EPISODE 4 — THE FIRST CRACK IN THE ICE

Samara woke up the next morning determined to avoid awkwardness at all costs.

She brushed her hair, tied it in a ponytail, and whispered to herself:

“Today I will not argue with him… unless he starts it.”

She stepped out of the room humming a song, trying to feel normal in this mansion of marble floors and perfectly trimmed roses.

Downstairs, she found the entire staff in an odd formation near the dining table: standing straight, hands behind their backs, expressions stiff.

Samara blinked. “Um… is there a parade happening?”

One servant whispered, “Good morning, ma’am. Sir is in the dining hall.”

Ah.

That explained the stiffness.

Cold Husband™ was already awake.

She pushed open the door and entered.

There he was.

Shivansh Oberoi.

Sitting at the table with the aura of someone who ran the world before breakfast.

He wore a charcoal suit.

He looked like a magazine cover.

He also looked like he hadn’t learned how to smile in 26 years.

Samara walked in and sat quietly near him. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” he replied without looking up.

She frowned.

Was that… politeness?

From him?

The staff members looked like they had just witnessed a solar eclipse.

Samara picked up a paratha and took a big bite, because stress-eating was her new coping mechanism.

Halfway through chewing, she noticed Shivansh staring at her.

“What?” she mumbled with her mouth full.

“You should not eat that.”

She froze.

Slowly put the paratha down.

Narrowed her eyes.

“And why not?”

“It is oily.”

She crossed her arms. “I LIKE oily.”

“You should eat healthy.”

“You should mind your own plate.”

He leaned back slightly. “I am your husband.”

“Congratulations. Do you want a trophy?”

He stared.

She stared back.

The servants mentally prepared to run for cover.

Finally, Shivansh sighed. “Samara… I am just advising you.”

“Then say it nicely! Not like you’re giving a diet chart to a company employee.”

His jaw tightened.

She turned away dramatically, stabbing a piece of fruit with unnecessary force.

Silence.

Then—

“Samara,” he said quietly.

She turned.

He looked unusually hesitant… which itself was shocking.

“I am not good with… tone.”

She blinked.

That was the closest thing to an apology she would ever get from him.

She softened. “It’s okay. Just don’t order me like a robot manual.”

He nodded, and breakfast resumed in slightly more peace than usual.

A Shivansh-Type Problem

After breakfast, Samara wandered into the living room, scrolling through her phone, trying to pretend her life was normal.

Then she heard it.

A thud.

Followed by another.

She followed the sound and found Shivansh in his home gym, punching a boxing bag with precision and aggression she had never seen in him.

She paused at the doorway, staring.

He was still in his suit but had removed the coat.

His sleeves were rolled up.

Veins flexed on his arms.

His hair slightly messy.

He looked… human.

Tired.

Frustrated.

She took a hesitant step. “Um… you okay?”

He didn’t respond.

Just kept punching.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Samara winced. “Wow. Someone’s angry today.”

Finally, he stopped and looked at her. Sweat glistened on his forehead, but his expression stayed unreadable.

“Meeting didn’t go well?” she asked gently.

He picked up a towel. “It was fine.”

“You look like you want to destroy the world.”

“That is my usual expression.”

She snorted. “True.”

He grabbed a water bottle and drank.

Samara leaned against the door, watching him.

Something about him felt… off today.

A heaviness in his gaze.

A tiredness in his movements.

She stepped closer. “Shivansh… did something happen?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

“I live here now. I think I deserve to know if an asteroid is about to hit.”

He didn’t smile, but his eyes flickered with amusement. Very faint.

Then he said quietly, “Someone at work tried to sabotage an important deal.”

Samara’s eyes widened. “Sabotage? Like in movies?”

“In real life.”

“That’s scary.”

“It is business.”

She frowned.

He said it so casually, like fighting corporate wars was normal.

She pointed at him. “You need a break.”

“I do not take breaks.”

“You need to relax.”

“I do not relax.”

“You need to stop being a stressed-out ice cube.”

He stared.

She smiled sweetly. “Come with me.”

“No.”

“Too late—your refusal is rejected.”

She grabbed his sleeve.

He looked at her hand.

She ignored his glare and dragged him out of the gym.

Samara’s Stress-Busting Method

Five minutes later, Shivansh found himself standing in the massive garden.

Samara stopped in front of a large hedge maze.

He stared at it.

“What is this?”

“A maze,” she said proudly. “Like in storybooks.”

“I can see that. Why are we here?”

“Because,” she said, hands on hips, “the best way to relax is adventure!”

“No,” he said immediately.

“Yes,” she insisted.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

They stared each other down like two territorial cats.

Finally, she said, “If you don’t relax, you’ll die of stress before turning 30.”

He sighed heavily. “Fine. What do I do?”

“We run inside the maze.”

He blinked. “Why?”

“Because it’s fun!”

“Getting lost is not fun.”

“Not if you have a good sense of direction.”

“I do.”

“Perfect. Then you won’t get lost.”

He glared at her.

She smiled innocently.

Finally, he gave in—more out of exhaustion than willingness.

“Five minutes,” he said.

“Thirty,” she corrected.

“Ten.”

“Twenty.”

“Fifteen.”

“Done.”

She clapped. “See? Compromise! We’re bonding already.”

He looked like he deeply regretted every life decision that brought him to this moment.

Inside the Maze

The moment they entered, Samara sprinted ahead.

“Catch me if you can!” she yelled.

Shivansh froze.

“Samara—”

She disappeared around a corner.

He exhaled sharply and walked after her, refusing to run.

He was a CEO, not an Olympic athlete chasing a hyperactive child.

But of course—Samara didn’t know that.

She ran, laughed, turned randomly, ducked around twists, her voice echoing through the maze.

Shivansh followed slowly, hands in pockets.

After a few minutes, he reached a dead end.

He turned.

Another dead end.

He narrowed his eyes.

Impossible.

He never got lost.

He took another turn.

Then another.

He stopped.

This was the same spot again.

His jaw tightened.

He was officially… lost.

At that exact moment, Samara popped out from behind a bush like a mischievous squirrel.

“Found you!”

He stared at her. “Did you do this deliberately?”

“Yes,” she said proudly.

“I am your husband.”

“And I am your entertainment.”

He glared.

She laughed.

“Relax,” she said, lightly tapping his shoulder. “It’s just fun.”

He looked at her, and for the first time…

his eyes softened.

Just a little.

“Samara,” he said quietly. “I don’t know how to… have fun.”

She stilled.

Her heart softened.

She reached out, gently touching his hand.

He didn’t pull away.

“Then I’ll teach you,” she said softly.

Their eyes met.

A crack formed in the wall of ice around his heart.

Small.

But real.

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