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Cracks in the Glass

The gala was over. The guests had left. The lights had dimmed.

But the pressure hadn’t.

Ruhan stepped into his car with a deep breath, tugging at his tie like it was choking him. His jaw was tight, his head pounding. The evening had gone as planned—smiles, speeches, pictures—but the whole thing had felt like standing under a spotlight, playing a part he hadn’t auditioned for.

Across from him, in the backseat, Aaryan sat casually with one leg crossed, swirling a glass of leftover champagne as if they were just returning from a pleasant date.

“You looked good tonight,” he said without looking up. “Very convincing.”

Ruhan shot him a glare. “I wasn’t trying to convince anyone. I just did what I had to.”

Aaryan raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “That’s what makes you dangerous, Sehgal. You don’t even know how well you lie.”

Ruhan turned his head toward the window, watching the city lights flash by. “I don’t enjoy this.”

“No one said you had to,” Aaryan replied smoothly. “You just have to keep pretending.”

The silence that followed was heavy. The car hummed along the road, the soft sound of tires against asphalt the only background noise. Ruhan could feel Aaryan watching him. Not casually—intently. Like he was trying to read a book with missing pages.

After a long pause, Aaryan spoke again, quieter this time.

“You really hate me, don’t you?”

Ruhan’s eyes didn’t leave the window. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Aaryan said, setting his glass down, “you hate what I represent. Control. Power. The fact that I took away your choices.”

Ruhan turned slowly to face him. “You think this is about business?”

“It’s always about business.” Aaryan leaned forward. “But for you, it’s personal. And that’s what makes you interesting.”

Ruhan stared at him, his voice low and cold. “You think this is a game.”

“It is a game,” Aaryan replied. “You’re just not used to playing with someone who’s better at it.”

Before Ruhan could respond, the car pulled up in front of Aaryan’s penthouse. The driver opened the door, but Aaryan didn’t move.

“You’re coming up,” he said, as if it were obvious.

Ruhan raised an eyebrow. “Why would I do that?”

Aaryan smirked. “Because the media thinks we spent the night together after our big public debut. And you really don’t want them asking questions, do you?”

Ruhan clenched his jaw but stepped out of the car. This was the price of the deal. His privacy. His peace. His pride.

The penthouse was just as sleek and cold as the man who owned it—floor-to-ceiling windows, sharp lines, black marble, expensive art. It felt more like a trophy case than a home.

As the door shut behind them, Ruhan finally spoke. “How long do you plan to keep this up?”

Aaryan walked toward the kitchen, pouring himself another drink. “The merger needs time to settle. The media needs a few more headlines. Investors need reassurance. So, a few months… maybe a year.”

Ruhan scoffed. “A year?”

Aaryan tilted his head. “Is that a problem?”

“It’s insane,” Ruhan muttered. “Pretending to be engaged to someone I can’t even stand for a year?”

Aaryan stepped closer, his tone shifting. “And yet here you are. In my home. Wearing my ring.”

Ruhan’s eyes dropped briefly to his hand—the simple but expensive silver band Aaryan had insisted on at the press conference. It felt heavier than it looked.

“Don’t get used to it,” Ruhan muttered.

Aaryan’s expression changed. Just for a second. The smugness dropped, replaced by something unreadable.

“You know,” he said softly, “for someone who hates being controlled, you’re awfully good at doing exactly what I say.”

Ruhan stepped forward, eyes hard. “Don’t confuse cooperation with submission.”

Aaryan didn’t move. Didn’t blink. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

For a moment, the tension between them shifted. It wasn’t just sharp anymore—it was charged. There was something else beneath it. Unspoken. Unclear.

Then Ruhan stepped back.

“I’m taking the guest room.”

“You’ll find it fully stocked,” Aaryan replied, his voice once again calm, controlled. “Clothes. Toiletries. Everything a fake fiancé might need.”

Ruhan didn’t respond. He walked away, his footsteps echoing against the marble floors.

As the door to the guest room shut behind him, Aaryan stood alone in the living room, sipping his drink slowly.

His smirk had faded.

And for the first time that night, he looked… thoughtful.

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