Shruti didn't expect to feel this.
This churn in her stomach, not of guilt—but hunger. This thrill—waking up not knowing whose eyes would devour her first.
The morning light was brutal. No filters. No lies. She walked barefoot from the bedroom to the hall, wrapped in nothing but a long cotton shirt. It belonged to Aman once. Rhea had worn it last. Now it smelled of both.
She heard laughter.
Low. Female. Sharp.
Rhea.
And a second voice.
Aman.
They were seated at the breakfast table—coffee mugs, half-burnt toast, too much silence between their words. But something in Rhea's eyes had shifted. She wasn't threatened. She was interested.
Shruti stepped into the room, and both pairs of eyes turned toward her—Rhea's gaze playful, Aman's unreadable.
"Good morning," Shruti said flatly.
"Subah toh tab hoti hai jab koi raat ko sota hai," Aman murmured, his eyes dragging over her bare legs.
Rhea smirked. "Tum dono sote ho kya?"
The question hung in the air like smoke.
Shruti poured herself coffee without responding. Her fingers trembled slightly. Not from nerves. From need.
Rhea got up, walked over, and stood behind her. Her fingers brushed Shruti's hip, lightly, as if they belonged there.
"Main chalti hoon," Rhea said, eyes flicking to Aman. "Aaj kaafi kaam hai. Par raat ko main aungi."
Aman didn't move.
Shruti's jaw tensed. "Stay."
Rhea arched an eyebrow. "Tum chahti ho?"
Shruti turned. Faced her fully. Her voice barely a whisper.
"Haan."
Aman's chair scraped against the floor. He stood, walked past them, but paused. Right in the middle of the room. Where they'd both have to see him.
"Main bhi yahan hoon," he said, calm but deadly. "Mat bhoolna."
Rhea took a breath. Then stepped forward and pressed a light kiss on Shruti's cheek—too soft to be innocent, too slow to ignore.
"Main bhoolti nahi," she said. "Main record rakhti hoon."
Shruti's skin prickled. Aman didn't speak. But the way his knuckles whitened at his side said enough.
After Rhea left, the house changed.
Silence didn't feel silent anymore. It felt wet. Hot. Like sex still echoed from the walls.
Aman came up behind her while she washed the coffee cup. His fingers slid around her waist, dangerously slow.
"Tum meri ho," he said, voice low, lips near her neck.
"Main kisi ki nahi hoon," she snapped.
He spun her to face him. His mouth just inches from hers.
"Rhea tumhari nahi hai. Tum uski ho. Aur tum dono…" He laughed, bitter. "...ab meri duniya ban chuki ho."
Shruti trembled.
"Phir?" she whispered.
He kissed her.
Hard.
Not like a husband.
Like a man trying to remind her what used to belong to him.
And this time... she didn't pull away.
Her fingers curled into his shirt.
And for one dangerous, confusing moment—Shruti moaned into her husband's mouth.