Chapter 7: Breaking Point

Today, after confirming the final revised version, we could sign the contract and pay the full amount.

I woke up early, nerves jangling. I wore my lucky green kurti, hoping for a good day. The house felt brighter, the air tinged with possibility.

Meera’s assistant was especially enthusiastic, bustling around me—offering me juice one moment and samosas the next.

She even brought out a steel glass of Rooh Afza, saying, "Aap thak gaye honge, ma’am." Her smile was a bit too eager.

After confirming the final version, I said I wanted to see the contract.

I cleared my throat, careful to keep my tone polite but firm.

At that, the assistant’s expression changed noticeably.

She shifted her weight, eyes darting to Meera, then back to me.

“Oh, um, Mrs. Iyer, Mr. Arjun came this morning. He already signed the contract.”

Her words landed like a slap. I gripped my bag, knuckles white.

I felt a surge of annoyance. “What do you mean? He signed before I even confirmed?”

My voice echoed in the marble-floored office, louder than I intended. Even the chaiwala outside paused mid-pour.

“It’s like this—Mr. Arjun had some errands to run this morning, and since he was passing by, he came up. He said you were satisfied with this version, so he signed first.”

She fidgeted with the files, avoiding my gaze.

Meera brushed it off lightly, trying to change the subject. “Mrs. Iyer, let’s go choose product brands and suppliers next, shall we?”

Her tone was syrupy, as if I was a child to be distracted with sweets.

I didn’t budge. “Bring me the contract. I want to see it.”

My voice was cold, my patience gone.

The assistant was gone for a long time.

I paced the room, checking my phone, my anger simmering.

I pressed several times before she finally brought the contract in, reluctantly.

She placed it before me, avoiding eye contact.

The first few pages were normal—nothing seemed off.

I flipped through, heart pounding. Everything seemed standard—until the last page.

Until I turned to the last page and saw the fee. I nearly jumped out of my skin.

I blinked, sure I was seeing wrong.

It wasn’t twenty lakh, nor thirty lakh, but forty lakh.

My head swam, vision blurring. “Chalis lakh?” I whispered, voice hoarse.

I counted twice to make sure there were six digits after the 4.

My hands shook as I did the math again.

Was Arjun mad?

I could hear my grandmother’s voice in my head, “Lakshmi ka dhyan nahi rakhoge toh ghar kabhi basne wala nahi!”

Renovating a thousand-square-foot house for forty lakh?

Even in South Mumbai, that was a stretch.

At this rate, the renovation costs are half the price of the flat.

It was madness—plain and simple.

Even with his doubled salary, he must have emptied his savings to pay this much.

I wondered how many EMIs we could have cleared with that amount.

My heart was pounding, and my hands were trembling.

I wiped my palms on my kurti, trying to steady myself.

“Why is the price so different from before? I don’t agree—I want to cancel the order.”

My voice rang out, firm and unyielding.

“Mainly because, according to your requirements, we made a lot of upgrades, so the previous budget wasn’t enough.”

The assistant tried to smile, but her words were hollow.

The assistant looked at me awkwardly. “Mr. Arjun already paid this morning. He agreed to the price and insisted on having the best for everything. He really values you.”

She offered this as a consolation, but it only made me angrier.

Meera looked at me indifferently.

Her eyes were cold now—transaction done, her mask dropped.

Now that the money was in, she couldn’t be bothered to pretend anymore?

She tapped her nails on the table, impatience clear.

I didn’t waste any more words. “I said, I don’t agree. I want to cancel the order.”

I stood up, ready to leave.

At that moment, Arjun pushed the door open and came in.

He looked tense, jaw set, eyes searching the room.

He looked very unhappy and questioned me as soon as he entered.

“Ananya, didn’t Meera revise everything until you were satisfied? Why are you still being unreasonable?”

His words felt like a slap. The room fell silent.

I threw the contract in his face.

The papers fluttered to the floor, a final gesture of my anger.

“The fee doubled—they’re charging an outrageous price! How could you make the decision without me?”

I struggled to keep my voice steady, my vision swimming.

Arjun rubbed his temples, frustrated. “I have money—I can afford it. What, I’m willing to spend money on you and you’re still not happy?”

He sounded almost wounded, but I was beyond caring.

I couldn’t help but scoff. “What kind of family is this? With that much money, wouldn’t it be better to pay off the loan first?”

I gestured at the contract, my words harsh.

“And besides—” I looked at Meera, then at him. “Is this forty lakh really to make me happy, or just to get her promoted?”

The accusation hung in the air. Meera’s eyes flashed with anger.

Meera closed the door and snapped, “Mrs. Iyer, you can eat whatever you like, but you can’t say whatever you want. If you keep making baseless accusations, I’ll have to call the police.”

Her words were sharp, her composure gone.

“Also, the contract clearly states that after full payment, a 30% service fee will be deducted from any refund.”

She jabbed at the document, voice steely.

In other words, if I cancel now, not only do I get nothing, but I’ll have to pay twelve lakh out of pocket.

My breath caught. The trap was set, and I’d walked right into it.

I glared at Arjun.

He wouldn’t meet my gaze, his face blank.

He looked completely unbothered.

His indifference was a fresh wound. I swallowed my hurt, standing tall.

He must have calculated this in advance.

I realised, with a chill, that I’d been outmanoeuvred from the start.

Trying to force me into a corner like this?

I set my jaw, refusing to give in.

Fine.

I grabbed my bag, the finality of the moment settling over me.

I nodded and turned to leave.

I kept my head high, dignity intact.

While waiting for the lift, I quickly exited the design group chat.

I pressed 'Exit Group' with a strange sense of relief. The lift doors slid open—freedom, of a sort.