Although she understood the real meaning behind their words, Arundhati chose to feign ignorance. With a faint smile, she replied, "Yes, it's fine—just like any other house. A roof, rooms, furniture… people."
But of course, those women weren't here for polite conversation.
One of them—Rani—covered her mouth in mock surprise, hiding a smirk. "I heard your father is a professor. So tell us, which of his teachings helped you land Aarav Trivedi?" She laughed coldly. "You see, we may not be on par with the Trivedis, but we are wealthy in our own right. When my husband approached them with a proposal for our daughter, we were flat-out ignored. So naturally, it makes us curious—how does a girl from a modest, middle-class family, whose status doesn't even compare to the dust on our shoes, become a Trivedi daughter-in-law?"
"Oh, Rani, why even ask?" the second woman, Swetha, chimed in. "We all know the answer already."
"Right, how could I forget?" Rani laughed again, her voice dripping with venom. "Girls like her find their way into rich homes by climbing into a man's bed first—and then up the social ladder."
Before Arundhati could even process their cruelty, much less respond, the venom kept spilling from their mouths—until a third voice cut through the air like a knife.
"Mrs. Rani, Mrs. Swetha," said Mr. Kailashnath Trivedi, his voice calm, yet carrying unmistakable authority, "where are your husbands? Are they not accompanying you tonight?"
Though his lips were curled into a smile, his eyes were not smiling at all.
The atmosphere changed instantly. Tension wrapped around the women like a noose. They stood straighter, spoke softer. After all, even their husbands faltered when speaking to Kailashnath Trivedi.
So why go after Arundhati, you ask?
Simple. They believed Aarav didn't care for his wife. And if her own husband didn't respect her, why should anyone else?
What they didn't know was that this young woman—whom they mocked so freely—was favored by the very man they now feared.
"They're away on a business trip, Mr. Trivedi," Swetha replied, her voice suddenly meek.
Sensing the tension, Arundhati stepped forward and spoke gently, "It's alright, Father. I'll handle this."
Kailashnath looked at her—calm, poised, dignified—and nodded with quiet pride.
"You were right, Mrs. Rani and Mrs. Swetha," Arundhati began, her voice clear but sharp. "My father is indeed a professor. And yes, he taught me many lessons."
She paused, letting her gaze rest on both women, unwavering.
"One of those lessons—the reason you're both still standing here after uttering such nonsense—is to respect our elders. I know that probably sounds like Greek or Latin to you… not everyone is intelligent enough to grasp it. As for Aarav's marriage," she smiled coldly, "it's a done deal. I suggest you accept it—and move on."
Her words were clean and concise—sharp enough to draw blood without raising her voice. The guests nearby had all gone silent, their attention locked on the quiet storm unfolding.
Kailashnath, standing beside her, was visibly impressed.
But he wasn't about to let it end with words.
He turned to the two women. "From this day forward," he said, voice devoid of any pretense, "there will be no further dealings between our families. This is not up for discussion. And frankly, I see no reason for you to remain here any longer. So kindly take your leave—we would like to enjoy the rest of the evening."
Rani and Swetha stood frozen in shock, unable to believe the severity of his declaration. Realizing their social standing could now suffer serious consequences, they remained motionless.
Ever gracious, yet firm, Kailashnath gestured to the guards. "Please escort our guests out."
The guards stepped forward. With their heads bowed and faces pale, the women were led away, their laughter now replaced by silent shame.
From across the room, Aarav watched the entire exchange, his expression unreadable. But inside, a storm churned.
That's it? Just ousting them? he thought. That's all he'd do for his daughter-in-law?
He didn't realize how tightly he was gripping his glass until the clink of ice against the rim snapped him back.
While Aarav stewed in his silent dissatisfaction, Kailashnath turned to Arundhati, his gaze filled with regret.
"I'm sorry, Arundhati," he said softly. "This was my fault. I should have been more careful."
Arundhati looked at her father-in-law and replied with a calm strength, "It's not a big deal, Father. But… are you sure about your decision? Cutting off business ties without a second thought—it might hurt the company."
Kailashnath chuckled, his eyes twinkling with experience. "Come now, Arundhati. If a minor incident like this could shake our foundation, the Trivedis wouldn't have lasted for centuries."
Then, turning his attention to Aarav—who was still fuming silently—he locked eyes with his son and said pointedly, "I'm sorry, Arundhati. It should've been your husband handling this. But clearly, my son still lacks the ability."
The words landed like a slap.
And this time, Aarav had no clever remark, no smirk, no smug response.
Only silence.