Chapter 12: The Test of Ice
The silence in the mansion was a slow poison. I couldn't breathe in the coldness Advik had created. Every time he looked through me, I felt like I was disappearing. I needed to know if the man who bled for me was still in there, or if I was truly living with a hollow shell.
I decided to play a dangerous game.
I drove to the outskirts of the city, parked my car near a quiet clinic, and used some theatrical makeup and a bandage I'd hidden in my bag. I ruffled my hair, smeared a bit of fake blood on my temple, and sat in the waiting room, my heart pounding.
"He'll come," I whispered to myself. "He has to."
I dialed his private number. My hands were shaking for real now. It rang three times before he picked up.
"What?" His voice was like a slab of granite. No greeting. No emotion.
"Advik..." I made my voice small, breathless. "There was an accident. A truck... I'm at the Grace Memorial Clinic. I think my arm is broken, and my head—"
I let out a soft, pained sob for effect. I waited for the roar. I waited for the sound of him slamming his desk and shouting for his guards. I waited for the panic.
Silence.
On the other end of the line, Advik was standing in his surveillance room. On the monitors in front of him, his head of security was holding a tablet. It showed a clear, high-definition photo sent by a spy five minutes ago: Ananya in her car, applying fake blood to her forehead.
Advik's knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the table. His heart was screaming to run to her anyway, to pull her into his arms just because he missed her touch—but his pride was a fortress.
"Is that all?" Advik asked, his voice chillingly level.
I froze. "Advik? Did you hear me? I'm at a hospital. I'm hurt."
"I heard you, Ananya," he said, his tone bored. "The hospital has doctors. You have a credit card. I'm in the middle of a board meeting. Don't call this line again unless you are actually dying. It's a distraction."
"A distraction?" I gasped, the fake blood feeling like real fire on my skin. "I'm your wife! I'm hurt and alone, and you won't even come?"
"One year, remember?" Advik replied, and I could almost hear the cruel smirk in his voice—the mask he was using to hide his own agony. "In a year, Aman will be the one you call. Start practicing now. Call him. I'm busy."
Click.
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone, a cold, heavy lump forming in my throat. The fake blood on my forehead felt like a brand of shame. I had lowered myself to this, and he hadn't even blinked.
He didn't care. He truly, deeply didn't care anymore.
I sat on the plastic chair of the clinic, a small, broken figure in a floral dress. I had won the war for my freedom, but as I wiped the fake blood away with a trembling hand, I realized I had lost the only man who had ever truly burned for me.
I didn't call Aman. I just sat there in the dark, realizing that being ignored by Advik was more painful than being hunted by the mafia.