Chapter 6: The Sweet Trap

I handed Amit the gifts, and he laughed, saying I was too polite. I stared at him. “This week while I was gone, Ananya didn’t mess around, did she?”

He grinned, unwrapping the kaju katli, oblivious to the storm gathering behind my eyes. “Arrey yaar, you still suspect your wife?”

“Rohan, let me tell you, men should be broad-minded. I think you’ve watched too many daily soaps at home—where in real life are there so many cheating stories?”

He chuckled, rolling his eyes, as if I was the biggest fool in Mumbai. My blood simmered, but I smiled along, biding my time.

Watching him boast shamelessly in front of me—why didn’t I notice before how belittling his words were to me? Turns out, the so-called good brother, good friend, was just my wishful thinking. The last bit of hesitation about whether to expose everything vanished without a trace at this moment.

I saw clearly, for the first time, the condescension in his tone—the arrogance that comes from getting away with too much for too long.

“Mm, you’re right. I’ve learned.”

I forced a smile, letting him believe I was still clueless. One last performance, for old time’s sake.

Then I invited Amit, “Next week my father-in-law is turning sixty-five. Come have a drink.”

His eyebrows shot up, surprise flickering across his face. “Family dinner, haan? Arey, maybe I shouldn’t come?”

He hesitated. “It’s a family dinner, maybe I shouldn’t go?”

I laughed. “What’s wrong with that? My father-in-law is throwing a big party. You’re my brother and Ananya’s boss—how could you not be family?”

I clapped him on the back, just as he’d done for me all these years. This time, I watched the doubt flicker behind his eyes.

Only then did Amit agree.

The birthday dinner was my idea. My father-in-law originally just wanted to invite relatives and friends for a meal at home, but I insisted on making it grand, saying he was a respected teacher at a local CBSE school, well known among neighbours, and this year, after his retirement—

I ordered extra plates of samosas and jalebis, wanting the celebration to look perfect—at least on the outside.

I planned every detail, down to the last plate of samosas. This was going to be a night no one would forget.

I glanced at the WhatsApp group for the party, my finger hovering over the guest list. It was time to set the stage for the final act.