Married in Vengeance (Dynasty Rebels #4)

Chapter 17

Seventeen

RAM

“I heard you the first time, Nanna,” Ram said exasperatedly.

His father muttered something indecipherable, his irritation clear even over the phone line. “I need to know if you’re attending the fundraiser tonight. It’s important, Ram.”

“I know! I told you that I haven’t been able to reach her.” Ram took his glasses off and placed it on his desk. He rubbed his eyes, the fatigue of a sleepless night catching up with him. “Once I do, I’ll find out from her and get back to you.”

“Waste fellow.” His father’s annoyance was now of the charts. “You can’t even get in touch with your own wife! And she hasn’t called back also? What kind of control do you have over her?”

Ram started to laugh, loud, uncontrollable laughter, tears running down his cheeks. Control over Aadhya? He didn’t think even God had attempted that so far. His wife was a force of nature. A tornado that had ripped through his life leaving only debris behind.

“Now he’s gone mad also. Idiot.”

His father disconnected without another word, clearly done with the conversation and his son.

Exhaling, Ram dropped the phone on his desk and rubbed his throbbing temples. If ever there was a day that needed to end early, it was this one. And now, his father wanted their attendance at a bloody charity event.

He picked up the phone again and typed out a message to Aadhya. The message was delivered but remained unseen and ignored.

“Sir?” Vijay, the office boy hovered at the door. “Client has come.”

Ram smiled. “Your English has gotten very good, Vijay,” he complimented him, slowly gaining his feet.

“Thank you, Sir.” The boy beamed like he’d swallowed the sun. “Karthik Sir is teaching.”

“If you need any help, ask me also.” Ram ruffled the boy’s hair before walking past him to greet the client waiting for him. A property dispute case, it was desperately boring but wonderfully lucrative.

Two hours later, Ram’s headache was a migraine and all he wanted was to fall into his bed and forget about the world.

“I’m clocking out,” he told Karthik who was busy typing up a brief. “See you tomorrow.”

His partner held a hand up in acknowledgement without looking away from his screen. Ram drove home, his mind still stewing over work. Some parts of that work were intensely personal. Anant Madhavan’s case was due to be heard in High Court in the next two days. He’d spent most of today going over the details with the lawyer they’d hired but it still bothered him that he wasn’t fighting the case himself. The control freak that he was, he wasn’t convinced anybody else could get the result he wanted. But his taking the case would be a clear conflict of interest, and he wanted this case fought without any hint of impropriety hanging over it.

He pulled into the driveway of his home seconds behind Aadhya. He watched her come to a screeching stop, gravel spewing in her wake. Apparently, he’d married a formula one race car driver. Parking parallel to her Audi Q5, he got out and watched as her long legs emerged from beneath her car door.

“I’ve been calling you,” he said the minute that head of curls appeared in his line of sight.

“I know.” Aadhya tossed her messy braid over one shoulder and reached for her laptop bag. Locking the car, she stepped around Ram and walked off towards the house.

Had he thought he had a headache before this? The real headache was sashaying down his driveway. Temper igniting, he followed her.

“You didn’t call me back.”

“I know,” she said again, sounding bored.

Ram caught her by her arm, swinging her around to face him. Her laptop bag slipped off her shoulder and clipped him on the hip.

He cursed under his breath. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“A lot, but I’d say you’re still winning that particular race.” she replied candidly. “I’ve had a fuck all day and I don’t feel like getting into it with you. So, can you finish with whatever patriarchal bullshit you want to spew? And then I can tell you to fuck off and we can go about the rest of the evening doing whatever we want to do.”

Ram stared at her wondering if the top of his head was going to just fly off with rage.

“Patriarchal bullshit?” he repeated slowly.

Aadhya nodded. “How dare you not pick up my calls? How dare you not call me back? I’m your lord and master. How dare you not rush to heed my summons?”

Ram arched a brow. “Lord and master?”

“Uh huh. In those delusions you foster, I’m guessing it’s exhibit 101 or something.”

Ram pinched the bridge of his nose, praying for patience. “My father would like us to attend a charity event tonight.”

Aadhya sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Right.”

Ram took note of her dark circles, tired face and the fingers that she kept flexing at her side. “But if you’re too tired-“

“Give me an hour. I’ll be ready,” Aadhya interrupted, turning away from him.

“I thought you had a fuck all day.”

“I did.” Aadhya started walking, forcing him to follow.

“If you’re tired, we don’t need to go.”

“Of course we need to go.” She pushed the solid oak front doors open. She didn’t bother holding them open though because they almost smacked him in the face. He barely got his hand up in time to keep from getting a broken nose.

“You look exhausted,” he began.

“Ram.” Aadhya turned to face him. “We both know what’s expected from us in our families. Why are you arguing about this?”

Flummoxed, he stared at her. “I guess I never expected you to do what’s expected of you.”

“Hmm.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “So, these delusions of yours, how detailed are they exactly?”

Ram gritted his teeth to keep from snapping at her.

“Was that it? The reason you were calling?” she asked.

“Of course,” he replied. “Why else would I?”

Aadhya laughed, a sad, mirthless sound. “Of course. Why else would you?” She turned away from him. “Like I said, one hour. I’ll be ready.”

He watched her climb the staircase, her feet dragging with exhaustion.

“Aadhya?”

She turned her face slightly, her tired profile visible to him.

“Why was your day fucked up?”

She glanced over her shoulder, her furious glare incinerating him. “You lost the right to ask me those questions when you married me under false pretences. So, let’s get to this portion of the conversation. Fuck off, Ram Gadde.”