Page 93 of Wasted Grace

Then he breaks it. Casual. Like we’re lovers sharing a quiet dinner and not a mark and his bodyguard.

“I’m resuming work next Monday,” he says mid-chew, as if it’s dinner table talk and not a bomb.

I hum in response, noncommittal.

“Dev’s been keeping me posted. On Mehul. On what he’s doing with our systems.”

I frown at my plate. I know where this is going, and I’m not in the mood for war updates disguised as small talk.

“If this is your attempt at conversation,” I murmur, “try harder. I already know everything. Dev updates me too.”

He goes quiet. But I can feel it—his gaze on me, heavy and searching. Burning into my forehead like it’ll force something out of me I haven’t offered in years.

I exhale. Long. Controlled.

This isn’t me snapping. It isn’t even me losing patience.

This is the slow decay of a wall he hasn’t even touched—because maybe,just maybe,he’s lettingmechoose whether or not to break it.

But that doesn’t mean it’s easy. Doesn’t mean I’m ready.

Still, the words come out anyway.

“When?” I ask suddenly. Flat. “When did you get that tattoo?”

He blinks as if he didn’t see that coming. Maybe he didn’t. He clears his throat and puts his spoon down. The air shifts.

“About... six, maybe seven months after you left.”

I scoff. Too bitter. But I don’t stop.

“Didn’t it feel weird, having Rohi stare at my name while you fucked her?”

There it is. The grenade. Pulled and thrown before I could stop myself. I immediately regret it. My breath stutters in my chest.

He stares down at his plate. And that flicker—guilt—crosses his face.

“She never saw it,” he says, voice low. Almost shameful.

My head jerks back slightly, because I didn’t expect that. I don’t know what thehellto do with it.

“It wasn’t what you think,” he continues, still not meeting my eyes. “We were almost... clothed. The entire time.”

His voice falters. Breaks in places I didn’t expect.

“It wasn’t a grand reunion. It wasn’tclosure. It was...” His mouth twists. “A mistake. One I knew I was making even while I was doing it.”

I stay quiet. My hands curl into fists under the table.

“Aarohi was a mistake,” he says again. “I shouldn’t have slept with her. I shouldn’t have touched her, even if I thought you were—” His voice catches. “Dead.”

The word lands with a thud between us.

“Even then,” he adds, quieter, “I knew I was betraying something sacred. Even in death, you didn’t leave me.”

I blink. Once. Twice. And then I scoff again. Bitterer this time. Too raw to be graceful.

“You can’t say that. You don’tgetto say that.”