Chapter Two

Iridescence

@Iridescence1

Chapter Two

Nakusha

“That good-for-nothing...ugh!” I shout, hurling a decorative pillow from the couch toward the empty front door. The frustration inside me bubbles over, and I stomp my foot like a child, only to cringe in embarrassment. My mother would be appalled at my behavior. But that man—he brings out the absolute worst in me. A version of myself I didn’t even know existed.

I can’t believe I ever thought he was a good man. Talk about looking at someone through rose-colored glasses. I was such a fool.

Shaking my head, I huff out a breath and stomp toward the kitchenette. I grab a glass of water, down it in one go, and slam it onto the counter with a resounding thud. Maybe I’m being dramatic, but so what? My life is in complete chaos, and if I can’t control anything else, I can at least allow myself this.

I take a few deep breaths, forcing myself to calm down before I replay his words in my mind.

A divorce.

He wants to discuss the terms of our divorce. What the heck is he playing at? My anger rises again. What could possibly possess him to marry me just to turn around and ask for a divorce? It makes no sense. There has to be a catch.

“God, I’m so confused,” I mutter, running a hand over my face.

What could he possibly gain from this? I thought the entire reason for this marriage was to claim me as payment for my father’s debt. The thought alone makes my head ache. Pressing my fingers to my temples, I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the thoughts to vanish. I don’t want to think about how easily my father gave me up. I don’t want to think about my marriage to an outlaw. But despite my efforts, the thoughts flood my mind, relentless and unyielding.

A divorce. There’s obviously more to this than I know.

Opening my eyes, I look up toward the ceiling. “What have you written for me now?” I ask the powers that be, apprehension swirling in my chest. Because really, who else could be responsible for this twisted fate if not Him?

I’m not crazy enough to expect an answer, so I turn on my heel and head out the door. There’s only one man who can give me the answers I need.

***

Twenty minutes later, I reach the main house and barge in unannounced.

Aside from the few guards I passed outside, the place is eerily empty. Not even the household staff is around, which is odd considering Dutta Sriram Patil employs people for practically everything.

“Spoiled rotten,” I scoff under my breath.

I step cautiously into the main foyer, scanning my surroundings. Still no sign of anyone. Hesitation grips me. I was raised to respect others' homes, to never overstep boundaries. But then again, I am married to the man who owns this place. That gives me some right to be here. Right?

As my eyes wander, they land on something unexpected—a large Ganpati Bappa statue resting on a wooden stand in a small alcove across the hall. A surprising wave of tranquility washes over me at the sight.

Without a second thought, I walk over, standing before the one presence I’ve always believed in. Closing my eyes, I press my palms together and pray for strength. For courage. Because something tells me I’m going to need both.

Though a part of my faith is shaken—why would He place me on this path to begin with? Another part of me is curious. Could there be something good waiting for me at the end of this trial?

“Your life will be full of struggles, Naku, but nothing worth having comes easy. Sometimes, the bad must happen for the good to follow. Be strong, Sweet Girl, and always have faith that you will, one day, get everything your heart desires.”

My mother’s voice echoes in my memory, soft and soothing. I miss her so much.

A throat clears behind me, and my eyes snap open. Turning around, I find my husband standing there, arms crossed, his gaze flicking briefly to the statue before settling on me.

A strange nervous energy rushes through me. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the intensity of his stare.

“Don’t tell me you believe in the supernatural,” he scoffs.

In other words, he doesn’t believe in God. It shouldn’t surprise me, but a bizarre sense of disappointment stirs inside me anyway.

I narrow my eyes. He raises a brow in challenge.

“Better than believing in people,” I reply coolly.

Something flickers across his face—softness, maybe? But before I can analyze it, it’s gone. He tilts his head, studying me, then turns and walks away toward the staircase.

I stand frozen, watching him go, unwillingly admiring the way he moves. Let’s be honest, he may be an outlaw, but he is a damn handsome one.

Wait. What the hell am I thinking?

I do not like this man. Whatever crush I may have harbored in the past is long gone. No handsome face or dimpled chin is going to change that.

Snapping out of it, I rush after him. He’s already halfway up the stairs.

“Wait,” I call out.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even acknowledge me.

The jerk.

Determined, I hurry behind him and follow him up the stairs and straight into what looks like a home office. My eyes flick to a partially open door on the side, revealing a glimpse of his bedroom. Ignoring that, I focus on him as he rounds his desk and takes a seat, looking at me blankly. He’s irritatingly good at that.

“Is there something I can help you with, Ms. Nakusha?” he asks, voice dripping with false politeness.

I grit my teeth. He knows exactly why I’m here.

The corner of his mouth lifts in amusement, but my attention shifts to his lips for a second too long. I'm certain the man smiling is little more than a miracle. Damn it. Shaking off my wandering thoughts, I slam my hands on his desk, meeting his gaze head-on.

I immediately feel uneasy.

“What’s the catch?” I demand.

He leans back in his chair, spinning a paperweight between his fingers. He regards me in a way I know I'm not going to like his answer. “I have a proposition for you,” he says smoothly.

My stomach knots. I don’t trust that tone. My mind jumps to worst-case scenarios, ones that will likely include sleeping with him. I force myself to focus on his words instead of my spiraling thoughts.

“I’ll give you a divorce,” he says. “But there are conditions.”

At those words, my nerves spiral. My breath catches in my throat, and the room feels like it’s closing in on me.

I hear movement and, when I open my eyes, I see my husband looking at me with concern.

"Are you alright? You’re breathing too fast," he says, standing up and rounding his desk to approach me.

Panic floods through me, my breath choking in my throat, and I freeze as he draws nearer.

"Nakusha, what…" His voice falters, and he curses under his breath. "Shit. Calm down. It’s not that kind of proposition," he says, his tone laced with frustration.

My eyes snap to his, and I blink, taken aback by the expression on his face.

He looks wounded.

Well, that’s interesting.

I stare at him for a few beats, then shrug. Given that I was forced into this marriage, it’s not all that far-fetched to jump to such conclusions. I mean, I imagine most husbands would expect to consummate their marriage.

He sighs, his posture deflating, and suddenly, he looks a lot less arrogant than he did just moments ago.

“For six to twelve months, you will play the role of my devoted wife in public. Affectionate. Besotted. You must be convincing.” He watches me carefully. “By the end of it, we’ll stage a falling out. My family needs to see this marriage crumble.”

“Why?” I ask, suspicious.

His jaw tightens. “That’s not important.”

I glare. “Of course it is.”

He doesn't respond.

"Why would you want your family to see a loving relationship and then watch it shatter. That seems like an awful thing to do to them." I say quietly, feeling uneasy with the demand.

How could I possibly pretend to be a loving wife to someone like him? He infuriates me too much for me to even feign affection. It's almost certain his family will see right through this charade the moment we’re in their presence.

But I don’t want to stay trapped in this relationship. If he’s offering me a way out, I want it. I want to be free. I want a life beyond everything I’ve ever known—a chance to start fresh, to put myself first for once.

Could I really give up the opportunity to be free?

Absolutely not.

"I need to think about this." I say.

“Your choice is simple,” he says, smirking. “Play your part or stay married to me forever.”

"Playing a doting wife will be difficult considering the circumstances."

He studies me for a moment, then nods. "Fine, think on it and let me know." He's humoring me.

I don’t have a choice, not really. But if this is my only chance at freedom... I’ll take it.

Even if it means pretending to love the man I despise.