The lie I could not finish

I kept correcting Vikram because “partner” was the only honest word I had left. I said it softly so the investors would think it was playful, but inside I was bargaining with myself: if I laugh at the right moment, maybe the wrongness would become less real. It did not. His hand kept returning under the table like he had paid for the right to claim me.

When I shoved him, I believed every word I said. Photograph, recording, police. Then I walked into the darkness and checked my dark phone, half hoping I had actually recorded something and half furious that I had not. The threat had been real, but my evidence was theatre. I hate that I was relieved he paid instead of escalating it. Relief looked too much like surrender, even when stopping a forced kiss should never require payment.

I keep thinking about being introduced as his wife in front of people who could make his business move forward. For one evening, my body was an asset in someone else’s pitch. I performed closeness while my mind counted exits. The strange part is that I know how to sell intimacy better than I know how to refuse it. Vikram paid for a performance and then behaved as though he had purchased access beyond the brief.

By Churchgate, my fear had turned inward. I wanted to tell Priya the truth, but not merely because I trusted her. I wanted someone to look at me and know that I had crossed a line, then still leave me alone. That is humiliating. I do not want absolution. I want the choice to remain mine.