He is a Gay

Devansh reclined on the bed, his hands resting behind his head, exuding an air of elegance and arrogance. His emotionless gaze remained fixed on Anesha.

Anesha, seated cross-legged on the bed, stared at him unblinkingly.

Though she had never seen Devansh's face before, recognizing him hadn't been difficult.

She knew this heartless man all too well—perhaps more intimately than anyone else ever could.

The man lying before her was none other than her ex-husband, the one she had entered into a contract marriage with four years ago, at the tender age of eighteen.

How could she ever forget him?

Her unwavering gaze lingered on Devansh, and in that moment, her clear, innocent eyes betrayed the bitterness welling up inside her.

Devansh had treated her with care and kindness during the first two years of their marriage. He had supported her, protected her.

But once their marriage—and the contract—had ended, he had turned his back on her so cruelly it was as if she had never existed.

Anesha had borne his child, yet Devansh had denied her the right to even look at her own baby.

She had pleaded with him countless times—begging, falling to her knees—asking him to let her see her child. She had even asked for permission to meet the child in the future.

Even if it was as a stranger, she would have found solace in simply watching her child from afar, enough to ease the turmoil in her heart.

But Devansh, after the divorce, had turned away from her as if she were a stranger—someone he had never known.

Two years ago, the final words Devansh had spoken after signing the divorce papers still haunted her:

"From today onward, sweetheart, you have no connection to me or my son. From now on, we'll be nothing more than strangers to each other."

Those cold, merciless words had echoed in her ears like poison.

A bitter mixture of pain and an unwelcome hatred began to creep into her heart for the man who now lay before her.

Anesha's painful reverie was shattered by Devansh's deep, measured voice cutting through the silence.

"Sweetheart, you have ten days. After that, you'll be living with me at our home. Until we grow old and take our last breaths, we'll stay together."

"Until we grow old and take our last breaths, we'll stay together."

The words replayed in Anesha's mind, their weight stirring a storm within her.

Her eyes narrowed with suppressed anger. Her teeth clenched, her fists tightening at her sides.

What does this man think of himself? she thought bitterly. That he can waltz back into my life whenever he pleases? Toss me aside like trash when it suits him? No. Not this time. I won't yield to him again.

Pushing down her turbulent thoughts, Anesha replied in a voice so sweet it defied the storm raging within her, "Alright, Dev. As you wish."

Hearing her response, Devansh's expression behind his mask turned colder, his sharp features hardening.

He studied her for a moment, his gaze sharp and unreadable.

Breaking the silence, Devansh rose from the bed. His voice, as icy as ever, carried a note of finality.

"Go freshen up. After breakfast, Sumit will take you home."

Obediently, as though on autopilot, Anesha stood and walked into the washroom.

Devansh's dark, brooding eyes lingered on the closed door. A storm brewed within him, unspoken and unseen.

In the depths of his gaze, countless emotions clashed—anger, bitterness, hatred, love—a maelstrom of feelings, each more mysterious than the last.

Inside the washroom,

Anesha stood brushing her teeth, her gaze fixed on her reflection in the mirror.

She no longer cared to remain with Devansh, yet the love, affection, and maternal instinct for her child lingered just as strongly as ever.

She had yielded to Devansh's demands so easily only because she desperately wanted to see her child.

As she stared at her reflection, her eyes fell on her delicate collarbone peeking out from beneath her loose T-shirt.

Her breath hitched as her gaze landed on the faint marks. Lowering her T-shirt slightly, she discovered a trail of red and purple kiss and bite marks running from her collarbone to her cleavage and further down.

"Who... who did this to me?" she whispered, her voice laced with confusion and anger. "Could it have been Dev? But how? He wouldn't… he couldn't. We're divorced now—he has no right to do this to me anymore." Her murmur turned sharper as frustration seeped into her tone.

Memories from the previous night began to surface, piece by piece, like fragments of a forgotten film reel. The haze of intoxication had lifted just enough for her to recall the aftermath of her recklessness.

When the events fully unfolded in her mind, Anesha's face burned with an uncontrollable heat, her entire body flushed a deep crimson. Her small, delicate face seemed ready to erupt like a volcano.

Was it embarrassment, or was it fury? She couldn't tell.

As her thoughts raced, Anesha instinctively swallowed hard and looked down at her clothes. They were not the ones she remembered wearing last night.

"Did… did Devansh… change my clothes?"

"No!" she exclaimed sharply, her voice trembling. "No, no, no!"

The very idea was unbearable.

The clothes she now wore were the same ones she used to wear when she lived with him—a comfortable pair of shorts and an oversized T-shirt, chosen by Devansh himself. He had always prioritized comfort over appearances.

The realization sent a torrent of emotions crashing through her. She struggled to steady herself, attempting to silence the chaotic thoughts flooding her mind.

And then, an unbidden question struck her like a thunderbolt: "Did something… happen between us last night?"

"No," she whispered, her voice shaky yet resolute. "No, nothing happened. I remember it clearly—nothing like that happened." She clung to her conviction, desperately trying to douse the firestorm of doubt.

True, there had been fleeting moments of intimacy the previous night—moments filled with a tension neither could deny. But she was certain they had not crossed the boundaries that once defined their fractured relationship.

Banishing the unwelcome thoughts to the depths of her mind, Anesha took a deep breath and stepped out of the washroom.

Her eyes landed on a young man, likely 23 or 24 years old, standing in the room.

He was undeniably handsome, yet his demeanor and posture were rigid, almost robotic, like he was carved out of stone.

Noticing the hard expression on his face, Anesha's lips curled into a small pout, betraying her displeasure.

Softening her already sweet voice, she tried to strike up a conversation. "Sumit! How have you been?"

"All right, madam," Sumit replied curtly, his cold gaze meeting hers briefly before shifting away.

Sumit was Devansh's head bodyguard, and Anesha was well aware of his stoic nature and sharp discipline.

As she glanced around the room and realized Devansh was nowhere to be seen, she asked, "Sumit, where's Dev?"

"Boss had to leave for an important matter at the office. He's asked me to drop you home after breakfast," Sumit replied, his tone firm and devoid of any warmth.

Hearing this, a shadow of disappointment flickered across Anesha's face. She had been hoping to speak with Devansh about something important. But, deciding not to argue further, she fell silent.

Once breakfast was served, she sank into the couch, absentmindedly stirring her spoon in the bowl of soup, her expression one of quiet melancholy.

Sumit, who had been watching her out of the corner of his eye, finally clenched his jaw in frustration.

For the last five minutes, she had been lost in thought, the sound of the metal spoon clinking against the bowl steadily grating on his nerves.

When it became clear that she wouldn't stop on her own, Sumit finally snapped. "Madam, could you please stop creating that irritating noise? And finish your breakfast already. I don't have the luxury of wasting my time watching your pointless antics."

Startled by his abrupt tone, Anesha tilted her head up like a chastised child, her eyes wide with feigned innocence.

At that moment, she looked like a little girl silently pleading with her mother, "Mom, won't you feed me yourself?"

"I'm not feeding you, madam," Sumit replied bluntly, his tone unyielding.

Her imaginary 'mother' being so unkind left Anesha visibly dejected, her chin dropping and lips curling downward in a childish pout.

But Sumit, despite his hardened exterior, couldn't withstand her expression for long.

The sight of her hazel-green eyes, brimming with pure innocence, melted his stone-cold demeanor.

He sighed, lowering his stiff shoulders in reluctant defeat, and moved to sit beside her. Like a mother indulging her child, he took the spoon from her hand and began feeding her the soup himself.

Seeing this, Anesha's face lit up with a smile, and she happily sipped the soup he offered. Despite his gesture, the stern expression on Sumit's face remained unchanged.

She fluttered her eyelashes at him playfully, her grin stretching so wide it almost touched her ears.

Devansh's men had always been deeply protective of Anesha.

Though most of them were men, they never hesitated to step into roles that transcended gender—acting as her mother, grandmother, or sister whenever the situation demanded.

Between sips, Anesha laughed softly and remarked, "You know, Sumit, you look just like Hitler's mom right now."

Sumit's brows furrowed, and he shot her an unamused look.

Undeterred, Anesha nodded enthusiastically like a child determined to prove her point. "I'm serious! I swear! Right now, you don't look like that stone-faced robot. Instead, you remind me of Hitler's mom. And, by the way, that's a compliment, so don't take it the wrong way."

"Then I suppose that makes you Hitler, madam," Sumit retorted, raising an eyebrow.

Anesha paused, giving his words some thought before replying, "No, not Hitler. I'm a cute Hitler."

At this, Sumit let out a resigned sigh. "Two years have passed, madam, and neither you nor your self-obsession has changed."

"And isn't that a good thing?" Anesha replied cheekily.

When Sumit remained silent, she cleared her throat, shifting gears. "By the way, how is Raunak? Does he miss me?"

"He's the only one who misses you, madam," Sumit replied, his tone sharp. "In fact, ever since you left, he's stopped speaking to the boss."

Anesha pouted dramatically, her lips pursed as she exclaimed, "Oh, my master! He's such a sweetheart."

"He's not a sweetheart. He's gay," Sumit said bluntly.

Wrinkling her nose, Anesha shot back, "So what if he's gay? What's wrong with being third gender? Besides, even as a third gender, Raunak is more talented than you. His fighting skills are far superior to yours. You have no right to belittle him!"

"Oh, just stop it, madam," Sumit interrupted, his irritation evident. "I wasn't insulting him, okay?"

Anesha replayed his words in her mind, realizing he was right. Sumit hadn't been mocking Raunak—he'd merely stated a fact.

Forcing a sheepish smile, she said, "Oh! Sorry, Sumit. You know how protective I get when it comes to Raunak. I'm really, really sorry for misunderstanding you. Please don't take it to heart!"

"It's fine, madam. I don't take fools' words seriously anyway," Sumit replied, his tone laced with sarcasm.

Raunak, in many ways, was Anesha's mentor—her coach and guide.

He had trained her in self-defense techniques during the time she lived with Devansh.

Devansh's early possessiveness for Anesha was evident in his decision to hire a gay teacher for her, ensuring she was always protected while remaining within his boundaries.

__________________________

What lies ahead in Anesha's life?

Will Devansh's return bring blessings or curses into her world?

To know…

To be continued…