Chapter 3: A Deal with Destiny

After settling Neha in the living room, I went to the master bedroom, took down our wedding photo, and smashed it—glass shattering, the past split in two. For a second, I stared at our younger, hopeful faces. Then I threw the frame in the dustbin—history buried under shards.

When I returned, Priya was no longer crying. She sat upright, spine straight, face wiped clean of emotion. Only the redness around her eyes betrayed her tears. She fiddled with her mangalsutra, biting her lip, then asked, “Rohit, I’ve stood by you through everything for ten years. Now you treat me like this—kuch sharam hai tumhe?”

Her voice was low but each word landed like a slap. My chest tightened, guilt flaring up before I shoved it down, letting anger take its place.

“So what if you went through thick and thin with me?” My words came out harsh, faster than I meant. “Does that mean you’ve earned some kind of credit? You were just lucky to be with someone like me—a rising star. You should thank your fate.”

I paced the room, fists clenched, pride burning away any regret. The house, the new car, the servants—they were proof I was owed gratitude, not blame.

“Priya.” Her name was a warning. “Ten years, still no child, and you want credit?” I spat the words, remembering my father’s voice: “Beta, parivaar ki izzat sabse pehle.” Back home, childless women are pitied, whispered about. I’d already been more than kind. Why are you so shameless? Neha is pregnant—why won’t you just divorce?”

Priya stared back, hands steady, eyes like stone. She was silent for a long time, then let out a bitter laugh. “So sure, aren’t you, Rohit? Are you even certain that child is yours?”

Her words made me freeze. For a second, I wondered if she knew something I didn’t. But then I realised—she wanted me to suffer a little, to doubt, just as she was suffering.

Neha stepped forward, voice quivering. “Priya didi, Rohit bhaiya told me about your past… I always respected you, but how can you say that about me?” Tears pooled in her eyes. “My parents are very strict. Before Rohit bhaiya, I never even had a boyfriend…”

She looked at me, lost. My heart twisted. I squeezed her hand, silently vowing to protect her.

I glared at Priya, daring her to say more. To spare Neha, I pulled her into the master bedroom, closing the door on Priya’s silent pain.

But Priya’s voice sliced through the air: “Rohit, as husband and wife, we’ve reached the end. I have nothing more to say. Since you insist on jumping into the fire, I’ll let you have your way.”

Her tone was so cold, it sent a chill down my spine. I felt happy—finally, she’d agree to divorce. But angry, too—she was cursing me, convinced I’d end up miserable.

She didn’t know my company was about to go public. Soon, I’d be worth hundreds of crores, not just a few. Let her keep the house and car—I’d have the future. My name would be in Economic Times. With that money, Neha and I would never want for anything.

The possibilities stretched out, wide as the highway. I was finally free.