She asked, trying to understand what had gotten into him today. Aarav never forgot anything important. A part of her—the wary part that never rested—also wanted to confirm whether this nephew of hers was truly smitten with his new wife… or if something else was brewing beneath the surface.
"It's you, Aunt," Aarav replied without hesitation. "Arundhati was never important to me in the first place. Why would I rush back for her?"
His words struck differently for each woman in the room. Arundhati felt her hatred throb back to life like a freshly sparked ember. Madhavi, however, tilted her head slightly, taken aback—not just by his bluntness, but by the odd warmth in his voice. Curious, she pressed further.
"Me? Why?"
Aarav's smile returned, light and teasing, but with a strange edge. "Oh, Aunt, how could you forget something so important?"
Madhavi blinked, confused. "What did I forget?"
"Aunt," he said with mock hurt, "whenever I had to step out for something important, you would always feed me something sweet. It completely slipped my mind today. But just as I reached my destination, the memory hit me—and I realized this wasn't something anyone else could do. So I turned around and rushed all the way back… just to be fed by your hands."
Madhavi's lips curved upward, but it didn't reach her eyes. "My sweet boy," she said, though there was something guarded in her tone. "You came all this way for that? But forgive this forgetful aunt—I didn't make anything special for you. Still, if you insist, I could feed you something Arundhati prepared. How about that?"
Aarav barely glanced toward his wife. "Not interested. You know I'd rather go hungry than eat anything made by her. Just a spoonful of sugar from your hands, Aunt. That'd be sweeter than anything else."
Madhavi chuckled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You should save your flirting for the women outside, Aarav. I'm sure they'd do anything for you with tricks like these. But me? I've grown immune. And besides," she added with a tilt of her head, "you're a married man now. Aren't you supposed to be serious?"
She turned to leave the kitchen but paused. "Still, sugar was a good idea. Wait here, I'll fetch some."
There was an odd stiffness to her walk. Aarav didn't miss it. He wasn't the same boy she could easily manipulate with a smile anymore—and she, somewhere deep inside, knew that too. That shift in power unnerved her.
They both ignored Arundhati as if she were invisible—especially Aarav, who didn't even spare her a glance. Not that Arundhati cared; she was focused on her cooking, her irritation simmering just below the surface.
After a few moments, Madhavi returned, fed him the sugar with her own hands. Aarav smiled and whispered a quiet thank you, but the warmth between them was no longer what it used to be.
Once she left the room, silence returned. Only Arundhati and Aarav remained.
"Mohan," Aarav called out sharply.
Startled by his sudden tone, Arundhati turned. A moment later, Mohan came running in.
"Yes, Little Sir?"
"Check all the dishes. Nothing reaches the dining table until you've made sure it's safe."
"Yes, Little Sir."
Arundhati rolled her eyes and slammed a spoon against the pot. "Why can't you ever stay still? Always suspicious, always acting like you're in a war zone. I get that we don't get along. And yes, I married you for revenge, I admit that much. But do I look like someone who'd poison food meant for an entire family?"
Aarav turned to face her. The moment she said "our family", his gaze sharpened.
He moved in with unnerving speed, grabbed her wrists, and pinned her to the wall with such force that the clang of a spoon echoed across the room. His face leaned close to hers, voice low and cold.
"First," he said, his grip tightening, "if I suspected you, I'd have made you taste every bite—not the staff. Second…" He paused, seeming to wrestle with something inside himself.
"This is not your family," he finished flatly. "And let me give you a piece of advice—not as your husband, but as someone who still, stupidly, gives a damn. Stay away from this family."
His voice lingered like smoke in the air. Arundhati's breath hitched.
"Aarav… you're hurting me…" she whispered, trying to pull away. But he didn't loosen his grip until the last word left his mouth. Then, just as quickly, he released her and turned his back.
Before either could speak again, a sharp noise cracked through the room. A staff member collapsed with a thud, limbs twitching, foam leaking from the corners of his mouth.
Aarav turned slowly, his face unreadable. Then, almost amused, he muttered beneath his breath:
"You still have a way with poison, Aunt."
No one else heard it—except Arundhati.
The words struck her like a slap.
Your way with poison, Aunt.
Her eyes widened. Was it really… her? Did he know? But how?
Had he returned just to protect her? Or was that part of his twisted game too?
She shook her head, as if to throw out the thoughts clinging to her like cobwebs. No. No more tricks. I won't fall again.
---
Two hours later.
Aarav stepped out of the Trivedi mansion and arrived at his destination: Kashyap Villa.
Smaller than the Trivedi estate, yet expansive in its own right, the villa stretched across two serene acres. Elegant and quiet—but underneath that beauty, a haunting silence loomed, as though the walls themselves held their breath.
As Aarav walked through the front gates, a young girl was waiting at the threshold.
He gave her a soft, natural smile.
The moment her eyes met his, she turned and walked away—hatred etched clearly on her face.
Aarav's smile didn't falter. But behind it, something flickered.