Shreya changed the atmosphere of the entire house.
I-someone with three husbands, someone who could choose any of them-still chose to sleep alone that night.
Watching her grow so desperate to hurt us stirred something familiar in me.
It reminded me of myself-six months ago-when I was desperate enough to marry a man who stayed with me for three years, only for my property.
Three years back.
Divya and I walked into the company for a job interview. Rohan was there too-waiting, just like us.
He watched as we struggled to park the car.
"You drive one of those cars," he said, surprised, "and you're still here for a job interview?"
Truth-it was the cheapest car in my house.
And we were interviewing at my father's company, where no one knew I was his daughter.
My father didn't want me to be noticed.
This was his way of teaching me how to survive without privilege.
But to Rohan, it was still something worth noticing.
"That's my dream car," he said.
"It's her father's car," Divya added.
"Obviously," he laughed. "We're all here for interviews-we're not getting retired today."
We couldn't relate, but we laughed anyway.
There was an easy charm about him.
As we worked in the same environment, I began to notice things-how skilled he was, how well-mannered, how seniors trusted him.
And with me, he was always gentle.
He had big dreams.
He wanted to build a home for his parents.
He wanted to work hard and rise to a position of real authority in a company.
But truthfully, he wasn't as prepared as I was.
Not because he lacked effort-
but because my life had been shaped around business from a very young age.
Divya and I were taught business by my father when we were twelve.
While most people begin learning these things at sixteen or seventeen, we had already been trained for years.
We dreamed of building companies of our own.
Divya wanted to create a tech company-my father even promised to invest in it.
I wanted to turn my father's existing companies into billion-dollar enterprises.
That's why I worked everywhere, at every level.
I started in my father's companies at sixteen, moving through roles most people would never choose to begin with.
By the time I met him, I carried more than eight years of real experience-
even though, on paper, it showed only three.
He had two.
And that difference-quiet and invisible-mattered more than either of us realized back then.
It showed in everything we did-
every presentation, every proposal of mine that was approved, and every one of his that was rejected.
He often asked how I was so good at my job.
I could never say years of grooming and experience.
So I smiled and said, "Divya helped."
Sometimes, "My father helped."
Slowly, he began asking me for help-
with presentations, proposals, strategies, and more.
I helped.
Not for him-but for the company.
Still, watching him improve made me happy.
When the time came for my promotion, I rejected it. I knew I would quit soon.
People assumed I did it so he could get the position.
He assumed I did it because I loved him.
He became more attentive-
more flowers, more praise, more compliments.
And somewhere along the way, I started falling for him too.
One day, while we were walking through a mall, he stopped in front of a store.
"Wow," he said, holding up a T-shirt. "This is so nice. I wish I could afford it."
"How much is it?" I asked.
"Twelve thousand," he replied. "That's one-third of my salary."
He laughed. "Will you gift it to me?"
I did.
For me, it wasn't expensive.
He was extremely happy. He showed it off everywhere.
I thought it was his way of expressing love.
Later, I realized-it was his way of expressing luxury.
After that day, everything changed.
His words stayed the same.
His actions didn't.
Our usual restaurants turned into fancy ones.
Not fancy for me-but for him.
And somehow, I was always the one paying.
Divya warned me.
She told me to stop hanging out with him before I got used.
But I was deeply in love.
Others in the office noticed it too.
Shaurya-one of my friends-joined the company a year later.
His father was the CEO.
We knew each other well, but no one else knew about us.
One evening, I saw him leaving.
"Hey, Shaurya, where are you going?" I asked.
"Home."
"Drop me too."
He pressed his lips. "I don't have a car."
I laughed.
In our families, the cheaper the vehicle, the stricter the parents.
We grew up surrounded by luxury cars-but weren't allowed to touch them.
Seeing him on a bike wasn't surprising.
It felt familiar.
"Where's your car?" he asked.
We were childhood friends-we understood the real meaning behind our jokes.
What he meant was: Where's your luxury car?
He was reminding me that my situation wasn't very different from his.
That day, Rohan had taken my car.
He wanted to go out with his friends and needed a vehicle.
"Rohan is taking my car," I said.
"Why?"
"He's going to an office party."
"Why aren't you going?"
"It has only five seats."
Shaurya stared at me. "What?"
"Are you blind?" he said, irritated.
That day, he was furious.
It was his last day in the office, so he didn't care who knew who he was.
He called his driver and asked him to bring his most expensive car.
That evening, we arrived the way we usually should have-
in luxury cars, luxury clothes, luxury shoes.
As we reached the venue, Rohan looked at the car and said,
"Wow. I wish I had a girlfriend this rich."
Everyone laughed.
One girl added, "But aren't we already using your girlfriend's car?"
His smile faded.
"If I had the option to switch girlfriends," he said,
"I'd choose the one riding in this car."
"Wowww," his colleague reacted.
Then Shaurya stepped out of the driver's seat.
Rohan froze.
"Isn't that Shaurya?" someone whispered.
"Yes," Rohan said slowly. "But how is he driving such an expensive car?"
*Is he a driver for someone rich?*
Rohan wondered.
"So you became a driver after leaving our office?" he asked, just as I stepped out.
We turned back to see Shaurya casually tossing the keys to someone so the car could be parked.
I smiled and waved at the others as we walked toward them.
"He's my childhood friend," I said lightly.
"His father is the CEO of our company. He'd only be a driver for friends or family."
I tried to soften the remark.
His smile disappeared.
"Why would a CEO's son work at that position?" he asked.
"Let's sit and talk," Shaurya said calmly.
As we entered the restaurant, Shaurya's girlfriend approached us.
She was the owner.
Her eyes went straight to the car.
She laughed. "Finally, you were allowed to touch this car."
We laughed.
"He used to come to the office on a bike," I added.
Her jaw dropped.
"Do you want to see her car?" Shaurya asked.
"Yes," she said immediately.
He slipped an arm around her waist and pointed toward my car.
The car Rohan had dreamed of.
She laughed harder.
"Oh my God."
"Finally, you can start your company," she told Shaurya.
"Finally," he agreed.
"You should invest a big sum in his company," she said, looking at me.
Shaurya laughed nervously.
"She isn't that rich," he said quickly.
"She's here with her office colleagues-they don't know."
"Time," she corrected herself. "I meant a lot of time."
Rohan and the others nodded.
They understood I was well-connected.
They still didn't understand how rich I actually was.
But Rohan understood something else.
He realized he had found someone he could use as a ladder.
"Baby, let's sit," he said suddenly.
As if remembering-too late-that I was his girlfriend.
From that day onward, his behavior changed completely.