Chapter 11: A New Kind of Freedom

Amit introduced me to a world I’d only seen in films—private farmhouse parties, Dubai shopping trips, impromptu Goa getaways. With him, money flowed like water.

He’d tell the salesgirls, “Madam jo chahe, dikha dijiye.” I forgot what it meant to hesitate at a checkout counter. One word from me, and the orphanage’s leaky roof was fixed the next day.

At the auction, Amit bought me a necklace worth ₹20 crore just because I said I liked it. The entire hall turned to stare, camera flashes blinding. The cold metal on my skin felt like freedom.

I tugged his sleeve. “Amit, this is too expensive.”

He smiled. “If it’s not expensive, what’s the point? You deserve the most precious thing here.”

For the first time, someone made me feel valuable.

The tabloids exploded: [Agarwal family’s eldest son spends ₹20 crore on girlfriend at auction]. Our WhatsApp groups buzzed before lunch.

That day, Amit and Kabir were in Arjun’s study, voices tense. The news broke, and Arjun’s face turned dark. He grabbed Amit by the collar, the study trembling with rage.

“Amit, are you crazy? Meera is my wife! You’re my friend!”

For a moment, the old Arjun flickered in his eyes. I rushed in, but Arjun pushed me aside. I caught myself on the desk, Kabir at my side, hands shaking as he picked up a broken glass.

“Meera, this has nothing to do with you.”

I straightened my saree, refusing to let them see me cry. Kabir turned to Arjun, voice soft but steely. “Brother Arjun, what’s going on? Why did you hit Amit?”

Arjun’s jealousy was ugly, almost laughable. He glared at Amit, then looked to Kabir for support.

But Kabir’s face went pale, silent. My heart twisted. Amit quietly straightened his shirt, refusing to meet my eyes.

Suddenly, Arjun felt the ground shift beneath him. He looked from Kabir to Amit, doubt clouding his face for the first time.

That night, Arjun called Kunal, pacing the terrace, voice echoing into the dark.

Kunal, usually so sharp, stammered, “Arjun, maybe... maybe you should just... divorce Meera. Anyway, you don’t love her.”

The words hit harder than any blow. For the first time, Arjun looked at me—not as his wife, not as a Malhotra bahu, but as a stranger he could no longer control.