Chapter 4: Cracks in the Facade

Arjun had just finished a video call with a business partner when he saw the obviously tear-stained Sneha standing there with the necklace box, staring down at her toes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, confused.

Before she could answer, Sneha’s tears began to fall. She choked out softly, “Sir, please take this necklace back. I don’t dare accept it.”

A hint of displeasure flashed across Arjun’s face. His instincts told him something had happened, but he didn’t ask directly. He just watched her quietly. The weight of the situation was clear from his silence; in our company, Arjun’s quiet was always more frightening than his anger.

Sneha bit her lip, hesitated for a long time, and finally told him everything that had happened in the office that day.

“Sir, I’m sorry for causing you trouble. I just posted on Instagram to encourage myself. I didn’t know Ma’am would find out.”

She sobbed, “I didn’t expect Ma’am to be so angry.”

She looked as pitiful as a frightened little rabbit.

“Sir, I want to apologise to Ma’am. May I explain to her in person?”

Arjun never had the habit of checking social media. His time was always filled with work. But as the company head, he knew all too well how gossip spreads, and his usually stern face grew even colder.

“I understand,” he said in a low voice.

That night, Arjun brought Sneha home.

She stood timidly behind him. The smell of ghee from the kitchen lingered in the air; the housekeeper had just finished making kheer. It was the sort of evening when home should feel warm, but tension lingered like a bad aftertaste.

“I brought Sneha here so she could explain things to you in person,” Arjun sighed. “Priya, Sneha is just my secretary. Because of what happened yesterday, I gave her a gift to apologise, nothing more.”

I stirred my silver spoon and finished the kheer the housekeeper had made.

I let the sweetness melt on my tongue a moment longer, not looking up, taking my time. It was a small assertion of power; in our house, the wife always set the pace of difficult conversations.

“Mrs Arjun, I’m sorry.”

Sneha bowed to me, her voice trembling, soft and weak. In her posture was the apology of a girl who knew her place, who had perhaps overstepped and was now scrambling to fix things.

“It’s the first time I’ve ever received such an expensive gift. I was just too happy and got carried away. If I did anything to upset you, please tell me. I’ll definitely change.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Sneha, right?”

She glanced at Arjun, as if seeking courage from him, and nodded slowly. She was young—barely out of college, perhaps still uncertain about her place in the world. I almost felt sorry for her, but only almost.

Seeing this young woman, as fearless as a newborn calf, still insisting on challenging me, I found it amusing.

“I’m not your teacher or your boss—I don’t have time to teach you how to behave. But I am Arjun’s wife. So, if anyone tries to get close to my husband, I won’t give her a second chance.”

My voice was soft but sharp, the way my grandmother used to scold the household help—never shouting, but always with a finality that left no room for doubt.

Sneha probably had never met someone as direct as me. Her face flushed with embarrassment and she could only shrink back, looking even more fragile.

“Priya, Sneha came to apologise to you,” Arjun said. He knows my temperament and my methods. Even if he didn’t approve of what I did today, he understood how I felt. So he didn’t get angry—he simply let Sneha apologise, already making a concession to smooth things over.

Everyone here is smart. Even a single look is enough to understand each other’s intentions.

“I understand,” I said, deciding to give Arjun a chance. After all, he hadn’t actually cheated.

“But there can’t be a next time. No matter who it is.”