Chapter 3: The New Secretary

Curiosity gnawed at me—who exactly was this so-called "female lead"? Determined, I woke early and made my way to Arjun’s company.

My reflection in the elevator doors—kohl-lined eyes, deep plum lipstick, perfectly curled hair—gave me a tiny surge of confidence. In his private lift, my heels made a rhythmic click against the polished granite, each step echoing my heartbeats. The distant clatter of chai cups and the hum of the water cooler mixed with the cleaning aunty’s mop strokes on the corridor floor, making the office feel alive and familiar.

Arjun’s assistant, Priya, looked up in surprise before greeting me with her usual warmth. "Madam, what brings you here today?"

Priya always kept her hair in a neat bun and her kurta crisp. She had treated me with respect since my first day at the office party.

I flicked my hair dramatically, slipping off my sunglasses with a playful grin. "What, am I not welcome or what?"

She laughed, reaching for the phone. "Arey, of course you are! I’ll inform sir—"

I pressed her hand down, and her bangles jingled softly. "No need, Priya. I’ll go in myself."

She gave me an encouraging nod as I turned towards Arjun’s office.

Before I could reach the door, a sweet, gentle voice floated out: "Sir, you can’t skip lunch. It’s not good for your health."

There was a soft north-Indian lilt to her words. Arjun’s rough reply followed: "Not hungry."

"I made some khichdi and paneer curry, Sir. Please have a little."

Peeking through the crack, I saw her—white kurti, pink tiffin in hand, sliding it across Arjun’s desk. Arjun pressed his fingers to his forehead, barely glancing at the food.

The aroma of ghee and cumin wafted through the air, and sure enough, the bullet comments burst into life.

[Ahhh, khichdi and paneer curry! Isn’t this the scene where the hero and heroine end up cooking together and making out in the kitchen?]

[After eating this, the hero finally warms up to the heroine, right?]

[Such a cliché.]

[The size difference between the leads—I want to fast-forward to the part where the hero bullies the heroine.]

[I’ll pay for early access!]

[But honestly, I feel a little bad for the supporting female.]

[What’s the point of pitying her? Kick the villainous supporting female out!]

My temper flared. Me—a well-dressed, confident woman—reduced to a villain, and now they wanted me gone? For a second, I wanted to throw my sunglasses to the floor in full filmi style. Instead, I pushed open the door, the sharp tap of my stilettos slicing through the awkwardness as both looked up.

Arjun’s gaze flickered, then went cold. "What are you doing here?"

His jaw tightened, a pulse beating near his temple. I curled my lips, glancing at the girl beside him. "Of course, I came to see if my husband’s eating properly."

The secretary, Sneha, smiled nervously, fiddling with her dupatta. She was wheatish, ordinary features but a certain fresh innocence. Her hands twisted the fabric as she avoided my eyes.

I asked, feigning curiosity, "Aur kaun hai yeh?"

Arjun replied, voice flat, "New secretary. Sneha."

"Little secretary, hmm..." I drawled, my tone loaded with meaning. The tension in the room thickened as Sneha’s cheeks turned pink.

Sneha threw a nervous glance at Arjun, who waved her away. "You can go, Sneha."

My heart dropped. Not once did he introduce me as his wife.

[Why do the hero and heroine have zero chemistry?]

[The heroine is pretty proactive.]

[The hero has a family, so he won’t let himself make a mistake, but he can’t help being moved.]

[The supporting female just walked in on 18cm heels—what a queen.]

[Hahahahahaha.]

Arjun’s raspy voice broke my thoughts. "Khana khaya?"

I shook my head. He shrugged on his jacket and walked over. "Chalo, I’ll take you for lunch."

His tone was practical, but his hand hovered awkwardly at his side. I reached for his arm, but he said quietly, "Meera, yahan pe thoda sambhal ke, please."

I hid my trembling hands under my dupatta, biting my lip to stop the sting of tears. The secretary’s perfume lingered as we left, mixing with the distant sound of a chaiwala’s radio playing old Bollywood hits in the corridor.