Chapter 3: Public Lessons

The room suddenly fell quiet, everyone glancing over, some openly, some on the sly.

I could feel the weight of their anticipation, the scent of anticipation itself mixing with the perfume and incense. Some sipped their chai, pretending to be interested in the flowers, but their eyes flicked over, hungry for drama.

Amid all the expectant eyes waiting for a spectacle,

I nodded, showing no temper at all.

"Of course."

She could feel the cold marble under her feet, her bangles pressing against her wrist as she folded her hands. Arjun Mehra stood to the side the entire time, his face expressionless, watching coldly.

Naturally, he didn't say a word.

After all—

He had known her longer than he'd known me, and their relationship was deeper.

Neha Sinha was thirty-two this year, two years older than Arjun.

They had been classmates at King's College, London.

As an assistant, she was smart and capable, mature and steady, with more power in the company than even some vice presidents.

As a mistress, she was discreet, humble, and respectful, able to keep Arjun enthralled.

Someone like her—

Compared to me, a high school dropout, a useless, brainless vase—

She was overwhelming.

Her confidence seemed to fill every corner of the room, while I shrank a little inside, remembering all the times Maaji had sighed, "Some people are born to rule, Riya. Others must learn to serve."

When I returned from parking the car and handed the keys to Neha Sinha, she was sitting on the sofa, beaming, chatting with my mother-in-law.

My mother-in-law, Kamala Mehra, was a piano teacher in her youth, always proud of her elegance, managing the family inside and out. She found anything vulgar intolerable and never deigned to touch such matters.

Even when I took care of these things, she found me vulgar and was never this pleasant to me.

I could almost hear her voice in my head, "You must always maintain grace, Riya, no matter what they say."

"Thank you for your trouble, Mrs. Mehra."

Neha Sinha spoke lightly, not even looking at me, her tone as casual as if speaking to a servant.

Arjun Mehra sat beside her, legs crossed, frowning slightly.

"Why so slow? All the female guests are waiting, and you left them hanging—is that how you treat our guests?"

Since taking over from my father-in-law, he already had the authority and presence of a leader.

His voice was clipped, cold as a Lucknow winter night, and every word stung. The guests looked away, pretending not to notice the rebuke, but their smirks betrayed them.

I pressed my lips together and said softly, "I ran into a guest outside and exchanged a few words. I thought, since you were here—"

My mother-in-law clicked her tongue in annoyance, cutting me off:

"Arjun is already exhausted from work, and you still make him handle these trivial things himself? You're really lazy. People from humble backgrounds just can't make it onto the big stage."

She always gestured dramatically as she spoke. At that moment, the red wine in her hand spilled onto her white kolhapuri sandals.

A servant rushed over with a towel to wipe them.

She looked at her shoes irritably, then snapped at me in exasperation:

"You do it."

She touched the tile with her fingertips before kneeling, the way her mother had taught her—to never show anger in front of elders, no matter what.

I bent down and squatted at my mother-in-law's feet, carefully wiping her shoes.

The tile was cool beneath my knees. I could feel everyone's gaze, heavy as the gold chain around my neck. My mother-in-law watched me, her expression unreadable. My hands shook slightly, but I did not dare show it.

Arjun said nothing.

Neha Sinha watched with a faint smile.

Nearby, all sorts of ambiguous glances were cast my way.

"This Mrs. Mehra is really too weak. Outside, she's pushed around by her husband's lover; inside, she's suppressed by the whole family. Being a daughter-in-law in a wealthy family really isn't a human life."

"Yes, she just wipes shoes when told. They say the Mehra family's eldest daughter-in-law is a clay idol—easy to pinch and mould. It's really true."

"Shh, be careful if the Mehra family hears. Last time someone gossiped, Dadaji Mehra had them forced out of the colony."

The murmurs made the air feel stifling, as if even the air conditioners couldn’t chase away the prickling heat of humiliation. I straightened my sari pleats and stood, my head bowed, face burning.