Later that day ,the phone rang just as Arina—no, Kiara—was folding the last of the laundry. She glanced at the screen, saw Ma flashing across it, and paused for a fraction too long before answering.
"Arina?" Her mother's voice came warm, steady, as though it had been woven into the fabric of her life for years.
"Yes, Ma."
"I was just calling to ask… when will you both be coming for pakhfera? Your father's been asking."
For a moment, Kiara's fingers tightened around the phone. Not because of the question—but because of the both. Her gaze drifted unconsciously toward the closed study door, where Reyansh was working, the deep silence of his presence filling the house like a low hum.
"We'll see, Ma," she replied softly. "You know Reyansh is busy. I can come alone."
A beat of silence. "It's only one day. I'm sure he can—"
"Ma," she interrupted gently, layering her tone with the calm warmth Arina would use. "It's fine. He has work. I'll come."
There was no suspicion in her mother's sigh, no sharpness in her voice. Just the quiet acceptance of a parent who trusted her daughter's choices. That was the difference between them and the families Kiara had seen in stories—Arina's parents had given her the choice. They had asked for her consent before the marriage, had cared enough to make sure she was willing. And she had agreed, of course. Why wouldn't she? Reyansh was… Reyansh.
Arina's father was a businessman and her mother was a professor.
In the original story, this was the part where Reyansh had asked her if she want him to go together with her , but arina had polity declined him . But here, in this rewritten life, Kiara also made sure that Reyansh did not come with her, but the reason was different .She didn't want Advika to meet him yet—not until her plans had unfolded exactly as she wanted them to. Not until she had him entirely to herself.
After ending the call, Kiara stood still for a moment, the phone still in her hand. The truth was simple: she didn't feel anything for Arina's mother. No old memories stirred, no deep-rooted affection bloomed in her chest. That kind of emotional history wasn't hers to have. But she was inside Arina's body now, wearing her life like silk over steel, and that meant she would fulfill every obligation, no matter how hollow it felt to her personally.She was using their daughter's body for whom they had genuine love and care ,which she would receive.
She placed the folded clothes neatly on the bed and turned toward the window. Outside, the sunlight fell in golden layers, spilling over the manicured lawn. Somewhere in the distance, a bird was calling. The house was peaceful, still.
Inside her, though, there was no stillness.
Kiara thought of Reyansh again, of the way his eyes had lingered on her when she'd brought him tea earlier . That quiet look—measured, unreadable—was everything she had imagined and more when she first fell in love with his character on paper. Only now, he wasn't a character. He was flesh, voice, and presence. He was here. And every day she would learn something new about the way he held himself back, about the restraint that wrapped around him like a second skin.
She loved him not as Arina's husband, not as a man society would approve of—but as the Reyansh she had read, studied, and claimed in her mind long before she ever stepped into this life.
Her lips curved into a faint smile. The pakhfera would be an act. A scene to keep the story believable. She would go, play the part of the dutiful daughter, and return. Reyansh would stay here, where she could control the pace of things. Advika was too unpredictable, too curious. Kiara wouldn't risk an encounter before she had tightened her hold on him.
The thought of Advika near him was… unsettling. Not because she feared rivalry in the usual sense, but because she didn't want any fragment of his attention diverted before he had fully surrendered to her orbit.
-----
When she stepped into the study later that afternoon to tell him about the visit, he didn't look up from his papers.
"Tomorrow," she said simply. "I'll be going to my parents' for pakhfera."
His pen stilled for the briefest moment before continuing its deliberate movement across the page. "Hmm."
"I told them you're busy," she added, watching him carefully.
He didn't ask why she hadn't suggested he come. He didn't ask anything at all. Instead, he closed the file in front of him with precise fingers, placed the pen down, and leaned back slightly in his chair.
"You'll be back the same day?"
"Yes."
A faint nod. "Good."
The exchange was simple, almost detached—but Kiara knew better. His lack of insistence wasn't disinterest. It was calculation. He was the kind of man who didn't reveal a move until he'd already decided how it would play out.
As she left the room, she felt the weight of his gaze on her back—not questioning, not accusing, just quietly assessing.
----
Later that night, she stood in the kitchen, preparing something light for dinner. Not because she had to—there were staff for that—but because she wanted him to associate her with the small, human comforts no one else would think to give him. She thought again of the upcoming trip, of how the distance might sit with him. She almost hoped he would feel the absence.
The next day, when she would step into her parents' home and be greeted with warmth, she would wear the smile Arina's family expected. She would listen, speak politely, and fulfill every duty without letting any of it sink too deeply into her. And then she would come back here, to the man who was the only real part of this life she had claimed as her own.
Because this marriage wasn't about joining families. It was about rewriting a story—her story—until Reyansh belonged entirely to her.
And that meant keeping him away from anything, or anyone, who might disrupt the script.
---
"She wore innocence like silk, hiding the steel beneath."