Chapter 3: The Man Who Watched Her Smile

The morning after Dev’s return, the Mehta mansion stirred early—more from tension than habit.

Servants whispered behind corners. Meena sat in the veranda pretending to read a magazine. Mr. Mehta was nowhere to be seen. Ria, the newcomer, had barely spoken since breakfast, fidgeting with the edge of her dupatta as she tried to smile at everyone and failed miserably.

Saanvi moved through the house like she always did—quiet, poised, a shadow that brought order.

But Rivan saw everything.

He watched her gently correct the cook without raising her voice. He watched her bend to pick up a tray someone had dropped, even though it wasn’t her job. He watched her take a call from the tailor, confirm the measurements for Meena’s upcoming event, and end the call with a soft “Thank you, bhaiya.”

She was not the wife Dev loved.

She was the woman who kept this entire house breathing.

------------------------------------------------

That afternoon, Rivan wandered into the piano room.

He didn’t intend to.

But he had seen Saanvi slip in, alone, with a tray of tea she clearly didn’t want to share. And curiosity always had a way of guiding his feet.

When he stepped in, she was seated at the piano, her fingers resting lightly on the keys, unmoving. She wasn’t playing. She wasn’t thinking. She was… remembering.

“I didn’t know you played,” he said casually.

She didn’t flinch, but she also didn’t look up. “I don’t.”

“Then what are you doing here?” he asked, stepping closer.

Saanvi’s voice was soft. “Listening.”

Rivan stopped beside her. “To what?”

She finally looked at him—those dark, quiet eyes meeting his for the first time, truly.

“To the silence,” she said. “It’s the only thing in this house that doesn’t lie.”

Rivan tilted his head slightly, studying her.

“Are you always this dramatic?” he asked, a smile teasing his lips.

Saanvi didn’t return it. “No. I’m usually worse.”

Rivan laughed under his breath. He wasn’t expecting that. Not from her.

Not from the woman who had barely spoken more than five words since his arrival.

He stepped back, leaning against the piano edge. “You’re not like them.”

“Because I don’t talk too much?” she asked, voice tinged with dry amusement.

“No,” he said slowly. “Because you don’t pretend.”

That caught her attention again.

For a second, Saanvi stared at him—not with emotion, but with calculation. She couldn’t read him, and she didn’t like that.

“I don’t like games,” she said.

Rivan met her gaze, his own soft but unreadable. “Neither do I. But I’m very good at them.”

------------------------------------------------

Later that night, while Ria wept quietly in Dev’s room over something trivial, and Meena Mehta stared at her phone too long without typing anything…

Rivan stood outside on the balcony, looking toward the east wing.

His fingers tapped against the cold railing.

Inside, beyond the curtains, a warm light glowed.

“She won’t stay much longer,” he muttered to himself.

“She doesn’t belong to this house.

She never did.”

And with that, the wind stirred—soft, slow, and deliberate.

Almost like the flame was beginning to move.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***