Chapter 5: Office Showdown—Divorce Papers and Drama

The AC is freezing, the sofa is too soft, and my shirt clings to my back from last night’s sweat. Still, I look almost dapper—fresh shave, pressed shirt, divorce papers tucked under my arm.

My legs swing like a schoolboy’s, just to irritate the fancy receptionist. She pretends not to notice, but I see her lips twitch.

They’re whispering, but in that way all Indian offices do—openly enough for everyone to hear.

The youngest one, Chhavi, almost drops her phone. She’s never seen anyone challenge Madam Priya before.

The older one, Sushila, scolds me under her breath. "Hai Ram, you’re sitting in the boss’s seat. Aapka kuch nahi ho sakta!"

"Better you wait, haan? Madam is busy."

My vision blurs a little as notifications fill my mind. Like a nosy aunt, the system never rests.

[Help, a man and woman alone in a room.]

[Bhai, your head is glowing green—how can you still be in the mood to drink coffee?]

[Hurry, go in and interrupt the male lead’s spell!]

I sip my coffee, legs stretched, letting them wait for once. "If Madam pays, Madam can wait," I murmur. The assistants bristle, but stay silent.

Great. My neck still tingles from yesterday’s shocks. I rub it, wincing. "Ab bas bhi karo."

Actually, in the original book, my stand-in ending was tragic—sent to a mental hospital and tortured.

The memory of the original story flashes in my mind. Locked wards, medicine that turns your tongue blue, and that constant, humming fan. No, thank you.

Just as I get up to refill my coffee, the office door is pushed open from the inside.

It’s Priya.

She appears like an ice sculpture—unreachable, unmelting. Even the clock seems to tick slower in her presence. A WhatsApp notification buzzes on someone’s phone, breaking the silence for a moment.

Her face is flawless, but she’s as cold as ten-thousand-year-old ice: "Have you heard enough eavesdropping outside?"

Her voice has that sharpness only powerful women in Indian offices can pull off. I gulp, trying to look confident, but my legs tingle from nerves.

But this time, I wasn’t going to beg. Not for her, not for anyone.