Her shoes—simple, black pumps with a pointed heel that looked like it needed a good buff. Her clothes, while serviceable, were rather unremarkable and he noticed the signs of wear on her ruby blouse. The colour of her skirt had seemed fine from a distance but up close,he could see the black was faded along her thighs—a clear indication of use.
His memories, subdued and coloured by distaste, had not done her justice. The pretty girl he had known had matured into a stunning woman. Her cat eyes were set evenly on either side of a sharp nose that looked like it had been drawn on with a pencil. Her unblemished skin and lack of makeup made her seem younger than he knew her to be. Her oval face was clean, her sculpted cheekbones standing high when she pursed her plump lips in displeasure.
What the fuck did she have to be annoyed about?If anyone should be irritated, it was him. She looked far too beautiful for it to be fair.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
The few times he’d been unable to stop himself from wondering about her, he’d always pictured her dressed in furs, silks and glittering jewels, on the arm of some rich idiot she’d trapped. He’d have bet money that she was living a hedonistic life of decadence, syphoning funds and luxuries out of foolish men, one after another, the lifestyle eventually ripping her beauty from her and revealing the ugliness within.
She wasn’t supposed to be here, looking perfectly alluring in her plain clothes and her worn shoes, no flashy manicure or gaudy accessories that would allow him to feel vindicated in his belief that she was a greedy and scheming woman.
His keen eyes scanned her face once more, looking for something that would prove that even his most uncharitable thoughts about her had been valid. Plastic surgery perhaps? Excessive fillers? Botched botox? Chin surgery? A golden tooth?
No. Nope. Nothing about her was purchased from a surgeon.
A few strands of her hair flew onto her face and her hand swept up immediately. His attention homed in on the action, noting the lack of jewellery on her wrists when she tucked her hair behind her ear. Her fingers were barren, as was her neck. No ring or black-beadednecklace declaring her marital status. Nothing to suggest that she was taken, or in a long-term relationship.
The knot in his gut loosened, and immediately he hated himself for the inkling of relief he’d felt at the idea that she was unattached. He told himself he didn’t care and set his mouth in a firm and severe line, lest any semblance of a smile slip out. He wanted her to be single only because no man deserved to be taken advantage of, he decided ungraciously.
Noticing that neither Vihaan nor Vera had spoken for several seconds, Mr. Verma shifted uncomfortably, placing a gentle hand on Vera’s shoulder.
Had Vihaan’s entire focus not been on her, he wouldn’t have seen her startle lightly, as if she too had been jostled out of her memories.
Her crimson lips parted, distracting him. In the same husky voice he’d once been obsessed with, that had formed the fantasies of his youth but had since become the sound that tortured him in the silence of the night, she wished him, “Welcome to Ethos, Mr. Oberoi.”
But he heard the words she hadn’t said out loud.
I hate you, Vihaan Oberoi.
3
Princess
Vihaan
Fifteen Years Ago
It had been yetanother day where barbs had been thrown, and angry glares had been exchanged along with some choice finger-flipping behind the teacher’s back. For as long as people had known them, Vera and Vihaan had been rivals. Everyone at Nagpur International Collegiate School knew that putting them in the same room was like pouring gasoline into fire, a testament to the explosive arguments they’d had. But even with their apparent volatility, they’d been very careful to never breach each other’s personal space. Besides, why lay a hand on someone when words were enough to tear them down?
When Vera angrily rebuked Vihaan, it would be with an insult disguised as a compliment before she’d innocently ask if he required a dictionary to understandwhat she’d said.
When Vihaan bullied her, it would be with taunts he knew would cause her pretty face to flush and her ponytail to swish about as she stalked away.
She’d called him charming once with a look on her face that told him that she’d found him anything but that. He’d retaliated by addressing her as ‘Princess’, a nickname that had stuck since.
She’d been livid, assuming incorrectly he’d been making fun of her lower economic status. Her immediate belief that he could be that insensitive or snobby had made his hackles rise. Since then, he’d called her princess as often as possible, especially to her face.
Only he knew that he was referring to her regal demeanour that made him feel lesser somehow. Like she was unattainable. Which led to him antagonising her more often. Forcing her to react was the only way he knew to get her to notice him, too. Because for all his trying, he’d never been able to ignore Vera Talwar. Each day after that followed a similar script.
“Hi, Princess.”
“Fuck off, Charming.”
“You’d miss me if I did.”
“Just like I’d miss the plague.”
“Oof you talk dirty to everyone or am I that special?”