Page 39 of Entangled Vows (Destined Diaries #2)

The reception was in full swing. Soft music played in the background, mingling with the sounds of people laughing and chatting.

Black-waistcoated servers navigated the crowd, carrying silver trays laden with champagne and hors d’oeuvres.

Expensive cologne permeated the air, and designer outfits sparkled under the lights.

From above, the crystal chandeliers bathed the ballroom in a warm, golden glow, highlighting its opulent ambience.

Mahika and Vikram played their parts with practiced ease.

Everything, from their poised entrance to the quiet smiles and polite nods they gave to politicians, industrialists, and socialites, played out like a flawlessly choreographed performance.

There were some fresh faces among the usual, elite people, and they went through the same cycle of introductions and practiced smiles.

Everyone was there, except the wild bunch of Vikram’s friends and, of course, his brother and her best friend, Suraj.

Suraj’s absence had settled into a dull ache she had grown used to, though she still wondered where the hell he had vanished. Even Ishika hadn’t received a single reply to her messages. The deafening silence from him made her feel more isolated, even in the middle of this crowd.

Mahika sighed, attempting to find some small comfort in the fact that her mother was at least here today.

Mohit had promised he’d bring her and make sure she stayed for a while.

Her brief presence comforted her and kept the edge of bitterness from settling inside her completely.

At least Mohit was always by her side, no matter what.

He had become her pillar of strength, stepping in wherever their mother’s support felt short.

She pushed her thoughts away. She didn’t want to think about how fractured her family really was. Not today.

Not now, especially not when she saw Vikram hogging all the attention as he was standing with a group of people. Her eyes narrowed when he laughed at something. What could be so amusing? She didn’t understand how his face could shift so easily, so smoothly.

The past couple of days had only heightened her curiosity, making her wonder what truly went on behind Vikram’s calm, unreadable exterior.

Like his full collection of monochrome shirts was still missing, and she had half-expected him to blow up in anger, to throw a fit, or to snap with some cutting remark, but he hadn’t.

Instead, he moved on and started wearing pastel colours, unbothered, as if nothing were out of place.

Watching him stride through the office in his colourful attire, unfazed by the curious stares, was a guilty pleasure. To make matters worse, he looked too good in them. Too good. Too distracting. He was totally oblivious to the effect he had on her with every casual smirk and rolled-up sleeve.

Just then, out of nowhere, a strange sensation snapped her back to reality and broke her thoughts.

It was that same creepy, unwelcome feeling that slithered on her skin and knotted itself in her stomach when she was in public.

She looked around, checking the room, but saw nothing.

And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, the cold prickling at the back of her neck refusing to subside.

“Are you okay? You look flushed.” Ishika tilted her head and frowned, concerned.

“Nothing. Wow, is it getting warm in here?” Mahika asked too quickly, brushing it off, because if Ishika caught a whiff of her real worry, she would freak out over nothing.

“What happened?” Mohit’s voice came from behind them. “You look a little pale, Mahi.”

“Nothing, Mo. I’m… I’m fine. It’s just a bit warm in here.” Mahika forced a smile.

Mohit frowned and placed his palm on her forehead. “Mahi, it’s actually quite pleasant here. Are you sure you’re fine? You don’t seem like yourself. Do you have a fever or something?”

Shaking her head, she said, “No. It’s probably just the champagne. You should go and circulate. Really, I’m fine.”

Mohit hesitated for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. He walked away, exchanging a brief look with Ishika.

Mahika ignored her growing anxiety and refocused on the night and the man who was likely the source of all her problems. Speaking of said man, she knew logic had long since left the building when it came to him.

It had to be hormones. Or maybe temporary insanity.

Otherwise, she wouldn’t have done what she did two nights ago.

And yet, two nights ago, she had pushed things further. She had returned from the spa feeling relaxed and clear-headed, until she found Vikram standing in front of his wardrobe, completely losing it over the missing blacks and greys.

She knew she should have walked away. But she didn’t. Instead, she leaned against the doorframe, smiling sweetly while watching him mutter curses under his breath. Her mind told her to turn around, to stop whatever impulsive thought was forming in her mind, but her body refused to listen.

He was her husband, after all. And a small, dangerous part of her believed she had every right to want him.

To touch him. So she had stepped closer and closer, until her lips hovered near his jaw, her breath brushing the curve of his throat.

The urge to kiss him had burned hot and fast, and for a moment, she had imagined her mouth trailing along the sharp lines of his body, tasting that impossible tension between them.

But somehow, God knows how… sanity had prevailed. She’d stepped back, slipped under the covers, and lay there with her heart pounding too fast, as she tried to calm the heat and silence the ache that followed her into sleep.

Between his domineering personality, his fearless look, and eyes that seemed to see straight through her, it felt like there was something deeper at play than just revenge.

Wearing those revealing nighties made her feel like she was walking a tightrope; outwardly calm, but a nervous wreck inside.

Still, she never once changed back into her regular pyjamas.

Some reckless part of her wanted to crack his composure, to be the reason he lost control.

And Vikram… God. He always showed up looking like a hot mess after work, shirt undone, sleeves up, tie loose, and hair all messed up like he’d been running his hands through it.

All rough and rumpled masculinity, a landscape of stubble and corded muscle.

And her body betrayed her every single time.

She had never been so aware of her own skin or so aware of how much she needed him.

However, she also knew that this had been building up.

She knew it in her heart that this had been coming for a long time.

All the squabbling, all the strain, all that back and forth.

This tug-of-war had been going on forever.

He’d known exactly how to push her buttons, even as a teenager.

But maybe… it had been more than just friction. Maybe it had always been attraction.

She mentally smacked herself. This was a temporary, transactional marriage.

Nothing more. She was in it only for the beach house, not for him.

It was time to stop letting her thoughts gallop straight into delusion-ville.

Because there was nothing smart about wanting your temporary husband to unzip your dress and ruin your lipstick in the middle of your own wedding reception.

She saw him standing by the courtyard bar, the diffused light draping him in a halo.

And God help her, he looked unfairly sexy in that ridiculous lilac suit she’d made him wear.

From his styled hair to his polished shoes, he was the epitome of dangerously sexy.

Years had only worked in his favour, and she hated how much she noticed.

Especially now, as he stood surrounded by stunning women with gorgeous outfits, high heels, and glossy smiles, hanging on his every word.

And he was fucking smiling. Not that smug smirk he reserved for her, but a real smile. Something sharp twisted in her chest, and her fingers clenched around her champagne glass.

Was it jealousy? Or possessiveness? Or lust? Or maybe all of it!

Because whatever it was, she wanted to grab him by his silk tie and claim him right there, in front of all those snobbish women. Whatever it was, it clung to her like green smoke.

That lilac suit did nothing to tame his masculine charisma.

How the hell did that pastel ensemble make him look more wild, more powerful, and more dangerous?

Even the diamond stud in his left ear only added to the effect.

He looked unapologetically and undeniably male.

And, for now… for this one year, he was all hers.

“Stop staring at them. You’ll burn those preened socialites with your eyes,” Ishika murmured, nudging her in the side.

Mahika blinked, her cheeks flushing at being caught red-handed. “I wasn’t staring,” she retorted.

Ishika’s eyebrow went up. “Girl, you were practically spitting fire.”

“I wasn’t,” she mumbled.

“Uh-huh,” Ishika replied, sceptically. “You’re following his every breath like a bloodhound.”

Mahika glared sharply at her. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

A sudden, tingling awareness washed over her skin, settling low in her stomach.

She knew who it was without turning around.

She felt him before she saw him. And when she finally looked up, their eyes locked.

The connection was instant. Intense. His gaze held hers in a silent dare, as if he knew exactly the kind of effect he had on her.

“I’m going to grab some hors d’oeuvres,” Ishika said, her voice light with mischief. “Because I’m hungry, but clearly not the kind of hungry you two are.”

Before Mahika could respond, Ishika leaned in and gave her a playful pinch. Then she slipped away into the crowd, leaving Mahika standing there, frozen in place, her heart thudding wildly as her husband walked towards her with that look in his eyes. The kind that made her forget how to breathe.