Arnav & Khushi FF || Serendipity #1 || Link to Thread Two: Pg 1 - Page 74

8:13 AM.

Arnav shook his head angrily as he peered at his ticking Bulova watch, only to agitatedly stuff his hand back inside his blazer's pocket. Khushi had never been late meeting him downstairs. He would always find her quietly sitting against the same leather lounger in the lobby... showered, washed and with the smallest hint of smile across her face, waiting for his prompt 8:00 arrival. Did she really have to choose the very date of their departure to finally spite him and question his authority? He peevishly paced the length of the front lobby, muttering curses under his breath at her complete disregard for punctuality. At this rate, they would surely miss their flight. As Arnav was deliberating whether or not to send a hotel receptionist looking for her, he heard the sound of faint footsteps and smelt the traces of sandalwood, alerting him of her nearby presence. He spun at his heel, insult intact, only to have the irritation knocked out of his body at seeing her state.

Khushi, for the past week, had brightened. The greys and blacks in which she had clothed her body had given way to slightly brighter colors -- pinks and yellows and oranges that reminded him of the prior radiance of forgotten times. But he had taken it for granted, perhaps ruled out the possibility of her returning to the same somber colors that involuntarily pierced his heart. He hesitated, seeing her in that horrible beige sari he so strongly detested, with her untidy hair piled on top of her head carelessly and haphazardly. His hand begged to be placed comfortingly on her shoulder, perhaps to rub it and transfer some of his warmth into her. To stir some life into what looked like a corpse. But as she trudged closer to him, he recognized the smudged eyeliner and the last traces of bright red lipstick, acknowledged the roughened texture of hair doused in generous amounts of hairspray -- instantly reminding him of a beautiful angel swaying in Bradley Fisher's arms.

And then, he went ballistic.

For it was then that he saw the small hickeys along her collarbone, the bruises of another man grazing his teeth against her skin and branding her as his own. Had she spent the night with Bradley? Arnav controlled the urge to publicly spit on her face. After all, she was the epitome of a woman's filth, a predator who preyed on the weakness of men after seducing them in with her charm and beauty. Just the bat of her lashes or the fumbling of her thumbs, and instant victory. He remembered the pull he had felt last night, the urge to capture her lips in his own, wrap his arms around her waist... all while being fully aware of the danger she posed. She disarmed her victims. Ruined them.

"Have a fun night, Khushi?", he bit out in disgust. Arnav knew his wife was guilty the minute she looked up and peered back at him, her eyes widening to the size of saucers and her cheeks draining of whatever little color they still retained. A chill shot down her spine in scalding fear, tears pooling behind her eyes and threatening to spill over.

Did Arnav Ji remember last night?

Her heart fell to the pits of her stomach, burning and twisting at the rage she knew was building within him. He would accuse her of trying to latch to him, trying to latch onto the promises of his wealth like a leech that would suck him dry. Her knees trembled, thinking of the punishment she would have to bear for trying to ruin his life once again; every plead of innocence would be ignored. And what would she say? He was right about her. She was nothing but a sl*t who had shamelessly wandered into his bed for the night.

"Ar... Arnav ji. Kal... kal raat joh..."

Arnav held her forearm and dug his nails into her skin, his face twisting in maniacal indignation, cutting short her explanation.

"Shut your filthy mouth, Khushi. No one wants to listen to how brilliantly Bradley Fisher f*cked you last night, though I'm sure you're dying to share."

Khushi blinked stupidly as she tried to process the severe taunts. Bradley Fisher? Images of a friendly man with bright blue eyes flashed through her mind, but before the thought actually settled, she winced as her attention was diverted to his nails biting deeper into her skin. Unforgiving. His hold, his gaze and even the faint traces of whisky on his breath were merciless. Khushi realized at that very moment, that she would never, ever be forgiven by this man.

Was it truly just this morning that she had so childishly dreamed of starting a new life with him? A ridiculous life of love and trust and togetherness? Of hugs and shy stolen kisses? Fairytales for fools.

And with that pondering, Khushi Kumari Gupta was dragged out of the luxurious New York City hotel, thrown roughly into a taxi and driven out to be imprisoned within his glorious Shantivan, once and for all. She felt as she had been injected with some potent anesthetic, because her entire body instantly fell numb. Perhaps she should have been crying, she deliberated curiously, but her lifeless eyes peered ahead without even the smallest frown marring her unperturbed features. Khushi Kumari Gupta had been sucked dry. Numb. Her legs, arms, even her heart. She felt nothing. No pain. No anguish. No dejection. No guilt.

Nothing but the faint byproducts of relief.

Fine. Her status of a two bit wh*e had been further consolidated in Arnav's mind. But at least he didn't think she had tried to entrap him. At least the retribution she would face in Delhi would not be as severe as it could have been if her husband had indeed remembered their lovemaking.

Lovemaking?

Khushi guffawed silently at the irony. A rich man did not make love to his wh*re.