Page 17 of Lawfully Yours

Straightening her spine, she stepped back and called out for the peon.

“Can someone load the damn coffee beans in the machine?”

One of the pantry staff hurried in, nodding quickly.

“Let me know once it’s done,” she said, before walking out.

******************

Late Night

The drive back home was long, not in distance, but in thought. The city lights blurred past Kushal, as he maneuvered his Mercedes through the quiet roads. The world outside was alive—restaurants filled with late-night diners, couples walking hand in hand along the pavements, people going about their lives without a care in the world. Yet inside his car, there was only silence.

It wasn’t the kind of silence that brought peace; it was the kind that festered, stretched thick with unresolved battles and conversations left unfinished. It was the kind of silence that reminded him he wasalone.

Not that it mattered. Not that it ever should.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened as his mind replayed the events of the day.

Her accusations.

Her reminder ofwhyhe had married her.

“You married me to take over Verma & Associates.”

She had accused him, with certainty, with disdain. He scoffed under his breath as he pulled into the underground parking of his penthouse building.

He didn’t need reminders. He didn’t need her reminding him, as if he were some desperate man who had latched onto her uncle’s offer.

He was not.

He had worked damn hard to be where he was. No one had handed him anything for free.

He stepped out, tossing the keys into his pocket, and took the private elevator up to the top floor. When the doors finally slid open, he stepped into the dark, empty space that was his home.

The penthouse was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the entire living area, offering an unobstructed view of the city skyline. Every inch of the space was designed for luxury; from the sleek leather sofas to the glass coffee table, the modern art adorning the walls, and the soft ambient lighting that adjusted with a remote.

It was a home meant to be lived in.

And yet, it never felt more vacant.

Tossing his car keys onto the marble countertop, he loosened his tie and threw his blazer over the couch.

One by one, he shed the formalities, the expensive Rolex, the cufflinks, the neatly tucked-in shirt, all carelessly discarded.

By the time he reached his bedroom, he was bare-chested, standing under the soft glow of the dim lights, staring at the bed that had remained untouched on one side for the past nine months.

Nine months.

That was how long it had been since she left. Since she walked out, announcing she wanted a divorce.

The same woman who had once lived here with him.

Not that their marriage was ever like the ones people expected. They had never been lovers, never crossed boundaries. But she had been here.

And now?

Now this place felt more like a penthouse suite in a hotel than an actual home.