Neena stared at the stranger. She hadn’t come to the table for her own sake. She had come for Neena.

‘It’s Richard,’ she continued. ‘He’s not the man you think he is.’

Neena took her hand away.

Richard.

‘Who are you?’

‘I’m his wife.’

The loud noises in the room dulled to a hum. Her whole body began to shake. So many thoughts ran through her mind that she struggled to pin one down. She eyed the woman’s face: her hazel eyes, her perfect bone structure, and the brightness of her hair, until her gaze fell upon the bruise.

It’s Richard. He’s not the man you think he is.

She wanted to beg the woman to tell her it wasn’t true. Richard couldn’t have hurt his wife. But who knew him best: his wife with a bruised face? Or the woman who had only known him a few months?

‘Did he…?’

‘He’s done worse,’ the woman replied. ‘That’s why I’m here. You’re not safe.’

Although the room was stifling hot, a shiver ran through her. The woman on the other side of the table was ripping up all of her hopes of a better life. She had finally met a man who she thought understood and loved her, regardless of her past and her devotion to her son, who other men might consider baggage. The woman wasn’t just breaking Neena’s heart, she was destroying the life she had hoped for, for Dayal.

‘I’m sorry to tell you that you’re not the first mistress,’ Richard’s wife said. ‘And after all the pain and torment she went through, I can’t let it happen to another woman who has had the great misfortune of falling in love with my husband.’

‘He… he told me you were separated.’

‘He lied to you, sweetheart. I’m sorry.’

‘Please,’ Neena raised her hand. ‘Please stop apologising, you have no need to. It’s me who should be—’

‘I blame my husband for straying, not you. He’s rich, and attractive, and has a charm that is so endearing until…’ The woman looked down a moment, too tearful to speak. ‘Until one sees beneath and learns of who he really is.’

The woman looked up again as a tear ran down her cheek. She was broken, and it was all because of Richard. The sight twisted something deep inside her, as though the woman had lunged across the table, ripped open her chest, and clenched her heart in her fist.

‘What did he do to the first mistress?’

‘You don’t want to know.’

‘Yes, I do.’

The woman paused and looked around the room. Maybe she had to fear the indiscretion of others, too.

‘Do you have children?’

Her gut plummeted. She immediately thought of Dayal eating breakfast that morning with scraps of egg on his lips and tomato juice glistening on his chin.

‘A son.’