Ahanay peered through the gap in the curtains at the face of his wife, wanting to be his ex-wife, crumpling in anger like paper and shouting loud protest slogans taken straight out of the freedom movement of India. From the third floor of his office, he felt more distant from her than ever, yet not strange. If anyone had the audacity to do this, it would be her. He was more angry at her for wanting to do this with that thug beside her. Was she actually going to divorce him for that motherfucker?
"Did they eat?" Ahanay asked, noticing how thin and small she appeared. "Do they have sufficient food and water?"
"Yes Sir, arrangements had been made by your wife at one restaurant nearby," his assistant emphasized on "your wife" sardonically. "But we took care of all that. We have cut off your wife's access to her credit card."
"Why the heck would you do that?" Ahanay got up in frustration, banging the table and shaking the pride of his assistant. "Renew it!"
"I don't think that will be possible. With all due respect sir, I don't think you should---"
"With all due respect Sharad, find a fucking way out and get my wife her card," he said, sending the assistant scrambling to the door. "Wait. Where are they going now?"
"Uh- home, sir."
"Whose home is she going walking hand in hand with that asshole?"
"Uh . . ." The assistant was more disoriented and at a loss for words not because he didn't have a concrete answer, but rather, he had never heard Ahanay swear this much in his professional life. He had always been cool and composed at the table, even at the most difficult deals. And this wasn't the first protest that they had witnessed, many had broken out before this like little sparks of fire from NGOs and corporations alike, extinguishing at a negotiation where the charitable organization benefited more than the aggrieved people. His assistant knew that Ahanay had come to dislike this profession after years of witnessing the corruption and would have nearly given up on it if it weren't for his ex-girlfriend, Priya.
"She's sitting on his motorbike!" Ahanay paced up and down, watching his wife take a seat behind Ohas. "She needs to come home, now. Our home."
"I don't think---"
"Then don't think. Bring her to me right away!"
* * *
Naina hit the ATM so hard that it rattled like a toy. "Ugh! That asshole blocked my card! I can't believe he did that. He said such sweet things giving this to me just last week. Now where will I stay? I was going to use this money to book a nice, 5-star hotel room."
"Excuse me, miss," a voice, belonging to a suspicious-looking man in a neat suit intervened, saying the most baffling words to her and Ohas. "You can have this."
"Your card? Why, are you a fan of my protest?" Before Naina could fling her hair back in pride, the man's face contorted into disgust.
"You should put an end to that right away, it is causing a lot of trouble to sir. I have never seen him this worried."
"Sir? Did Ahanay send you?" Both Naina and Ohas became alert, Ohas stepping in front of her.
The assistant cleared his throat. "Well, that doesn't matter. You can have this."
Shoving Ohas aside, Naina came forward and her lips twisted into a cruel smile. "Why? Does he feel sorry for me? I don't want it anymore!"
"Where will you stay then?"
"She'll stay at my house," Ohas said, intertwining his fingers with hers as he gripped her hand firmly, not allowing Naina to pull back. "I don't have much room, but we can share a bed like we used to."
YOU ARE READING
Arranged Marriage to Kill Him
Romance"Lie there," he ordered, suddenly cutting through the silence and undoing the top button of his kurta. When she didn't move, still shocked at how she ended up marrying this man, he cocked his head towards the bed. "There." * * * Twenty-one year ol...
