Page 40 of Born in Grief

His blood was a tempest of fury and pain as he listened to Dhrithi detail her life out in response to Virat’s calm questioning.

“Was Varun abusive?”

Amay’s hand clenched on his armrest, his gaze on Dhrithi’s delicate profile. He saw her jaw firm and her neck move with a visible swallow as she stared at Virat.

“How does that have anything to do with the warrant to search Varun’s properties?” she asked him, her voice hoarse with suppressed emotion.

“Everything matters when it comes to information.”

Dhrithi’s gaze slid to Amay, a wild, trapped look in it that had him wanting to punch his best friend.

“If she doesn’t want to talk about it-“

“We all know he did,” Ishaan cut in. “Let’s just keep this wheel turning, okay?”

“This is not a wheel. This is my life.” Dhrithi got to her feet, eyes flashing. She swayed a little before supporting herself on the armrest of the sofa she’d been sitting on. “Is everything a joke to you? Am I?”

Ishaan had the grace to look ashamed, a hand going to ruffle the wild curls on his head.

“Yes.” She turned on Virat. “He abused me. Physically, mentally, emotionally, sexually…every possible way there was to abuse someone, he did it to me. What else do you need to know?”

Virat nodded, his expression showing nothing of his thoughts. “The drugs…what are we talking? Heroin, cocaine, or –“

“Mostly cocaine,” Dhrithi said, sounding defeated and slowly sitting down again. “But he’d try anything. He had a watch he wore on his hand that monitored his vitals and told him when he was going too far.”

Amay’s eyebrows shot up. Interesting.

“He didn’t have any drugs stashed at home?”

“Not enough to worry anyone. It wasn’t like he was dealing.”

A subtle change in the atmosphere had her eyes sharpening. “Was he?”

Virat exhaled. “I think so. He was definitely dabbling in it, a profitable side hustle. But it wasn’t his main vice.”

“And what was his main vice?” Amay asked, sick of this whole conversation. The deeply insidious nature of it was injecting bitter poison into his veins.

“I don’t know yet,” Virat said, frowning. “But there is something and it’s not as obvious or stupid like drugs and women.”

“Of course. How tacky would that be?” Sarcasm dripped from Amay’s every word. “Abuse is also so middle class, isn’t it?”

“That’s not what I meant, Ams.” Virat shot him a look. “But there is something the Gokhales are hiding. They’re bringing in the big guns to block the warrant. Why? Varun is already dead. It’s not like he can be prosecuted for his crimes. So, what are they so desperate to hide and why are they so frantic to dissociate themselves from Dhrithi?”

“I can answer the last part.” Dhrithi tugged at the sleeve of the oversize t-shirt she wore. It kept slipping off her shoulder and she kept pulling it back into place. It was probably Virat’s, Amay thought, struggling with the irrational surge of jealousy sweeping through him. He wanted her to be wearing his t-shirt, to be wrapped in material that had been worn by him before it slid over her naked skin. Ishaan was right. He was an idiot.

“And the answer is?” Ishaan asked, making a rolling motion with one hand. Amay smacked it.

“They don’t like me.”

“That’s not a good enough reason to cut you out the way they have. My sources say they don’t intend to let you have a rupee of Varun’s inheritance.”

Dhrithi nodded serenely. “That computes.”

“That computes?” Amay stared at her. “How does that compute?”

“I’m barren. I can’t have a child. No heir, no possibility of heir. Nothing. The only value I brought to this marriage was my womb and even that was faulty. So, yeah, they don’t like me.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Amay asked, furious on her behalf.

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