The night had passed, and with it, Farhan's claim on Sekar's "total obedience hour" had been fulfilled. Sekar returned to full professional mode, wearing a shield thicker than ever. If her day of freedom had proven one thing, it was the illusion of freedom itself. Farhan had drawn the line: you may leave, but you remain under my psychological radar. His control wasn't physical it was absolute.
Now, in her neatly organized office on the executive floor of Raksamudra Group, Sekar devised a new plan. Not an escape plan, but a plan to establish psychological distance. If Farhan considered it a game of control, Sekar would treat it as a professional project requiring clearly defined boundaries.
She placed work between them, using stacks of files and meeting schedules as invisible barriers. She would only respond to Farhan according to hierarchy and office protocol, rejecting any personal subtext he might slip in. Farhan may be her husband on paper, but here, he was simply the Boss, and Sekar was the Perfect Secretary.
Yet Farhan was an exceptional mind reader especially when it came to Sekar's compliance. Three days after the café incident, he noticed a shift in the frequency of their interactions. Sekar had become too efficient, too distant. There was a deliberate silence in every response, which, ironically, felt more threatening to Farhan than open rebellion.
Farhan hated anything he couldn't measure. Sekar's calm had shifted from stability to a cold distance. If before he had used her as an anchor, now Sekar was using distance as her defense. It was a new psychological tug-of-war, a wordless game.
That morning, Sekar was focused on reviewing highly sensitive cross-continental merger reports. Her heart she believed fully attuned to protocol pounded when she heard a voice uncomfortably close behind her chair.
"Cross-Continental Project Report," Farhan whispered, his tone not commanding, but a statement tinged with sinister observation. Sekar flinched; Farhan was standing at the doorway instead of using the intercom, the usual method of his interaction with others.
Sekar turned calmly, her eyes quickly locking onto the folder he held. "It has been emailed to you, Mr. Farhan. Subject: 'Priority B1,' physical copy on your desk, 8:00 sharp."
Farhan didn't move. He studied the neatness of Sekar's hair clip, the perfect tie of her blouse, and the sterile precision of her expression. This wasn't the Sekar he had seen laughing in the café, nor the fragile Sekar after he claimed the total obedience hour. This was the robot he had built himself.
"I know, Sekar. I saw it. I just… came to verify it myself," he said, his voice carrying an unusual tone. It wasn't business concern it was personal curiosity.
Sekar lowered her eyes. "To ensure my efficiency, Sir? I guarantee, office protocol is running at 100%. I have never deviated from what was agreed upon."
The emphasis on "agreed upon" was deliberate. Sekar wanted to assert: We are bound by contract, not by feelings. You may control my compliance, but not me.
Farhan stepped closer, leaning on Sekar's desk a breach of the professional distance she had always maintained. "Of course. You haven't deviated. That's what makes this interesting."
"Excuse me, Sir?"
"Three days. Three full days since the 'Day Off' I let you take. You've returned. Not just returned you've retreated. The distance between us in the office feels thicker than before we signed the contract. You've built a wall, Mrs. Raksamudra."
Sekar gripped her pen tightly, as if it were an anchor keeping her steady. "My job is to maintain your efficiency, Mr. Farhan. Nothing has changed. We defined our role boundaries from the start. I am only ensuring that, despite our domestic status, my professionalism remains impeccable."
Farhan smiled, a thin smile he reserved for when he found an intriguing pattern to solve. "That's the problem. I don't remember impeccable professionalism requiring you to hold your breath every time I'm within three meters."
Sekar felt her face flush but restrained herself. She realized that her attempt to enforce distance only proved Farhan's influence over her.
"I am focused, Sir. You may be misinterpreting my work intensity as… personal reaction," Sekar replied. She refused to show weakness or reveal the truth of what Farhan perceived.
"Farhan."
Sekar froze. It had been some time since he used his first name in the office, letting their domestic status seep into the professional environment. It was his way of asserting control.
"In the office, it's Mr. Farhan," she reminded him, her voice calm but internally simmering with protest. "We are not in the penthouse."
"We are in the office," Farhan repeated, staring directly into her eyes. "And this is my game. And you are in my grasp, Sekar."
He then picked up a folder from Sekar's desk containing her mother's personal documents she had planned to work on during lunch. Sekar instinctively reached for it.
"Sir, that's… that's unrelated to Raksamudra Group," Sekar said, panic almost slipping through.
Farhan held the folder, his smile curling slightly not the usual sinister grin, but the satisfaction of a strategist discovering his opponent's ace. "I know. That's what makes it interesting. You drew boundaries, Sekar. You said office and home must be separate. Yet amid B1, B2, and my business travel schedule, you slipped in financial needs and your mother's health issues. You want absolute control, yet your needs keep you here."
This small confrontation struck the heart of Sekar's conflict. She relied on Farhan's structure and funds to save her mother, yet despised the dependency. Sekar wanted to control her own life narrative, but Farhan was always one step ahead, wielding her emotional data as a weapon.
Sekar took a deep breath, steadying her heartbeat. It was time to assert herself. Not emotionally, but professionally through the Contract Act.
"Mr. Farhan," Sekar began, her voice flat, "our contract grants me the right to request a single review. I am claiming that right now. I request that, starting today, all non-business interactions and purely domestic interactions occur only after 7:00 PM, when we are physically at the penthouse. I need a clear boundary so my efficiency remains optimal and assured."
Sekar restrained herself. It was a cold act of courage, the subtlest refusal she could give, framed in the language Farhan valued most efficiency and maximization.
Farhan tilted his head, studying Sekar's newfound boldness. He could refuse. He could assert his authority as CEO, contract husband, and primary controller. But Sekar's gaze was unwavering, silently pleading for acknowledgment of her space, even while disguising it as business terminology.
Farhan's hand moved not to touch her, but to place her mother's folder back on the desk. He stepped back slowly, deliberately easing the physical and psychological pressure.
"A clear boundary, yes?" Farhan leaned against the glass wall behind her, arms crossed. His dark eyes sparkled sharply.
Sekar nodded stiffly. "For optimal efficiency, yes, Sir."
Farhan paused. Sekar's desire to control the portion of her life she could however small amused him. This was no longer dull compliance. It was a new intellectual and psychological duel, based on the same intelligence, but with opposing motives.
"Very well, Sekar," he said, his voice casual, yet dangerous. "Domestic interactions after 7:00 PM. New rule. Let's see how far this boundary can be maintained."
He walked to the door, gripping the handle firmly. Before stepping out completely, he turned. He no longer saw Sekar as an asset, secretary, or a fulfillment of a will. He saw her as an equal opponent.
Farhan's smile widened, broader than his usual sinister grin, full of meaning, almost like a predator preparing to chase its prey with a new strategy.
"I'm beginning to enjoy this game."
The door closed, leaving Sekar alone in her quiet office. She had won. She had regained a sliver of control. But Farhan didn't sound intimidated; he sounded challenged, and more frighteningly, genuinely intrigued.
Sekar knew it. Her struggle for personal autonomy had just begun and this time, Farhan would pursue it with intent far more personal than any paternal will.