Page 2 of Forged By Fate

I knew that as soon as the adoption process was complete, we were going to meet with our lawyers to initiate our divorce - a process that was just as complicated as drafting the contract that bound us in marriage in the first place.

If I had my way, I’d walk away from him empty-handed without a backward glance, but there were more people involved in our relationship than just the two of us. In tying myself to Viren for almost three years, I had also tied myself to Aisha; and Sufi, who was his secretary, had become my best friend and the brother I never had. Not to mention Daya Bua, who was my father’s second cousin and Viren’s old nanny-turned-housekeeper. Disentangling myself from Viren might be the work of a moment, but I could never walk away from the people who had become my family.

I had lost my father six months before I met Viren, and all I had left in the world was a stepmother who made Cinderella’s stepmom look like a kindhearted angel. Aisha, Daya Bua and Sufi had claimed me as family, and together, we had formed a tight unit that revolved around Viren, the way the earth revolved around the sun. He was the centre of our universe, and now, he was about to kick me out of his orbit.

And all I could do was smile and let him go because he had never promised me any more than he gave me, and he had given me a lot more than he had promised. He had given me safety, security, friendship and a family. The only thing he couldn’t give me was love.

Sufi pulled me out of my reverie when he placed a dress bag on my bed.

“What’s that?” I asked, staring at it like it was a cobra sunning itself on my bed.

“That’s your outfit for tonight,” he said carelessly, buffing his nails.

“Umm, no.Thatis my outfit for tonight,” I corrected him, pointing to the silk shirt and pleated skirt on the back of the large wingback chair by the window. “I just had it ironed.”

“I don’t care. You’re not wearing that boring outfit,” he declared. “You’re pulling out your Brahmastra tonight.”

“My twin-engine Brahmastra is as visible as it needs to be in that shirt,” I argued. “Especially when I undo the top three buttons.”

“Oh, darling. That’s not the weapon I meant,” he said with a snort. “Just do as I tell you. Don’t you trust me?”

“I don’t trust you at all,” I told him bluntly.

“And I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t trust me either. But I’m all you’ve got. Now, just do as I say. Be a good girl and put on this kickass Zuhair Murad dress,” he ordered, pulling it out of the bag.

I let out a soft gasp at the sight of the outfit and reached out to touch it gingerly. The fabric was a soft chiffon with a short, black, twirly skirt. But the star of the outfit was the sleeveless, silver, shimmering bodice that was cut almost to the waist. Sufi held the dress up, and I realised the back plunged to the waist as well.

“Umm…Sufi…babe…this dress is practically topless. How the hell am I going to hold my twin engines up?” I asked, gesturing to my ample bosom that was likely to fall out of that dress.

“We’re going to use tape and a prayer,” he replied gleefully. “The designer has sent someone to help you style the dress. I’ll send her in right away.”

“I know what you’re doing. And I’m telling you right now that it’s not going to work. Viren is not going to fall in love with me magically just because I strut around half-naked,” I hissed, as he headed to the door.

“Oh, we’re not trying to seduce him, babe.”

“We’re not?”

“Nope. We’re going to torture him,” he said with a wink.

CHAPTER 2

VIREN

Ibit back a curse as my aunt led Tahira into the living room. What the hell was she doing here?

It was bad enough that my aunt and uncle had gatecrashed our holiday, but why did she have to invite her niece to tag along? I knew she was trying to throw her in my path, but that was disgusting considering that I was already married.

As soon as my aunt and uncle heard we’d rented a grand manor in London for the duration of our stay, they insisted on accompanying us. I couldn’t deny them the chance to vacation with their granddaughter Aisha, but I could also not deny that I was looking forward to some time alone with the people closest to me - Aisha, my niece and the daughter of my heart…Daima, who had raised me and now ran my life…and Sufi, my secretary, who was now a pillar of support to my family. I blew out a sharp breath and ignored the niggling voice in my head that insisted that my real agenda was to spend some quality time with Sunaina, my wife.

I mean, yes…life in Mumbai often felt like we lived in a fishbowl with the constant scrutiny and paparazzi trailing Sunaina and me all over the city. Every look we shared…every smile was dissected in the media and built up into something very romantic, while the truth was that there was nothing romantic about our relationship. It was a purely business arrangement, born out of sheer necessity.

And I was man enough to admit that sometimes…very rarely…I felt the urge to pick her up, throw her onto the back of my Harley Davidson, and ride off into the mountains for the weekend, where nobody would disturb us. Okay, maybe it wasn’t a very rare thought. It came to me probably every other week. Or every other day. Until all I could think of was how to find some time alone with Sunaina.

But my rational brain was still in charge of me, praise the Lord. It did not allow my dick to have its way ever. Which meant that in the two years and twenty-seven days that I had been married to Sunaina, I had never so much as taken her out to dinner without Aisha and/or Sufi tagging along. There was a very clear no man’s land between us. We were roommates, co-parents to Aisha, and even good friends of sorts, but nothing more.

Sure, our weekly family movie nights often left just the two of us sitting together on the big plush couch in the den after everyone else had gone to bed. More often than not, we finished the night with Sunaina falling asleep with her head on my shoulder by the time the credits rolled on the screen, but no matter how much my body screamed at me to lay her down gently on the couch and make sweet, hot love to her, I always shook her awake and sent her off to bed. Alone.

Because our ironclad marriage contract specified that ours was a marriage in name only. And it had been drilled into me since I was a child that a good businessman never broke theterms of a contract. The winning strategy lay in allowing the opposite party to mess up and break the terms in some way, which would allow me to swoop in and grab what I wanted.

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