"THE PERFECT ILLUSION"
Aadhya's POV:
His hands moved over my body—slow, deliberate.
The dim glow of the bedside lamp flickered against the silk sheets, casting golden hues over Advait's sharp features as he kissed my neck. His breath was warm, his lips soft. Everything about him was practiced. Familiar. Too familiar.
I knew every touch before it came.
Knew how he would sigh when I tilted my head back.
Knew the exact moment he would whisper my name.
I should have felt something.
A rush. A spark. The kind of warmth that spreads through your skin, makes your toes curl, sets your senses on fire.
But there was nothing.
Just the weight of him.
The sound of our breathing.
The mechanical rhythm of a routine that had lost its meaning.
I let out a soft sigh—not of pleasure, but obligation.
He didn't notice the difference.
Advait kissed my shoulder, his fingers tracing lazy circles down my spine.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured. "My Aadhya."
His Aadhya.
The words felt... wrong.
He pulled me closer, his grip tightening like he was trying to hold onto something slipping away. Maybe he felt it too.
Maybe he knew.
But neither of us said a word.
I closed my eyes. Tried to focus. Tried to feel.
And then—I thought of someone else.
It wasn't intentional. It just happened. Like a flash of heat across my skin. A memory that wasn't mine, but somehow still belonged to me.
The brush of rough fingers over my hip.
A voice—deeper. Lower. More commanding.
The ghost of a touch that made my stomach clench in a way Advait's never had.
My breath hitched. No.
I forced the thought away, guilt crashing over me like a wave. Where had that even come from?
I was tired. That was all.
Exhaustion and stress.
Nothing else.
Advait sighed, satisfied, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.
"Goodnight, wifey."
Wifey.
A name that used to make my chest tighten with warmth. Now, it felt like something I no longer recognized.
I turned to my side, staring at the ceiling, my heart still unsteady for reasons I refused to name.
The sheets were cold when I slipped out of bed.
The soft hum of the city filled the silence, the glow from the skyline stretching beyond the glass windows of our penthouse. It should have felt like home.
It didn't.
Wrapping a silk robe around my shoulders, I stepped onto the balcony. The air was crisp, the scent of night jasmine lingering faintly from the garden below.
My hands tightened around the railing.
I should feel lucky. I had everything. The perfect life. The perfect marriage. The perfect man.
Then why did it feel like something was missing?
Why did it feel like something inside me had been... asleep?
And why, tonight, did it feel like it was waking up?
A soft click of a lighter.
A sharp inhale.
A slow, steady exhale.
The sounds barely registered until the faintest hint of smoke and spice reached me.
My breath caught.
For a second, I thought—no.
I turned my head, heart pounding. My gaze swept across the skyline, across the endless stretch of buildings and lights.
Nothing.
Just the night. Just silence.
I exhaled, shaking my head. I was being ridiculous.
Maybe I just needed sleep. Maybe I needed—
I swallowed hard.
I needed to stop thinking about things that weren't real.
---
The next morning —
The scent of coffee wrapped around me as I sat at the kitchen counter, my fingers curled around the steaming mug. The quiet hum of the city morning was almost soothing.
Almost.
Kamla bai set a plate in front of me, glancing up with her usual sharp gaze.
"Are you alright, ma'am?"
I forced a smile. " Yeah... just didn't sleep much."
She hummed knowingly, wiping her hands on a towel.
"Sometimes, we feel things we can't always explain."
I let out a soft laugh. "You and your dramatic lines, Kamla bai."
But her words lingered.
Because deep down, I knew—I wasn't imagining this.
Something had changed.
Something I couldn't name.
And I wasn't sure if I wanted to.
The warmth of the coffee seeped into my palms, but it did nothing to steady me.
I kept replaying last night in my head—the way my body had betrayed me, the way my mind had reached for something it shouldn't have.
Someone it shouldn't have.
I shook my head, exhaling sharply.
It was nothing. Just exhaustion. A dream I didn't remember. A mistake I wouldn't make again.
The weight of the penthouse felt heavier this morning. Advait had already left for work, his side of the bed untouched since he kissed me goodbye at dawn.
I should've felt relief.
Instead, I felt like the walls were closing in.
Kamla bai's words echoed in my head—
Sometimes, we feel things we can't always explain.
I pressed my fingertips to my temples. No. This wasn't real.
But then why did my chest feel so tight?
Why did it feel like something inside me was waking up after years of lying dormant?
I needed air.
---
The streets of Mumbai pulsed with life—honking cars, rushing crowds, the scent of rain-soaked pavement mingling with chai stalls. The energy should have been grounding, familiar.
Instead, it felt like a distant hum, something I couldn't quite tune into.
I walked without direction, my heels clicking softly against the pavement. The boutique-lined streets blurred together—Dior, Sabyasachi, Chanel—luxury surrounding me, yet feeling utterly insignificant.
Then, I saw it.
A bar.
Not the kind I usually went to. It wasn't glitzy or high-class, not a place where Advait's friends would take their wives for wine tastings. It was dark, discreet, tucked between two buildings like it didn't want to be found.
And yet, I stepped inside.
---
The air was thick with whiskey and secrets.
Dim lighting bathed the space in gold and amber, shadows flickering across polished wood and leather. The scent of aged liquor clung to the walls—heavy, intoxicating.
I slid onto a barstool, smoothing my dress over my thighs. The bartender gave me a once-over and offered a knowing smirk.
"New here?"
I hesitated. "Just needed a drink."
He nodded, poured amber liquid into a crystal glass, and slid it toward me.
"Neat?"
I nodded, fingers wrapping around the cool glass.
The first sip burned.
The second went down smoother.
I let my shoulders relax, exhaling slowly. Maybe this was what I needed—just a moment to breathe, to clear my head.
Then I felt it.
A shift.
The kind of awareness that crawls up your spine. My skin prickled, the fine hairs at my nape rising.
Someone was watching me.
I turned—slowly, cautiously.
And my breath caught.
He was there.
Sitting in the corner, one arm draped over the back of the leather booth, a glass of whiskey in his hand.
The man from my thoughts.
The one I shouldn't be thinking about.
Raivaan Rathore.
---
Raivaan's POV:
There she was.
Aadhya Mehra Singhania. Sitting in a bar she didn't belong in, sipping whiskey like she needed it to forget something.
Or someone.
I smirked, watching her from the shadows. She hadn't seen me yet. Not fully.
But I saw her.
I always saw her.
Her dress hugged her body just enough to remind me of the way she used to look when she was mine.
The way her lips parted slightly when she exhaled.
The way she curled her fingers around her glass like she needed something to hold on to.
She was unraveling.
And she didn't even know it yet.
---
Aadhya's POV:
I swallowed hard, gripping my drink tighter.
He looked exactly the same.
And yet, entirely different.
The sharp jawline.
The whiskey-colored eyes that held too many secrets.
The way he leaned back like he owned the very air around him.
Raivaan Rathore didn't blend in.
He never had.
And now—he was here.
Watching me.
I turned back to my drink, my pulse hammering.
This wasn't happening.
It couldn't be.
After all these years...
I heard the deep chuckle before I felt him move.
Then—a whisper against my ear.
"Running from me?"
I froze.
Heat curled down my spine—a slow, dangerous burn.
Raivaan slid onto the barstool beside me, his presence swallowing the air between us.
"Or are you running from yourself?"