like a truth I didn't know I carried.
For a long second, he said nothing. Just sat there, silent, gaze pinned to me-like I'd just spoken a language he wasn't used to hearing.
He took a deep breath in.
"You have your whole future, Samayra," he said quietly, though his tone was firm, decisive. "I'm too old for you. You deserve to live life the way you want."
For a second, my throat tightened. Did he just mean... we should separate? Right after 3day marriage...
Oh,well perfect. Three days into this marriage and the great Abhimanyu Singh Ranawat is already hinting at walking away.
Logically, it shouldn't matter. We haven't developed feelings. We barely know each other. And me? I've never been the type to blindly trust societal norms anyway.
Yet... the mere thought of separation hurt somewhere I didn't expect. Maybe... maybe I just wanted the chance to discover this man beyond the cold exterior.
I cut him off before he could say more, leaning in.
"And what about you? If I find someone else... what about you?"
His jaw clenched, his gaze sharpening instantly. "And... aren't we married? Looking for another man while I wear your name is nothing short of... slutry. I'll never think of myself doing so, nor will I ever let you."
My heart skipped at the steel in his tone. Not angry, not shouting-but that possessiveness, quiet and absolute, was enough to burn through me.
I smiled slowly, lifting my chin with pride.
"That means, Mister Abhimanyu Singh Ranawat... we both don't have options."
I let the silence hang for a beat, my eyes holding his.
"We just have each other."