Abhimanyu's POV
I can't help it. My eyes just refuse to move away from her. From Samayra.. My wife!
It's been two days since she started training with that so-called professional in our living room, and yet every second feels like torture.
The way Samayra pushes herself, perfecting each pose, her focus sharp, her movements graceful… she doesn't even realize what she's doing to me. She looks like a vision carved out of perfection, and I am a helpless sinner, staring.
But damn it, something twists and burns in my chest every time she appears in those yoga clothes. And then there's him. That trainer. I know he's one of the best in the business, counted among the top. I also know—because he made it very clear—that he's gay. I shouldn't care. I shouldn't feel threatened.
Yet, I do!
Because it's not about who he is. It's about her. The way she laughs when he corrects her. The way she smiles, so freely, so unguarded. Sometimes his hand brushes against her shoulder, her arm, adjusting her posture—and she doesn't mind. She lets him.
And here I am… burning silently. My hands curl into fists, my jaw clenches, and I want to storm in there, tear her away from him, and lock her in my arms where no one else can touch her.
But I don't. Because who am I to? We made a deal, didn't we? She has her life. I promised her that freedom. She can do whatever she wants.
Still… try as I might, I cannot silence the truth clawing inside me—
I don't wanna see her with anyone, except me!
This morning was no different. I sat at the table, sipping my coffee, pretending to scroll through my tablet while my gaze kept straying to her. Samayra had just finished another yoga session with him. Ash.
And again—again—she smiled at him. That smile that once used to be mine, the one I now have to fight to earn a fraction of, she gave away so easily to someone else. Something inside me burned, a slow, suffocating ache I couldn't name.
They walked toward the dining table, and I immediately forced my eyes onto the tablet, as if my life depended on ignoring them. Ash sat down right beside her, like he belonged there. I saw the way he urged her to eat this, taste that, and how she obeyed, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Even at breakfast, they spoke to each other, laughing softly, while I sat like a ghost at my own table. Samayra gave me nothing more than a polite "good morning" before she turned back to her conversation with him.
And that… that small neglect cut deeper than I wanted to admit.
My patience snapped. Looking up, my voice was colder than ice.
"Mister… Ash.. Would you give us a moment? We need to discuss something personal."
He smirked knowingly, too comfortable for my liking. "Oh, yeah! Husband-and-wife talk. Sure. Samayra, girl, I'll come in the evening. Doodles…"
Doodles. God knows what nonsense he calls her. These Gen-z!
My eyes followed him until he left, jaw tight, hands clenched under the table.
And then there she was. Sitting across from me, smiling faintly, her voice calm.
"Yes, Mister Ranawat… what do you want to talk about?"
For a moment, the words I wanted to say and the words I should say battled inside me. In the end, I chose restraint.
"That's… that's about a project. I need you to read and sign."
She popped a piece of fruit between her lips and replied casually, "Dad will do that, I guess."
I leaned forward slightly, masking the frustration rising in my chest. "You can ask your dad to do that."
"Sure." She agreed immediately, and that was it.
A conversation that short. A wall between us I couldn't break, no matter how desperately I wanted to.
And then, suddenly, she looked at me, her voice soft—almost vulnerable.
"Mister Ranawat… thank you."
I frowned. "Thank you?"
"Thank you for understanding my dream. I almost thought I would lose it… but you didn't let me. I'm very thankful to you."
Her gratitude tugged at me in a way I wasn't prepared for. I wanted to hold onto it, to stretch this moment into something more, but all I managed was a curt nod.
"Better, Miss Kapoor, that you also give me the chance to say the same...
It's me, my company, introducing you as a new face. That directly means we expect a lot from you. I really hope you don't make mistakes. Since you're already trained, and even now you're getting trained… you'd better perform well. After all, both our business relationship and this marriage depend on each other."
The words came out the way I speak naturally, professional!
But..I guess..what I really wanted to say was something else entirely.
Something I wasn't sure I had the right to..or something.. I should say as her husband...
Samayra's POV
I thought this man—Abhimanyu Singh Ranawat—was everything a girl could ever want.
Understanding. Supportive. Caring. A true green flag.
And yes, I won't deny it—he is giving me a chance, he's putting in effort where it matters. But what's the point of chances and efforts if his words can't carry even a shred of warmth? If every sentence he throws at me is dipped in ice?
This morning proved it again. The way he spoke… sharp, distant, like I was just another file on his desk. For the first few days after marriage, he didn't even bother to talk to me. Me. I was the one who planned something resembling a date, just so we wouldn't feel like strangers under the same roof. I even woke up early once, made us breakfast..umm..okay atleast I spoke to the chef about breakfast...
I tried to have a conversation. And for one small fleeting moment, he sounded… human. Cute, even.
But today? Today he was back to being the cold demon in a tailored suit.
He still treats this marriage like it's nothing more than a business deal.
But me? God help me, I've started to feel something deeper for him.
Something I shouldn't. Something I promised myself I never would.
No, Samayra. Not again. Love is a lie. Feelings are for fools. You should've known better than to think you could thaw the heart of a man who never wanted you in the first place. Stupid you—for even trying.
Well, not anymore. If Mister Abhimanyu Singh Ranawat wants this marriage to be a business deal, fine. I can play that game too.
Go to hell, Abhimanyu. From today, I'll treat you exactly the way you treat me.
I snatched my phone, dialing Ash with a determined breath.
"Ash… from today, we're practicing twelve-plus hours a day. Am I clear?"
.
.
.
.
The week slipped by before I even realized it.
A blur of training, rehearsals, long hours with Ash, and stubborn silence at home. Talking to Abhimanyu? That had become a luxury I refused to crave anymore. I didn't look at him. I didn't wait for him. I ignored him the same way he had ignored me from the very beginning.
Until today.
The day of the shoot.
I woke up early, my nerves thrumming, but I masked it all with a smile as I left with his secretary. I had no idea why my chest felt so tight—was it excitement, or fear of failure? Maybe both.
I know. This single advertisement costs billions..but above that, it's Abhimanyu's reputation. My carrier. My debut.
And I know I can't put any of them as my second priority. My debut is important for my carrier. For myself.
And Abhimanyu's reputation. It's because I'm his wife now..
The make-up room buzzed with activity—artists perfecting my look, stylists fussing with costumes, cameras being checked, lights tested. Ash was there too, like always, grinning ear to ear, throwing his playful encouragements that never failed to ease the weight in my chest.
He is so kind by nature. Almost like a big brother or best friend. That's why I got too comfortable with him in no time.
After hours,Everything was finally done, I looked at myself in the mirror once before stepping out.
Not Samayra Kapoor. Not the girl struggling to be heard in her own marriage.
But Samayra, the face of Ranawat Empire's next project.
I carried that strength with me as I walked toward the set, chin high, smile faint but present.
I stood before the camera crew, the set lights warm against my skin, my heart beating so loudly I thought they could hear it.
A cough escaped me—nerves, disguised as poise.
"I'm ready," I announced, steadying myself. "We should start."
But then came the words that stole the ground beneath me.
"Not before Mister Ranawat arrives."
I froze. What?
My heart stuttered painfully. He'll be here? Watching me? Judging me? Every move, every smile, every breath I fake for the camera?
No. No, no, no. This was my space. My moment. The one place I thought I could exist without his shadow looming over me. And yet—he was coming.
The thought burned and unsettled me all at once. A part of me hated it. Another part… ached for it.
Should I be happy because my husband will watch me.
Or nervous because Abhimanyu Singh Ranawat was going to watch.
And in both cases I couldn't afford to falter.
Not as his wife. Not as his mistake.
But as the woman who would make him see me—whether he wanted to or not.
Abhimanyu's POV
For an entire week, Miss Kapoor has been ignoring me.
I notice it all—the way she deliberately turns her gaze away when I pass, the silence where her cheerful "good morning" used to be, the absence of her smile. She speaks to everyone else. She laughs with Ash. But me? I get nothing.
At first, I told myself she was busy, stressed. But now? Now it feels personal.
And yet, I crave it. I crave her voice. I crave even the smallest word from her, like a starving man watching a feast he can't touch.
And Ash.
Her so-called trainer. Her constant companion.
She talks to him. She laughs with him. Hell, she lets him tell me about her "beauty sleep."
I swear, one day I'll kill this man for putting walls between us—for being the reason she turns away from me.
I don't understand Samayra. She once said we needed to talk, but now she doesn't even try. Should I be the one to? But how? How does one start a conversation with a woman like her? How does one pamper a wife? I have no damn idea.
And what if she's upset with me? Did I do something wrong?
My mind is a battlefield of questions and her name is written on every bullet.
The week crawled by this way, restless and suffocating. And then came today.
Her shoot day.
Ash and my secretary accompanied her, but I wasn't about to sit back and wait for updates. No. This was different.
This wasn't just an ad campaign. Not for me.
Because for me… this shoot wasn't work.
It was hers.
It was my wife's.
So I followed. The CEO of Ranawat Empire—walking into a set where no one expected him. But damn them all if they thought I would miss this.
When I entered, the lights were already set, cameras in place, crew bustling. And then—her.
Samayra.
She stood before the camera, radiant under the glow, her poise untouched even by nerves. She looked at me once—just once—and then turned away, refusing me her gaze.
"Now start," she instructed, her voice steady.
But the cameraman shook his head. "Not before Mister Ranawat says."
I leaned back into the chair, my eyes never leaving her. My voice, calm but resolute, carried across the set.
"No… what Mrs. Ranawat says is most important."
The room went silent. My words weren't just authority—they were a claim. A reminder.
And as she stood there, fire and grace wrapped into one, something inside me shifted.
God. She was perfect.
Her body language, her expression, her voice… every detail of her screamed strength and beauty. Not a mere woman, not a model.
A goddess. My goddess.
For the first time in years, the great Abhimanyu Singh Ranawat—the man the world called ruthless, heartless—felt his lips curve.
For the first time in years… I smiled.
.
.
.
.
The shoot stretched endlessly—morning turned to noon, noon faded into the warm orange of evening. Hours of watching her move, perform, shine… hours of biting back the urge to step in, to claim what was mine.
Finally, the cameras shut down, the crew began packing up, and Samayra looked utterly drained. Her final pose lingered in my mind, the way her strength somehow made exhaustion look beautiful.
And then, just once, her eyes flicked toward me.
For a heartbeat, I thought I had her attention.
But she only rolled her eyes—rolled her eyes at me—and walked away with a smirk, like she had just won some silent war I hadn't even realized we were fighting.
Confusion coiled through me. Why? The entire day she had acted like I didn't exist, and when she finally acknowledged me, it was only to dismiss me.
I left the set quietly and made my way to the parking lot, leaning against my car, waiting. Fifteen minutes passed. Finally, she emerged, still glowing under the faint dusk light. She was smiling, waving at Ash as if he was her savior, her confidant.
Not me. Never me.
She didn't even notice me standing there. She walked straight to her car, fingers curling around the door handle.
Not today.
Before she could open it, I reached forward, my hand circling her wrist. I tugged her—lightly, carefully—and yet her small frame bumped against me. Her forehead landed against my chest, and for a split second the world stopped.
God… she was so tiny against me. Barely reaching my chest—5'3, maybe? While I towered over her at 6'3. The contrast tugged at something raw inside me, protective and possessive all at once. A smile tried to break free on my lips, but I killed it instantly.
"Are you okay?" My voice came out steadier than I felt.
She shoved me back slightly, anger flashing in her eyes. "What is this, Mister Ranawat? What kind of ill-mannered behavior is this? What do you want?"
Her tone stunned me. Never before had she spoken to me like that. Sharp. Frustrated. Burning with fire.
"Samayra…" I said her name softly, almost a whisper. Something in me cracked when her lips parted at the sound.
She lowered her head almost instantly. "I'm sorry… I was just—"
Her words trembled. Her body looked too tense, too fragile, like one touch might break her.
Gently, I lifted her chin with my thumb, forcing her to meet my gaze.
"What happened, Samayra?"
Her big eyes glistened, and she bit down on her lip before whispering, "I...I haven't eaten since morning..now I'm hungry…my stomach is making sound.."
Her voice was so small, so fragile, as if she were on the verge of tears.
A sigh left me, long and heavy.
Not in amusement. But realising. How dedicated she is for her work literally ignoring foods..
That made me complaint and proud too..as a husband first then as a buisness man.
"Let's go," I said quietly, tightening my hold on her hand. "We'll have dinner together."
Without waiting for her to protest, I led her to my car, her hand still resting in mine.
For the first time in weeks… it felt like she let me.
I walked her to the car, opened the front passenger door for her, and waited until she settled inside before I took the driver's seat. A small, simple act—but one that felt far too significant for me.
Pulling out my phone, I quickly texted my PA to book a café. Something quiet. Something that would let her relax. Once the confirmation came, I tossed the phone aside and drove.
The ride was silent. Samayra leaned against the window, her head resting gently on the glass, arms folded across her chest. I should've kept my eyes on the road, but the rearview mirror betrayed me—I kept stealing glances at her reflection. The curve of her lashes against her skin, the way she bit her lip faintly in thought. She looked exhausted… but beautiful, in a way that made my chest ache.
Soon, we arrived at the café. I parked, stepped out, and waited for her. Inside, she stared at the menu for what felt like forever, biting her lip as if she couldn't decide. Finally, she began to order.
And God—she didn't stop.
One dish, then another, then another. A list so long, it sounded like she was reciting the entire Indian menu out loud. The waiter scribbled frantically, glancing at her with wide eyes, while I sat there, silent, just… watching.
Her voice carried a spark again. Her tone was light, animated, almost childlike as she kept adding items. For the first time in days, she wasn't cold. She wasn't ignoring me. She was simply… Samayra.
When the waiter finally turned to me, I ordered just one thing. "Palak paneer."
That was enough for me.
It was then the realization struck me: she had ordered every variety of non-veg she could think of—chicken, fish, crab. All things I never even touched. I was a vegetarian to the core.
And yet… I didn't say a word.
Even when the faint aroma of meat already began to drift toward our table, making my stomach twist, I stayed quiet. Not a single complaint left my lips.
Because if this is what she wanted, if this is what made her happy after a day that had drained her completely…
Then I could endure anything.
The dinner was served, mine taking barely a corner of the table while hers occupied the rest like a royal feast.
She beamed at the spread, eyes glinting with childish excitement before narrowing at me mischievously.
"You're not gonna ask, 'Will you be able to eat all of this alone?' right?"
I leaned back, shook my head, and smirked softly.
"No… enjoy your meal. After all, you've worked really hard… and honestly, you're doing way too good for your age."
Her fork froze mid-air. "Are you… age-shaming me right now?"
A chuckle slipped out before I could stop it. I shook my head again, lips quirking. She rolled her eyes, but a faint blush dusted her cheeks as she attacked her plate with renewed determination.
We began eating. I kept it simple, just focusing on my plate, but she… she relished every bite as though the world outside didn't exist. Since the day we'd been together, I had noticed her—always careful, always restricting herself to salads, soups, and "healthy" choices at the table. But tonight? She was unapologetically herself, breaking every invisible rule she had built.
Her laughter between bites, the way she licked her fingertips after struggling with the crab, the pure delight on her face—it was different.
For the first time, it felt like she wasn't hiding behind the image she wanted the world to see.
And I… couldn't look away.