Page 80 of Entangled Vows

“Don’t worry about her,” Vikram muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s just... driving me insane.”

“That’s good. Means she’s settling in just fine,” Mohit teased.

Vikram shot him a sideways glare. “What? By tormenting me on a daily basis?”

“Nope,” Mohit said, smirking. “By keeping you on your toes. You like being in control, Vicky, but Mahi? She doesn’t let anyone run the show alone.”

Vikram leaned back, his jaw tense. “Yeah. That’s becoming painfully clear.”

“And you’re just sitting there, taking it all. Wow. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Vikram scoffed. “She’s not just yourpain-in-the-asslittle sister anymore. She’s my fucking wife.”

Mohit clapped him on the back with mock sympathy and chuckled, “Exactly. You married the storm, bro. Now don’t act surprised when it rains.”

27

It was almost 11:30 at night when Vikram stepped inside the house, his jacket slung over one shoulder, phone still pressed to his ear. He was exhausted. The day had stretched longer than he’d anticipated. His body was begging for a hot shower, a stiff drink, and much-needed silence.

“Email me the presentation,” he said curtly. “I’ll go over it tonight and get back to you by morning.”

He ended the call with a sigh and rolled his neck to ease the tension. The house was unusually quiet. Mahika should’ve been back from the spa by now. His mind went back to their phone call that afternoon. As expected, it had been all sass and zero substance. Loosening his tie, he walked into his bedroom, half-expecting to find her pretending to be asleep just to avoid him. Instead, it was empty. The sound of the water running behind the bathroom door told him she was still in there.

He walked over to the side console and tugged off his cufflinks, his eyes landing briefly on the bunny curled up on the floor, snoring like he actually paid rent. Shaking his head, he moved to the wardrobe, unbuttoning his shirt as he pulled the door open… and froze.

What the—

He blinked. Closed the door. Opened it again. As if it would change the inside of the wardrobe in two seconds. Nope. It was still the same. His collection of black, navy, and charcoalsuits had disappeared. Instead, shirts and suits in every pastel shade now hung there in a neat line.

Bloody. Hell.

Pastel red. Lavender. Lilac. Mint. Powder blue. It looked like a unicorn had thrown up in his wardrobe.

“What the fuck…” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head like a man who already knew who the culprit was.

“Evening, husband,” came Mahika’s voice, sweet, smug, and sinful.

He turned around to ask her what the fuck was this… and lost the ability to form a single coherent thought.

Mahika leaned against the bathroom doorway, all bare legs and damp hair, wrapped in a satin nightie that clung to her curves like a second skin. She looked like a sexy siren. Her skin glowed. Her expression was full of mischief. And the look in her eyes said it all. It was like her gaze was screaming, ‘I dare you to yell at me.’

For a second, he forgot his anger. Forgot his name, too.

He shut his eyes and drew in a slow breath. “Momo.”

“Yes?”

“Where are my shirts and suits?” he croaked out.

“In the wardrobe,” she replied with an eye roll, as ifhewere the clueless one. “Just not… yours.”

His jaw tightened. “Don’t be a brat, Momo. Try again.”

“They’re safe, Grizz.” She stepped forward, her hips swaying like a challenge. “Just... temporarily relocated.”

His eyes narrowed. “You replaced every shirt and suit I own with those pastel crap.”

“You’re welcome!” she chirped in a sugary voice.