Chapter 3: The Breaking Point
3
Arjun turned back, wary. His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed—expecting yet another power play from my family. In Delhi, even a single word could be a weapon.
A servant ushered in Dr. Joshi, our family physician, helmet still in hand, medical bag swinging. The maids scrambled to fetch him water.
I gestured at Neha. "Dr. Joshi, please check this young lady’s pulse."
My tone brooked no argument. Even my mother, usually in command, looked at me with surprise.
Neha panicked, shrinking behind Arjun, clutching his kurta sleeve. Her eyes darted to me, pleading.
Arjun’s disappointment and disgust flashed across his face. He stepped forward protectively, voice clipped. "That’s not necessary—"
His hands shook as he blocked Neha from the doctor. His posture was that of a man who thought he could shield her from the world.
My mother intervened, signaling two sturdy maids. They held Neha gently but firmly. Neha, fearful for her child, didn’t resist as Dr. Joshi took her pulse, her face drained of colour.
Dr. Joshi murmured, "The pregnancy is a little unstable, but not serious. I’ll prescribe medicine to stabilise it."
He patted Neha’s hand, promising to send medicines from his Lajpat Nagar clinic. My mother shook her head, disappointment etched deep.
"Shameless girl!" my mother’s voice cracked across the room, sharp as a duster on a school desk. The older relatives nodded, muttering about the audacity of today’s girls.
Neha’s face burned with shame and fear. She instinctively tried to kneel, to beg forgiveness.
Her knees buckled—she would have touched my mother’s feet, had Arjun not caught her arm.
Arjun pulled her upright. "You are no longer a servant here. There’s no need to kneel to them."
His words were both protective and defiant—like a student standing up to a strict teacher. The elders gasped.
He looked my mother in the eye, voice steady: "Mrs. Sharma, Neha is my fiancée now. Please mind your words."
It was a declaration and a warning. Silence fell like a shroud.
He still believed himself the Chief Minister’s confidant, the favoured officer, entitled to respect.
His stance was arrogant, the confidence of someone who thought his position unassailable. But Delhi’s society is never so simple.
My mother, furious, smashed her teacup. The china shattered, tea spilling across the rug. Maids exchanged nervous glances, already dreading the cleanup.
My father’s glare was icy. "The topper is bold, daring to lecture the lady of this house!"
The words hung heavy with the threat of lost honour and political consequence.
Arjun’s face stiffened. For the first time, doubt flickered in his eyes—he realised he was outnumbered.
"Other than the unstable pregnancy, is there anything else?" I asked, my voice clinical, giving nothing away.
Dr. Joshi shook his head, scribbling on his pad and handing it to Sneha. The whole house seemed to exhale.
I met Arjun’s gaze. "Listen carefully: your fiancée is leaving my house healthy and whole. If she dies or is maimed, don’t blame my family."
The message was clear—I would not let my family be scapegoated if Neha suffered.
"Also, by law, a servant who commits adultery with an outsider without proper arrangement can be dismissed or even handed to the police."
I invoked the rules of Delhi’s elite homes, referencing the local thana. The elders murmured approval.
In other words, I could have openly punished Neha—there was no need for secret vengeance.
I let silence settle, watching Arjun’s face pale as he realised how much power I still held.
He looked at Neha, then at me, anger and uncertainty warring in his eyes. For the first time, he looked truly lost.