Chapter 4: The Reception and the Breakup Agreement

Everything went like clockwork. My lawyer was efficient—he’d handled enough Delhi divorces to know the drill.

That evening, I picked my outfit with more care than I’d ever bothered before. A mermaid dress in deep emerald, the kind that hugs your figure but lets you breathe. I slipped on my highest heels, painted my lips a shade my mother hated, and walked into the banquet hall with my chin up.

My friends clustered around me, bright as marigolds. One nudged me, mischief in her eyes. “No date? I can lend you my brother, you know.”

I considered it for a second. “Forget it. I don’t think being alone is embarrassing.”

She laughed, tossing her hair. “True! A man would just get in the way of our girl talk!”

A gaggle of aunties clustered near the samosa counter, phones poised, ready to catch every word. Suddenly, a murmur rippled through the room—something was up.

We turned.

Arjun, in a silver-grey suit, strolled in with that lazy swagger. Riya clung to his arm, all sweetness and smiles, like a prize he’d just won at the fair.

Ah... so when Arjun said he’d bring Riya, he didn’t mean for shopping. He meant to the reception—our reception. My jaw tightened, but I didn’t move.

My gaze flicked to Riya’s dress—my dress. The exact same mermaid gown, down to the last bead. I’d been told there was only one in India. Maybe hers was flown in from Dubai—Arjun had the money for that kind of drama.

His message was clear: this was war.

As soon as Riya spotted me, her face twisted. She bit her lip and whispered something in Arjun’s ear. He looked over slowly, cool as ice. Riya adjusted her dupatta, fingers trembling slightly, while Arjun rolled his cufflinks, bored or tense—hard to say.

Tottering on her heels, Riya stormed over, eyes flashing. “Did you have someone find out what dress Arjun bought for me and copy it on purpose?”

Other guests drifted closer, sniffing out the scandal like sharks.

My friend jumped in, defensive. “Don’t talk nonsense...”

Riya sneered, flipping her hair. “You’re just jealous of how well Arjun treats me. Your tricks are disgusting, and you don’t even look as good as I do in it.”

My friend muttered under her breath, “She looks better than you.”

Riya, furious, stomped back to Arjun, shaking his arm like a stubborn child. “Arjun, look at them!”

Arjun’s eyes were dark, his gaze lingering on me. After a long moment, he smiled—soft, almost sad.

My phone vibrated again, the WhatsApp group going wild:

[“Ahhh, the MLA’s son smiled! He thinks didi looks better!”]

[“Right? His eyes never lie. MLA’s son and didi forever—I’ll bet a bag of kurkure!”]

[“But wait... the MLA’s son is provoking didi so she’ll run to him, all soft and pitiful, and then...”]

I barely had time to process that thought when the microphone squealed. Everyone turned.

The Malhotra Group’s senior manager took the mic, adjusting his tie. “Thank you all for attending this reception. I have an important announcement—by decision of Mr. Malhotra and the board, 2% of Malhotra Group’s shares will be gifted to Miss Riya.”

The hall erupted. People whispered, some openly gaping.

I stood frozen, the words echoing in my head. A bead of sweat trickled down my spine, my hand instinctively moving to steady my necklace.

Arjun held a chunk of shares, sure. But this—2% earmarked for his wife—was tradition. In a group as big as Malhotra’s, even 2% was life-changing.

He gave it to Riya. Here, in front of everyone.

The WhatsApp forwards went berserk:

[“Here it is—the MLA’s son’s crazy move! Poor didi will be mocked by everyone and have to beg him!”]

[“Yeah, then didi will have no choice but to stay by the MLA’s son’s side, endlessly doted on... so sweet!”]

[“What is didi still holding out for? The MLA’s son loves her so much! Hurry up and slap Riya, then cling to the MLA’s son and act cute!”]

Ignoring the pointed looks and whispered taunts, I walked toward Arjun, each step deliberate. My bangles clinked as I steadied myself, heart pounding in my ears.

His eyes never left mine. When I stopped in front of him, he gave me a faint, familiar smile—the one that used to make my heart flip.

I smiled back, the taste of iron in my mouth, and let my words ring out clear as a temple bell:

“The breakup agreement is already on its way. You’ll receive it soon. As for whether to continue working with Priya Group—that’s up to you.”

As I walked away, I didn’t look back—but I could feel Arjun’s eyes burning into my spine, as if he’d never let me go.