Chapter 2: The Reluctant Heir

Rohan’s mind might have been broken, but his body looked like it had been sculpted by the old Bollywood gods themselves.

Even hunched over, the shadows from the ceiling fan traced patterns across his back, highlighting muscles that seemed carved from memory. He had the kind of complexion you see in vintage Bollywood posters, and a jawline sharp enough to make even TV serial heroes jealous. I remembered the way the Sophia College girls would giggle behind their hands whenever he passed by, their eyes darting, hoping for a glance that never came.

His shoulders were broad, his waist lean and athletic—a walking reminder that the universe sometimes plays favourites.

It was almost unfair. He had it all: height, that dusky stubble, the kind of presence that made even Bandra aunties pause mid-bargain at the fish market. Even in a faded FC Barcelona jersey, he looked like he belonged on a film hoarding, not in a hospital ward.

One look and anyone could see—he was made for handling life, or at least for driving someone wild.

But now, all that gorgeousness was steered by a mind lost somewhere far away.

All he cared about was Chhota Bheem.

The ridiculousness of my situation made me want to laugh and cry together. Here I was—the so-called catch of South Mumbai—about to wrestle with a cartoon for my husband’s attention.

I tugged at my deep maroon lace nightdress, its neckline daring and my fair skin almost glowing in the harsh tube light.

Still, not even a glance.

Me, Ananya—blessed with beauty and a killer figure—never once lacked for male attention wherever I went.

Their eyes would follow me as I walked past, the rickshaw’s engine sputtering and the guard’s chai glass pausing mid-air. But here, in this gilded cage, I might as well have been invisible.

When had I ever been so thoroughly ignored?

I snatched the Chhota Bheem from his hand and stuffed it right down my cleavage.

The thin fabric made the toy’s chill press sharply against my skin. I felt a surge of absurdity—was this what my life had come to? A quick, bittersweet flash of childhood: Sunday mornings, Chhota Bheem on TV, my hair in two plaits. Now, he was my rival.

“Want it?” I hooked my finger, flashing a cheeky smile. “Come and get it yourself.”

Finally, Rohan looked up.

His thick black lashes framed eyes as clear and innocent as a puppy’s.

His gaze dropped, landing on my chest with the intensity of a kid spotting candy.

He looked utterly desperate.

“Can’t find it,” he said.

I leaned forward, baring a little more, tempting him. “Look again~”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes tracing the line of my body.

My breath quickened, chest rising and falling.

“Did you find it?” I teased.

“Red,” he answered, his voice cool, sending a shiver up my spine.

He was so unintentionally seductive, I nearly melted on the spot—but I managed to keep teasing.

“No, it’s pink.”

He frowned, dead serious. “Chhota Bheem’s transformation is red.”

Right now, I wanted nothing more than to smack him until he was red all over.

But looking at that mouthwatering body, and thinking of the thirty crores about to be mine, I forced myself to calm down. I took a deep breath—the kind you take before facing your mother’s scolding. “Bas Ananya, thoda patience. It’s not like I can back out now.”

“Since you’ve already seen everything…” I softened my voice, trailing my fingers along my neckline to guide his gaze. “Don’t you want to take it out yourself?”

I stepped lightly across the carpet, the hem of my nightdress swaying. Rohan’s eyes grew darker—I couldn’t tell if it was for me or that stubborn cartoon hero.

But as he drew closer, I almost wanted to bow to Chhota Bheem for help.

Closer, and closer.

Rohan bent down, his breath warm against my collarbone, fingers hovering just an inch from my skin—just a little more and he’d touch me.

I held my breath, heart pounding—

And then, this infuriating man turned around and pulled another Chhota Bheem out of the bedside drawer.

I nearly burst out laughing. Who keeps a backup Chhota Bheem? Only my crazy new husband, clearly. “Yeh toh hadh ho gayi!”

Are you kidding me…

When he was normal, he’d put on a cold face just to rile me up. Now, with his mind lost, he was even better at tormenting me.

Fine, Rohan. Just you wait.

For thirty crores, I’ll do whatever it takes.

Tonight, even if I have to work like a mango picker at harvest, I’m going to sleep with him.