From Arina's point of view
The days began to weave into a pattern, so seamless that it almost felt like they had always lived this way. Morning light streamed through the tall windows, spilling across the marble floor, and she found herself falling into the rhythm of his world with ease.
For the next two weeks, life moved like clockwork. Breakfasts were shared in quiet harmony, sometimes filled with conversation, sometimes with comfortable silence. Reyansh would leave for his company with his usual composure, promising to return by evening, and she would watch him step into the car, his figure disappearing beyond the gate. At first, the silence of the house had felt heavy, unfamiliar—maids moving around, staff shuffling quietly, the stillness of too much space pressing down on her. But gradually, she had claimed pieces of that silence for herself, shaping them into moments of clarity.
It wasn't like her original world, where her hours were consumed by relentless busyness. Here, she had something rarer: time. Time to think. Time to decide. Time to build.
The bakery.
Raj, Reyansh's assistant, had proved efficient—almost too efficient. When she casually mentioned to Reyansh that she was looking for a location, the next day Raj appeared with a short list. He was polite but thorough, asking questions she hadn't even considered at first: foot traffic, lease terms, delivery routes, visibility. She had gone with him to visit two places, but the third one stopped her in her tracks.
A corner space, tucked between a bookstore and a florist, with wide glass windows that opened to the street. Sunlight fell perfectly on the entrance, and she could already imagine the warm smell of bread drifting out, drawing passersby inside. She stood there longer than she meant to, staring at the space as if she could already see her dream layered over its empty walls.
"This one," she had told Raj simply, and he'd smiled, noting it down.
Back home, she filled page after page in her notebook, sketching layouts, writing lists of equipment, imagining the menu. Cakes, pastries, fresh bread—yes, but also little corners for people to sit, to breathe, to escape the rush of the world. She knew what it meant to find solace in such a place. The small backery she had once worked late at night had been her sanctuary; this bakery could be that for others.
But even as she planned her bakery, another plan ran quietly beneath.
She had not forgotten why she was here.
Her life with Reyansh had become a habit for him now, and habit was the strongest foundation she could build upon. He was used to her presence at meals, to her voice asking after his day, to the subtle order she created around him. She was no longer an intrusion in his life—she was part of its fabric. Enough time had passed for her to move forward, to tighten the bond she was carefully weaving.
Her lips curved faintly as she thought of it. People relied on what was constant, but true dependency came when constancy was paired with closeness—emotional and physical. Reyansh already acknowledged her presence, no longer regarding her as someone imposed upon him. But acknowledgment was not enough. She needed to become indispensable. And for that, she had to cross the quiet distance that still existed between them.
Her fingers tapped lightly on the edge of her notebook. She had studied people long enough, and she knew the truth well: once someone tied you to their emotions and their body, they could no longer separate the two. The deeper the intimacy, the stronger the chain.
It was time to take the next step.
Her wardrobe came to mind. When she had first arrived, she hadn't cared much about what she wore in front of him, content to live in Arina's existing clothes, simple and modest. But now, she realized, every detail mattered. Her presence had to shift, subtly but deliberately. Nothing too bold—Reyansh was not a man easily swayed by the obvious—but enough to tilt his gaze, enough to make him see her differently without realizing it.
She leaned back on the sofa, closing her eyes for a moment as she pictured it: dresses that softened her silhouette, colors that warmed her skin, fabrics that whispered rather than shouted. Clothing that carried suggestion rather than demand. The kind that drew his eyes without forcing his attention. She would need to be careful, measured.
And not just for herself.
A thought struck her, sharp and decisive—she would buy something for him too. A gift, small but thoughtful. Something personal enough to touch him yet ordinary enough not to raise questions. Perhaps a tie, or a cufflink, or even something casual, like a shirt. Not as his wife, not as someone fulfilling obligation, but as someone who had observed him closely and cared enough to choose.
The very act of choosing would leave an imprint.
She smiled, a quiet smile meant only for herself. It was a calculated move, but one that carried warmth too. Because she wanted him—not just as part of a plan, but as the man she had once read about, the man who had fascinated her, the man whose hidden darkness she wanted turned toward her alone.
Her dream of a bakery belonged to Kiara, the girl from her original world. But this—this bond she was weaving—belonged to Arina, the woman she was now.
Evening descended, the sky outside melting into shades of amber and grey. She heard the sound of Reyansh's car pulling into the drive , and her heart picked up without her permission. A familiar rhythm, yet each day it felt a little different, like a note changing in a song.
He entered, as composed as always, removing his jacket and placing it neatly on the arm of the chair. She greeted him with her quiet smile, rising to offer coffee.
"Coffee," he said gently, almost as if reading her thoughts.
The routine continued, light conversation unfolding as she served him. He asked about her day, about the bakery. She asked about his meetings. To anyone else, it would look like an ordinary domestic scene. But to her, it was something more—it was proof. Proof that he was already used to this rhythm, that their lives were no longer separate lines but parallel ones, already beginning to converge.
As they sat together in the glow of the lamp, her thoughts slipped ahead. Tomorrow, she would go shopping. Tomorrow, the next step of her plan would begin.
And tomorrow, Reyansh would start to see her not just as part of his home, but as part of him.
Later that night, when the house had fallen into silence, Arina sat by the window in their room, the soft moonlight spilling over her notebook. She wasn't writing now—only staring at the outline of her plans, her thoughts drifting further than ink could go.
Her fingers traced over the words she had written earlier: dependency grows with closeness. A whisper of a smile touched her lips. Soon.
A faint knock sounded against the door. She stiffened, startled, before hearing his voice—calm, low, unmistakably Reyansh.
"Still awake?"
She turned, schooling her expression before answering. "Yes… just going over some things."
The door opened slightly, and he stepped into the dim light. His gaze swept over the papers on her lap, then lingered on her face longer than it should have. Not suspicious, not questioning—but assessing. Weighing.
"Don't stay up too late," he said at last. His tone was mild, yet there was something else beneath it, something she couldn't quite name. As if he already sensed the shift in her.
She nodded and went toward bed.
Her voice steady. "Goodnight, Reyansh."
He didn't answer right away, only held her gaze for a beat too long before finally switching off the bedside lamp. The room sank into shadow, his breathing even and calm beside her.
But Arina couldn't shake the feeling that he was still awake, that he had seen through her little façade and was simply waiting.
She let out a slow breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Perhaps he hadn't noticed anything. Or perhaps… he had—and was choosing silence as his weapon.
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"In the silence of the night, trust and danger breathe side by side."