The Dinner of Strangers

The third evening in the Raichand penthouse arrived with the weight of unspoken words.

Anaya sat alone in the dining hall, the clink of her spoon against the porcelain plate echoing in the vast space. A table that could seat twenty people felt absurd when there were only two of them.

Except, of course, there weren’t two.

Aarav hadn’t come down.

Again.

Her fork scraped against the plate as she pushed the untouched food aside. The servants had tried to assure her, “Sir is busy with work, ma’am.” But even they had avoided her gaze when they said it.

Busy with work. The same excuse. The same distance.

The same silence.

She rose abruptly, her chair scraping against the marble, and stormed toward his study.

The heavy wooden door was closed, but she didn’t bother knocking. She pushed it open, her heart pounding with a mix of nerves and anger.

Aarav sat behind the massive desk, sleeves rolled up, eyes fixed on the laptop in front of him. Papers were scattered, phone pressed to his ear. His jaw was tight, his voice clipped.

“No delays. Handle it quietly. If anyone leaks information—”

He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed her. His dark eyes flickered in irritation before he ended the call.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said coldly.

“And you shouldn’t be ignoring your wife,” Anaya shot back, surprising herself with her boldness.

His brows arched slightly, though his expression remained impassive. “Wife? You signed a contract, Anaya. You knew what this was.”

Her chest tightened. “Yes, a contract. But even contracts have terms of respect. What is this? A cage where you vanish whenever you please and leave me to rot in silence?”

His gaze sharpened. “Watch your tone.”

“No.” Her voice rose, trembling but firm. “I gave up my freedom, my choice, my life for this family—your family included! The least you can do is sit at the same table and pretend we’re not strangers.”

The air between them crackled. For a moment, Aarav said nothing. Then, to her shock, he stood.

“Fine,” he said at last, closing the laptop. “Dinner. Together. Tonight.”

Anaya hadn’t expected him to keep his word. Yet, an hour later, he appeared in the dining hall, freshly changed into a crisp black shirt that clung perfectly to his broad frame. His presence was magnetic, drawing every gaze — if there had been anyone else to watch.

He sat across from her, silent at first, then finally spoke.

“Eat.”

It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t warm. But it was a start.

The servants retreated, leaving them alone. For a while, only the soft clink of silverware filled the air. Anaya kept her eyes down, determined not to be the first to speak.

Then, unexpectedly, Aarav broke the silence.

“You don’t like the food?”

Her head snapped up. His tone wasn’t mocking — just observant.

“I… It’s fine,” she muttered. “I’m not very hungry.”

“You’ve barely eaten since the wedding.”

Heat rose to her cheeks. “Maybe because I’m not exactly celebrating?”

Something flickered in his eyes — guilt, perhaps, or something softer. But just as quickly, it vanished.

“You’ll need strength if you’re going to survive here,” he said instead.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Survive? Is that what this marriage is to you? Survival?”

His fork stilled. For a heartbeat, his expression betrayed him — a shadow of pain crossing his features. But then his mask returned.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “Survival.”

The rest of the meal passed in heavy silence. But something had shifted. For the first time, she’d seen a crack in his armor, however small.

Later that night, Anaya found herself wandering near the hidden door again. The thought gnawed at her, pulling her closer like a magnet.

She reached out, fingertips grazing the seam.

“What did I tell you?”

Her heart leapt as Aarav’s voice cut through the dark. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching her.

“You can’t keep me from it forever,” she said, trying to steady her breath.

His eyes darkened, his steps slow as he approached. “And you can’t understand what’s behind it. Not yet.”

“Then tell me.”

He stopped inches away, the intensity of his presence making her pulse race. His voice dropped, low and almost dangerous.

“If you open that door, Anaya, you won’t just be breaking the contract… You’ll be stepping into a world you can’t walk back from.”

Her throat tightened. “What world?”

He leaned closer, his breath brushing her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

“One that destroys everyone who enters.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. Her heart hammered, torn between fear and fascination. He was too close, his words too heavy, and yet, in that second, she felt the first stirrings of something she hadn’t expected.

Not affection.

Not safety.

But a dangerous pull — the kind that both warned and tempted.

Aarav straightened abruptly, putting distance between them. His face was once again carved in stone.

“Stay away from this door, Anaya. For your own good.”

And with that, he walked away, leaving her trembling in the shadows.

That night, as she lay awake in the enormous, empty bed, her thoughts tangled.

A husband who claimed their marriage was survival.

A door he guarded with fear, not arrogance.

And a man who pretended not to care — but whose eyes betrayed something else entirely.

Anaya turned onto her side, clutching the blanket.

Whatever secrets Aarav Raichand carried, they were consuming him.