Adultery Undercover Desires

[RCF]

that will be sad ending but that should be the ending specially after what they did

There is this new trend going on in stories here, wives not only have affair but fall in love with third person. Weird shit, you first know your husband then try to know his friend. She barely knows her husband as they are newly married but already in love with his friend. Also who leaves his wife with his friend at home and goes for a trip. So unrealistic, should have built a better plot.

[Rangushki]

Waiting for the final nail

[John446]

CHAPTER – 49


Blending In: Kavya’s Journey Into Danish’s Family
The wedding celebrations had begun, and the haveli was now a spectacle of lights, laughter, and festivity. It had only been a few days since Kavya had arrived in Hyderabad, but it already felt like a different world—so different from the life she had known in Mumbai.
Here, traditions were deeply rooted, relationships carried unspoken rules, and family meant everything.
For Danish, this was home. For Kavya, it was a test.
She knew she wasn’t just here to enjoy the celebrations. She was here to fit in. To understand Danish’s world, to see if she could ever truly belong to it.
And so, she decided to give it her best.
The Mehendi Function: Kavya’s First Step Into The Family
The courtyard of the haveli was transformed into a beautiful mehendi setup—golden dbangs, fresh jasmine garlands, and large brass lamps lining the garden. Women dressed in elegant anarkalis and shararas sat in groups, chatting and laughing as henna artists delicately traced intricate patterns on their hands. The aroma of fresh henna mixed with the fragrance of roses and sandalwood incense.
Kavya, dressed in a deep green embroidered lehenga, had never been a part of such a traditional celebration before. She was used to the fast-paced, modern weddings in Mumbai, but here, everything felt different—richer, more intimate.
She noticed the way Danish’s female relatives eyed her curiously, whispering among themselves. Who was this girl? Why was she so close to Danish?
She felt the weight of their gazes, but she didn’t let it intimidate her. Instead, she smiled and greeted them with folded hands, earning a few nods of approval.
As she sat down to get mehendi applied, Danish’s cousin, Aisha, sat beside her.
"Tum mehendi lagwa rahi ho? Yeh toh sirf ladkiyon ki shaadi ya sagai pe lagti hai." (You’re getting mehendi? It’s usually only done when a girl is engaged or married.)
Kavya hesitated for a second before smiling.
"Mehendi toh sirf ek rasam nahi hai, ek khushi ka hissa bhi hai. Main yahan khush hoon, isliye lagwa rahi hoon." (Mehendi isn’t just a ritual; it’s a symbol of happiness too. I’m happy to be here, so why not?)
Aisha seemed satisfied with the answer and grinned. "Phir toh tumhe Danish ka naam likhwa lena chahiye." (Then you should get Danish’s name written in it.)
Kavya laughed it off, but inside, she felt a mix of warmth and nervousness.
Could she really picture herself as a part of this family one day?
By the end of the function, Kavya had managed to mingle well. The women of the house had accepted her presence, and she could feel herself blending in. As she admired the deep color of her henna, she couldn't help but smile—it was said that the darker the color, the deeper the love.
The Sangeet Night: Winning Hearts Through Dance
The Sangeet night shimmered with golden lights, laughter, and the rhythmic beats of dhol. The scent of rose petals mixed with the rich aroma of Hyderabadi biryani, creating an intoxicating atmosphere. The venue was alive with twirling figures, shimmering lehengas, and the sparkle of bangles clashing as women clapped to the music.
Kavya, adorned in an emerald-green lehenga with delicate gold embroidery, moved across the dance floor with effortless grace. The soft fabric swayed around her legs, and the shimmer of her jewelry reflected the warm glow of the chandeliers above. Danish had pulled her into the dance earlier, and she found herself lost in the moment, letting the rhythm guide her movements.
As she twirled, laughter escaping her lips, her gaze inadvertently drifted toward a figure standing near the seating area. Feroz Khan.
Unlike the rest, he wasn’t clapping along or laughing with the crowd. He stood tall, dressed in an elegant black kurta with golden embroidery along the collar. The fabric fit snugly against his broad shoulders, emphasizing the quiet strength he carried so naturally. His hands, strong and veined, held a glass of sherbet, his fingers effortlessly poised around its delicate rim.
But it was his eyes that made Kavya falter.
Their gazes collided, locking in an unspoken moment. His eyes—deep, unreadable, and unwavering—held an intensity that made her stomach tighten. There was something almost commanding in the way he looked at her, like a man who saw everything yet revealed nothing.
The music around her dimmed.
For a second, it felt as if the entire world had been reduced to just the two of them—standing apart yet inexplicably connected. Kavya's breath caught in her throat. There was no reason for her heart to race, yet it did. No reason for her skin to feel warm under his gaze, yet it did.
Feroz took a slow sip from his glass, his jaw tightening slightly as he observed her. He didn’t look away. He didn’t break the connection. It was as if he was measuring something within her, searching, waiting.
Kavya’s pulse pounded in her ears. She suddenly felt exposed, as though he could see right through her, past the bright smile and carefree laughter, straight into the depths of her soul.
She wasn’t sure who looked away first.
A sharp spin from Danish pulled her back into the moment, making her stumble slightly. He laughed, tightening his grip on her waist. "You're getting distracted," he teased, his forehead brushing against hers as they danced.
Kavya forced a smile, nodding, but her thoughts remained tangled in the silent pull she had just experienced.
Why did that look feel so… intense?
Stealing one last glance toward the seating area, she found Feroz still watching her. But this time, there was the faintest hint of something else in his expression—amusement? Curiosity?
Whatever it was, it unsettled her.
And yet, deep down, a part of her liked it.
The Nikaah Ceremony: A Sacred Union
The air was thick with the scent of attar and fresh roses as guests gathered in the grand hall, adorned with golden dbangs and strings of jasmine. The soft hum of prayers and the murmurs of anticipation filled the space as the Qazi took his seat, opening the sacred book in front of him.
Kavya, dressed in an exquisite maroon and gold sharara, watched everything unfold with fascination. The heavy dupatta rested on her head, pinned gracefully, and the jhumkas swayed with every slight movement she made. She had been part of many weddings, but never one so deeply rooted in tradition and faith.
Danish sat beside his elder brother, wearing a cream-colored sherwani with intricate embroidery. He looked nervous but happy, adjusting his kufi cap every now and then. Kavya found herself smiling—she had never seen him like this before.
On the other side of the hall, separated by an elegant partition, sat the bride, Fatima, adorned in a breathtaking bridal farshi gharara with zardozi work shimmering under the golden lights. She looked serene yet anxious, her henna-stained fingers clutching the edge of her veil.
The Qazi cleared his throat, silencing the whispers. The ceremony was about to begin.
The Ijab-o-Qubool (Proposal & Acceptance)
The Qazi turned to the groom first. His voice was deep and steady as he asked,
"Faizan bhai, kya aapko yeh nikaah qubool hai?"
Faizan straightened, his eyes flickering toward his father for a brief second before turning back to the Qazi. He took a deep breath.
"Qubool hai," he said firmly.
The words echoed in the hall, met with soft smiles and approving nods.
The question was repeated twice more. Each time, Faizan answered with the same conviction, his voice unwavering.
Then, the partition was adjusted slightly to address the bride. The Qazi, with great respect, posed the same question to Fatima.
A hush fell over the crowd.
Fatima lowered her gaze, her lashes fluttering as she pressed her henna-adorned hands together. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it was strong enough.
"Qubool hai."
A rush of emotions filled the hall—joy, relief, and solemnity.
The moment she repeated her acceptance two more times, the room erupted in a quiet "Masha,.'" and "Subhan,.'" from the elders. Kavya felt goosebumps rise on her skin.
Signing the Nikahnama (Marriage Contract)
The Qazi carefully placed the Nikahnama (marriage contract) in front of Faizan. The witnesses, including Feroz Khan, leaned in as Faizan dipped the pen in ink and signed his name with steady hands.
The document was then passed to Fatima, who, despite her trembling fingers, signed gracefully. Kavya watched in admiration. This was not just an act of tradition—this was two people binding their souls together under divine blessings.
Dua and Completion of the Nikaah
The Qazi raised his hands in dua, and the entire hall followed suit. A deep, rhythmic murmur of prayers filled the air as he invoked blessings upon the newlyweds:
"May ,.' bless this marriage with love, understanding, and prosperity. May He keep their hearts united and their bond strong. Ameen."
Kavya, with her hands raised, peeked across the room at Feroz Khan. He had his eyes closed, his lips moving in silent prayer. There was something regal about the way he sat—shoulders broad, his expression one of quiet authority.
As the prayer ended, a loud "Mubarak ho!" spread across the hall. The bride and groom were now husband and wife.
Fatima’s cousins giggled as they lifted her veil slightly, sneaking glances at her blushing face. Faizan’s friends clapped him on the back, congratulating him. The hall buzzed with excitement as sweets were distributed, and guests began embracing each other.
Kavya exhaled deeply, absorbing the beauty of the moment. This wasn’t just a wedding—it was a union of two families, two souls, and an unbreakable promise.
Little did she know, the night was just beginning, and with it, the undercurrent of emotions she hadn’t fully deciphered yet.
A New Beginning: Kavya’s Desire to Stay Longer
The wedding celebrations had finally come to an end. The house, once buzzing with endless chatter, music, and laughter, now held a certain silence—one that comes after days of festivity. The scent of attar still lingered in the air, mixed with the fading fragrance of roses and marigolds that had adorned the walls.
Kavya sat in the courtyard, watching the women of the house clear out the last remnants of the wedding decorations. The fairy lights that had twinkled so brightly just last night now looked dull in the broad daylight.
She turned to Danish, who sat beside her, stretching his arms after days of exhaustion. She took a deep breath, her fingers playing with the bangles on her wrist, before she spoke.
"Danish, can we stay for another week?"
Danish, who had been taking a sip of chai, almost choked. He placed the cup down and looked at her with raised eyebrows.
"Another week? Why? The wedding is over, and we’ve already been here for so long."
Kavya leaned forward, resting her elbows on the wooden table.
"That’s exactly why I want to stay," she explained. "During the wedding, everyone was too busy. I hardly got to talk to your father or anyone else properly. I want to blend in more, understand them better."
Danish sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Kavya, you know it’s not that easy. My family… they still don’t know everything about us. Staying longer means more chances of them asking questions."
She placed her hand on his. "I understand, Danish. But if I’m serious about us, then I need to be serious about your family too. I can’t just come into your life without understanding where you come from."
Danish observed her for a moment. There was sincerity in her eyes, a quiet determination that he had come to admire.
"And what about Rahul?" he asked carefully.
Kavya exhaled, leaning back. "I told him I’d be away for two weeks. Another few days won’t make a difference. He’s busy with work in the U.S. anyway."
Danish shook his head with a small chuckle. "You really are something, you know that?"
She smiled. "Does that mean we can stay?"
He let out a deep sigh before nodding. "Fine. But you have to be careful, Kavya. My father isn’t someone you can fool easily. If you say or do something that doesn’t add up, he’ll notice."
Kavya smirked, confidence flashing in her eyes. "Then I’ll just have to make sure I blend in well, won’t I?"
With the decision made, the next few days were different from the wedding chaos. Instead of dancing and celebrations, there were now quiet conversations, morning chai in the veranda, and long walks through the bustling streets of Hyderabad.
At first, Kavya found herself intimidated by Feroz Khan. He wasn’t a man of excessive words, but when he spoke, his voice carried a weight that could quiet an entire room. His presence alone commanded respect. She had never met a man quite like him before—someone who didn’t need to assert dominance, because it was naturally there in the way he carried himself.
In the first few days after the wedding, Kavya hesitated to approach him directly. She would listen to him from a distance—during family conversations, during meals where he sat at the head of the table, eating in silence, or during the evenings when he enjoyed his chai on the veranda, staring into the dimming sky with an unreadable expression.
She had thought she was prepared to blend into Danish’s family, but Feroz Khan was different. He wasn’t someone she could just smile at and win over with small talk. His deep-set eyes—sharp and observant—always made her feel as if he were seeing right through her.
But as the days passed, Kavya pushed herself to move past her hesitation. She started by speaking up during conversations at the dinner table, asking subtle questions about their traditions, their customs, making sure she showed interest without overstepping any boundaries.
One evening, while the women were in the kitchen preparing tea, Kavya saw Feroz Khan sitting alone on the veranda, a cup of chai in one hand and a newspaper in the other. The golden hues of the setting sun cast a glow on his face, highlighting the defined lines of his strong jaw and the streaks of silver in his thick hair.
Summoning her courage, she took two cups of chai and walked towards him.
"Uncle, would you like a fresh cup?" she asked softly, her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her chest.
Feroz Khan looked up from his newspaper, his gaze falling on her in that same measured way that made her feel momentarily breathless. He didn’t answer right away, simply studied her for a few seconds before finally nodding.
"Thank you," he said, his voice as deep and composed as ever.
Kavya handed him the cup and took a seat on the wooden bench beside him, maintaining a respectful distance. Silence stretched between them, but surprisingly, it wasn’t uncomfortable.
She took a sip of her tea and glanced at the newspaper in his hands. "You read every evening?" she asked, trying to ease into a conversation.
Feroz nodded, folding the paper and placing it on the table beside him. "A habit," he said simply. "I like to stay informed. The world changes fast."
Kavya smiled slightly. "I’ve never been good at keeping up with the news. Too many things happening at once."
Feroz took a slow sip of his chai. "That’s because you are still young. When you reach my age, you will realize that understanding the world around you is not just an option—it’s a necessity."
She considered his words and nodded. "Maybe I should start reading then."
A small smirk touched the corner of Feroz’s lips. "Start with something that interests you. If you try to read everything, you will end up reading nothing."
Kavya found herself relaxing in his presence, the initial hesitation fading. She glanced at the sky, which had turned shades of orange and purple. "Hyderabad looks beautiful during sunset," she remarked.
Feroz leaned back slightly, observing the horizon. "It does. This city has changed a lot over the years. Some things improve, some things… are lost."
Kavya sensed the nostalgia in his tone. "You’ve lived here all your life?"
He nodded. "Born and raised. Traveled for work, but Hyderabad has always been home."
She hesitated for a moment before asking, "What’s your favorite thing about it?"
Feroz turned his gaze towards her, as if considering his answer carefully. "The people," he finally said. "They carry history with them. They may move forward, but they never forget where they came from."
Kavya absorbed his words, feeling a strange sense of admiration for the man before her. He was not just strong-willed but also deeply rooted in his values. And for the first time since arriving, she felt a genuine connection forming—not just with the family, but with Feroz Khan himself.
As the warm evening breeze drifted through the veranda, Kavya found herself wanting to know more about Feroz Khan—not just as Danish’s father, but as a man who had seen life in a way she hadn’t. There was something about him that made her curious. His words were never wasted, yet they carried a depth that left her thinking long after he had spoken.
She traced the rim of her cup with her fingers before speaking again. “You said people here never forget where they came from… do you think that’s always a good thing?”
Feroz Khan looked at her with quiet amusement. “Why do you ask?”
Kavya shrugged lightly. “Sometimes, holding on to the past makes it harder to move forward.”
He exhaled, setting his cup down on the wooden table beside him. “It depends. The past can be a burden, but it can also be a guide. You just have to know what to hold on to… and what to let go.”
Kavya nodded, letting his words sink in. She wondered how much of his own past he had chosen to hold on to.
“You’re not like how I imagined,” she admitted suddenly, looking at him with a small smile.
Feroz arched a brow, his expression unreadable. “And how did you imagine me?”
She chuckled softly. “Honestly? A strict, no-nonsense man who wouldn’t have the patience to entertain small talk.”
Feroz’s lips twitched in what could have been a smirk. “That’s not entirely untrue.”
Kavya laughed. “Maybe. But you’re also… different. You listen more than you speak. Most people love to talk about themselves, but you…” She tilted her head slightly. “You observe.”
Feroz studied her for a moment, then leaned back against the chair, his posture relaxed yet composed. “Observing tells you more about a person than words ever can.”
Kavya felt a strange pull in that moment—a sense that she was being seen in a way she wasn’t used to. Not judged, not dismissed, just… noticed.
She cleared her throat, breaking the sudden tension. “I guess I should be careful about what I say around you, then. You might be analyzing me right now.”
Feroz chuckled, the deep rumble of his voice sending an unexpected shiver down her spine. “Maybe.”
A comfortable silence stretched between them as they both sipped their chai. The sounds of the household—distant laughter, the clinking of utensils, and the faint melody of someone humming—filled the background, but here, on the veranda, it felt like a world of its own.
“You seem comfortable here,” Feroz said after a moment, his gaze steady on her.
Kavya met his eyes. “I like being here.”
Feroz nodded slowly, as if acknowledging something unspoken between them. “Good.”
The sky had darkened now, the stars beginning to peek through the night. Kavya realized she had been out here much longer than she had planned. Yet, for some reason, she wasn’t in a hurry to leave.
And as Feroz Khan picked up his newspaper again, as if the conversation had never happened, Kavya couldn’t help but feel that something had shifted—not just between them, but within herself.

[LustyLeo]

This bitch wants her lovers dad dick too.

[Projectmp]

She is getting attracted to the old man now.

[masti.bhai]

As the wedding is over, I want to see Kavya start wearing sexy dresses (not necessarily Western dresses) to impress the old man starting with sleeveless cholis, salwars etc. Lifting her hands to show the smooth armpits etc (my fetish).

[Gilmalover]

Super. Now if she seduce feroze, definitely he will accept for the marriage and she will get 3 dick fuck.

[Manikandarajesh]

Danish father should fall in love with kavya and marry her and write all his wealth in her name.

[sexycharan]

Kavya is a real cock hungry slut

[RCF]

One look from old FIL and all the readers are harping for another dick in Kavya lol

The standards of this story is higher than that in this one, Her affair with FIL is not happening, I see she is using her smartness well with Feroz and giving him impression that she will fit well in their household. That's all.

[masti.bhai]

Bhayya,
These are not love stories, or Amar Chitra stories. Rather they're fuck stories.
The more illicit, taboo, wild they are, the juicier they are.

[John446]

CHAPTER – 50


The Weight of Acceptance

The past few days had been a whirlwind for Kavya. She had slowly but surely blended into Danish’s family, becoming part of their daily lives. At first, she had been unsure—would they accept her, even as a friend? But to her relief, everyone had embraced her with warmth.
The women of the house—Danish’s bhabhis (sisters-in-law) and cousins—had grown fond of her. They would often pull her into their gossip sessions, teasing her about how she adjusted so quickly to their traditions. She helped in the kitchen, learning their recipes, trying to fit in as much as possible. Danish’s younger cousins treated her like their own, joking around and making her laugh.
Yet, despite all of this, a deep uncertainty still weighed on her heart.
Because no one knew the truth.
To them, she was just Danish’s friend. A guest who had stayed back after Faizan’s wedding to experience the warmth of their home. But she and Danish both knew that sooner or later, the truth would have to come out.
And when that moment arrived, everything would depend on one man—Feroz Khan.
The Silent Observer
From the moment she met him, Kavya had felt a strange pull toward Feroz Khan. He was unlike any man she had ever known. Tall, well-built, with streaks of silver in his thick hair, he carried himself with a regal confidence. His deep-set eyes held wisdom, and when he spoke, his voice carried a quiet authority that made everyone listen.
He didn’t look like a man in his sixties. In fact, his sharp features and strong demeanor made him appear much younger. There was a certain magnetism about him—something commanding yet calm, powerful yet restrained.
At first, she had been afraid to even speak to him. His mere presence was intimidating, and he wasn’t the kind of man who openly expressed emotions. He observed more than he spoke. She often found his gaze lingering on her, assessing, as if trying to figure out what kind of person she was.
But over time, she had started interacting with him. The more she spoke to him, the more she realized that he wasn’t just a strict, reserved man—he was someone with layers. He had a sharp mind and a deep sense of understanding. He didn’t speak much, but when he did, every word carried weight.
Still, she couldn’t shake off the fear of what would happen when he found out about her relationship with Danish.
Would he accept her?
Or would he be against it?

The Unspoken Tension

One evening, after a long day, Kavya was helping Aisha set the table for dinner. The house was lively, filled with conversations and laughter. She placed the plates on the table when she noticed Feroz Khan sitting in the living room, reading a newspaper.
He sat with his usual composed posture, one leg crossed over the other, his hand resting lightly on his chin as he scanned the headlines. There was something about him—an undeniable presence, an aura that commanded attention even when he was silent.
Kavya’s eyes lingered on him for a moment.
She wondered, what would happen when he found out?
Would he see her as a girl who truly loved his son? Or would he only see their differences—her religion, her past, the fact that she was still someone else’s wife?
A lump formed in her throat. She had never been this nervous in her life.
She was so lost in thought that she didn’t notice Aisha watching her with curiosity. “Kya soch rahi ho?” (What are you thinking?)
Kavya blinked and forced a small smile. “Kuch nahi.” (Nothing.)
But deep inside, she knew that this was only the calm before the storm.
The following days passed in a blur of routine, but a silent storm brewed within Kavya. She tried her best to act normal—helping in the kitchen, spending time with the family, and laughing at jokes—but deep down, she was waiting. Waiting for the right time, waiting for the right moment to tell Danish’s family the truth.
She often stole glances at Danish, silently questioning when they would finally have that conversation. But Danish, too, seemed hesitant. He had always been confident in their relationship, yet when it came to his family, there was a hesitation in his eyes—a fear of how things would unfold.
And Feroz Khan?
He was watching.
Kavya could feel it.
He wasn’t the kind of man who asked unnecessary questions, but she had noticed the way his gaze lingered on her. Sharp. Observant. As if he was trying to read between the lines, trying to figure out why this ‘friend’ of Danish was so deeply woven into their family affairs.

Kavya’s Silent Mission

As the final days of their stay in Hyderabad approached, Kavya became more determined. She knew that if she wanted a future with Danish, she had to win over the one man who truly mattered—Feroz Khan.
She had spent enough time observing him, understanding the way he spoke, the way he carried himself, and most importantly, the kind of people he respected. He wasn’t easily impressed by words—he valued actions, intelligence, and confidence.
And so, Kavya made it her silent mission to earn his approval.
Small Gestures, Big Impact
She started with small things—offering to help in the kitchen when the women of the house were cooking, making sure she dressed in elegant yet modest outfits, showing respect in every interaction with the elders. But she didn’t just stop at traditional gestures; she knew Feroz Khan wasn’t a man who cared for meaningless formalities.
So, she found ways to engage him in real conversations.
One evening, she noticed him sitting alone in the courtyard, reading a book. She carefully picked up another book from the shelf—a title on business strategies—and sat nearby, pretending to read.
After a few minutes, she casually asked, “Yeh kitab achi hai?” (Is this book good?)
Feroz Khan glanced at the cover in her hands and smirked slightly. “Padho toh pata chalega.” (Read it and you’ll find out.)
Kavya bit her lip playfully. “Agar aap recommend karein tabhi toh padhoon.” (I’ll read it only if you recommend it.)
For the first time, she saw amusement flicker in his sharp gaze. “Danish se zyada samajhdar lag rahi ho.” (You seem smarter than Danish.)
She laughed. “Aapko toh pata hona chahiye, Danish kaisa hai.” (You should already know what Danish is like.)
To her relief, he chuckled.
Impressing Feroz Khan, One Step at a Time
Over the next few days, Kavya made sure to engage with him in ways that stood out. She asked intelligent questions about his business, listened attentively when he spoke, and even shared some of her own insights from her career. She wasn’t just trying to be liked—she was proving that she was capable, independent, and worthy of standing beside Danish.
One night, during dinner, she casually mentioned, “Aaj main Danish ke saath market gayi thi, aur ek cheez samajh aayi. Business karna sirf products bechne ka kaam nahi hai, yeh logon ko samajhne ka art bhi hai.” (I went to the market with Danish today, and I realized something—business isn’t just about selling products, it’s also an art of understanding people.)
Feroz Khan looked up from his plate, intrigued. “Sahi kaha tumne.” (You’re right.)
She had caught his interest. That was a win.
A Moment of Recognition
The biggest moment came during the last evening of their stay. The family was gathered in the garden, enjoying tea and laughter. Danish was playing with his nephews, and the women were chatting among themselves.
Kavya, however, was seated beside Feroz Khan, talking about Hyderabad’s rich history.
“Yahan ke monuments dekh ke lagta hai ki har patthar ke peeche ek kahani chhupi hai.” (Looking at the monuments here, it feels like every stone has a story behind it.)
Feroz Khan looked at her thoughtfully. “Tum chhoti si baat ko bhi gehrai se sochti ho.” (You think deeply about even the smallest things.)
Kavya met his gaze with quiet confidence. “Aapko impress karna aasaan nahi hai, par maine koshish toh ki.” (You’re not easy to impress, but I did try.)
For the first time, he let out a deep chuckle and nodded approvingly. “Tum koshish achi kar rahi ho.” (You’re trying well.)
And that was all the validation she needed. She had planted a seed of admiration in his mind.
Maybe she hadn’t fully won him over yet, but she was no longer just a guest in his house. She had made an impression—and that was the first step toward something bigger.
The night had settled over the house, casting soft shadows through the corridors. The air carried a quiet stillness, interrupted only by the distant hum of the city beyond the walls. Inside, the household was winding down—everyone had retired to their rooms after another long day of post-wedding gatherings.
Kavya was about to head to her room when she heard a deep voice behind her.
"Kavya, ek baat karni thi. Akele mein." (Kavya, I need to talk. In private.)
She turned around and saw Feroz Khan standing at the far end of the corridor. His tall frame was partially illuminated by the dim hallway light, his sharp eyes unreadable yet commanding.
Her heartbeat quickened slightly.
Feroz Khan wasn’t the kind of man who engaged in unnecessary conversations. If he wanted to talk in private, it meant something important.
Kavya swallowed and gave a small nod. “Ji...?” (Yes?)
Without another word, he turned and walked toward the open terrace. It was clear he expected her to follow.
Kavya stood on the terrace, her fingers gripping the cool metal railing as she tried to steady her thoughts.
Behind her, Feroz Khan, a man of quiet dominance and unreadable expressions, stood watching her intently.
“Itni mehnat kyun kar rahi ho, Kavya?” (Why are you making so much effort, Kavya?)
His voice, deep and measured, broke the silence between them.
Kavya turned to face him, her heart hammering. She knew this moment would come sooner or later. She had spent days trying to win over his family, but it was Feroz Khan who held the real power. If she didn’t tell him the truth now, she might never get another chance.
She took a deep breath and finally spoke. “Main sirf Danish ki dost nahi hoon.” (I am not just Danish’s friend.)
His gaze didn’t waver, but she noticed the slight narrowing of his eyes, a flicker of curiosity.
“Toh phir tum kaun ho?” (Then who are you?) he asked, his voice dangerously calm.
Kavya swallowed. This was it.
“Main Danish se pyaar karti hoon.” (I love Danish.)
For the first time, she saw a reaction. A subtle shift in his expression, something close to disbelief—or was it disappointment?
But she wasn’t finished.
“Aur main shaadi-shuda hoon.” (And I am married.)
The moment the words left her mouth, an unsettling silence stretched between them. The faint sounds of the city felt far away, drowned by the weight of her confession.
Feroz Khan’s face hardened. His gaze, which had held curiosity a moment ago, now turned cold.
"Tum Danish ke saath ho, jabki tumhara ek pati hai?" (You are with Danish while you have a husband?)
Kavya knew this was coming, but hearing it from his mouth made her stomach tighten.
"Rahul aur meri shaadi bas naam ki reh gayi hai," she admitted, her voice softer now. (Rahul and I are married only in name now.)
Feroz Khan stood silent for a moment, his tall frame looming in the dim light of the terrace. Kavya's words echoed in his mind — "Main Danish se pyaar karti hoon... aur main shaadi-shuda hoon." ("I love Danish... and I am married.").

The revelation hit him harder than he had expected. His deep-set eyes, usually unreadable, flickered with a rare mix of shock and disbelief. He turned his face slightly away, inhaling sharply, trying to process what he had just heard.
"Tum... shaadi-shuda ho?" ("Are you... married?")

Feroz finally broke the silence, his voice heavy and almost hollow. "Aur phir bhi tumne Danish ke saath...?" ("And still, you were with Danish...?")

He couldn’t complete the sentence. The weight of those words was too much.
Kavya lowered her gaze, her hands nervously fidgeting with the edge of her kurta. "Mujhe nahi pata tha yeh sab kab itna gehra ho gaya... par jo bhi hai, yeh sach hai... Danish aur main ek doosre se mohabbat karte hain," ("I didn't know when all of this became so deep... but whatever it is, this is the truth... Danish and I love each other.")
she spoke softly, her voice trembling but honest.
Feroz's jaw tightened. For a man like him — traditional, proud, and protective of his family's honor — this truth was hard to swallow. He had seen Kavya as a sweet, respectful girl trying hard to blend in. But now, everything looked different. The bond he noticed between Danish and Kavya suddenly made sense.
After a long pause, he looked at her, his eyes sharp and piercing, "Tumhe andaza bhi hai, tumne kya keh diya? Yeh koi chhoti baat nahi hai, Kavya. Humare liye, mere liye... yeh sab..." ("Do you even realize what you've said? This is not a small thing, Kavya. For us, for me... all of this...")

He stopped himself, breathing heavily. Kavya gathered courage, "Mujhe pata hai uncle... isiliye aaj sab kuch keh diya. Main jhoot nahi jeena chahti thi. Aap sabse zyada zaroori hain Danish ke liye... aur ab mere liye bhi. Main bas chahti hoon aap mujhe samjhein, sirf ek baar." ("I know, uncle... that's why I said everything today. I didn't want to live a lie. You are the most important for Danish... and now, for me too. I just want you to understand me, just once.")

Feroz Khan stood silently for a few moments, his jaw clenched, trying to calm the storm brewing inside him. Then, slowly, he turned back toward Kavya, his eyes dark and intense, carrying the weight of years of experience and pride.
"Kavya," his deep voice finally echoed through the empty terrace, "Tumhe lagta hai main yeh sab itni aasani se maan loonga?" He took a step closer, towering over her. "Ek toh tum ***** ho... upar se shaadi-shuda... aur ab mere bete ke saath zindagi basana chahti ho?"
Kavya swallowed hard, but she stood her ground, her eyes not dropping this time. "Mujhe pata hai uncle, yeh sab aapke liye asaan nahi hai... par main bhi aapse jhooth nahi bol sakti thi. Danish se dil lag gaya hai... yeh bas ho gaya, bina soche samjhe." ("I know, uncle, this is not easy for you... but I couldn't lie to you either. I have fallen for Danish... it just happened, without thinking.")
Feroz let out a bitter chuckle, "Dil lag gaya? Yeh koi khel hai, Kavya? Tumne socha bhi kaise ki main apni khandaani izzat daav pe laga ke tumhari aur Danish ki is... is bewakoofi ko qabool kar loonga?" ("Fallen for him? Is this some kind of game, Kavya? How could you even think that I would risk my family's honor and accept this... this foolishness of yours and Danish?")

Kavya's eyes welled up, but she wiped her tears quickly. "Main samajh sakti hoon... aapka gussa, aapka dar... lekin aap ek baar Danish ki aankhon mein dekhna, woh mujhse kitna pyaar karta hai. Main usse chhod nahi sakti." ("I can understand... your anger, your fear... but if you look into Danish's eyes just once, you'll see how much he loves me. I can't leave him.")

Feroz’s face hardened. "Tum chhod nahi sakti? Tumne socha kab ki is rishte ka anjaam kya hoga? Samajti ho tum, ***** ho... aur woh bhi *****... aur hum... hum Musalmaan... Humare rivaazon mein, hamare dharm mein, yeh kabool nahi hota. Log kya kahenge, society kya kahegi? Danish ke baare mein kabhi socha tumne? Uski zindagi ka kya banega?" ("You can't leave him? Have you ever thought about what the outcome of this relationship will be? Do you understand, you’re *****... and he’s *****... and we... we are '.. In our traditions, in our religion, this is not accepted. What will people say, what will society say? Have you ever thought about Danish? What will happen to his life?")

Kavya took a shaky breath, "Sirf isi wajah se to aaj aapse baat kar rahi hoon... main chaahti hoon ki aap Danish se khud baat karein... dekhein kitna badal gaya hai yeh sab uske liye... main apni purani zindagi chhodne ke liye tayyar hoon... bas ek moka dijiye humein." ("I am talking to you today only because of this... I want you to talk to Danish yourself... see how much everything has changed for him... I am ready to leave my old life behind... just give us a chance.")

Feroz clenched his fists, his voice now trembling with both rage and helplessness. "Tumhe lagta hai main apne maa-baap ke kabr ke upar yeh faisla kar loon? Main apni khandan ki parampara tod doon? Maine Danish ko bada kiya, usse duniya ke laayak banaya... aur woh kya laaya mere liye? Tumhari mohabbat?" ("Do you think I should make this decision over my parents' graves? Should I break my family's traditions? I raised Danish, made him worthy of the world... and what has he brought for me? Your love?")

Kavya’s heart sank but she didn’t break down. "Main bas chahti hoon ki aap humein samjhein... main jaanti hoon is rishte ka bojh kitna bada hai... par uncle, kabhi kabhi insaan ka dil usse raste pe le jaata hai jahan wo khud nahi sochta ki sahi kya hai, galat kya hai..." ("I just want you to understand us... I know how heavy the burden of this relationship is... but uncle, sometimes a person's heart leads them down a path where they don’t even think about what is right or wrong...")

Feroz’s eyes burned into hers. "Dil ka kehna sunte-sunte log barbaad ho jaate hain, Kavya. Aur main apne bete ki barbaadi apni aankhon ke saamne nahi dekh sakta." ("People get ruined by following their heart's desires, Kavya. And I cannot watch my son's destruction right in front of my eyes.")

There was silence. Heavy. Crushing.
After a moment, Feroz spoke, his voice low but final, "Main is rishte ke khilaaf hoon, Kavya. Aur main Danish ko samjhaunga... samjhaana hi padega. Tum apni duniya mein wapas chali jao... yeh sab khatam karo yahin pe." ("I am against this relationship, Kavya. And I will make Danish understand... I have to make him understand. You go back to your world... end all of this right here.")

Kavya's tears flowed freely now, but she nodded slowly, knowing convincing Feroz wouldn't be easy — maybe impossible. Yet, somewhere deep down, she felt this wasn’t the end.
She whispered, "Agar aapka faisla yeh hai... to main majboor nahi karoongi. Lekin ek baat kehna chahti hoon... agar kabhi aapka dil badle... main intezaar karungi." ("If this is your decision... I won’t force you. But I want to say one thing... if ever your heart changes... I will wait.")

Feroz didn’t reply. He simply turned his back and walked away, his tall figure disappearing into the dark night, leaving Kavya standing there, broken — but not defeated.

[masti.bhai]

Hope Feroze Bhai fucks the living daylights out of Kavya.

[fuckandforget]

please give in english next to hindi conversations.

[momass]

One look from old FIL and all the readers are harping for another dick in Kavya lol

The standards of this story is higher than that in this one, Her affair with FIL is not happening, I see she is using her smartness well with Feroz and giving him impression that she will fit well in their household. That's all.

i agree ,this is not just sex story ,but a sex story with love and emotions

#justiceforrahul

[Thangaraasu]

cant understand most of the lines. if you want to write in hindi, please write in hindi section. or write here only in english.

[John446]

hello guys i have updated the story with english subtitles also sorry for the inconvenience. I will keep in mind in future to update the english subtitles with hindi also. and the next part will be posted soon.

[Thangaraasu]

Thanks for the english translation

[Minki]

Finally gave her in the marital bed and confirmed she does not love her husband anymore. She is now complete slut of this moslim man. Kavya gets pregnant and her impotent husband will send an appreciation email to his friend for saving his time and giving his wife what she wants. Also, he will say that she can be his slut for life as he has no idea to return to see her. Kavya will be extremely happy and marry this moslim man and change to his religion and deliver his child.

Dear what is your problem adultery or interfaith if interfaith than say clearly i assume if she doo all these things any about elss whom name nikhil or any same realagin person that all good Bec herse are many stories spl cuck or adultery only interfaith is bad what a joke it's only story don't involve yourself take it easy bro and enjoying

[Gilmalover]

Very nice. Feroz should make her beg for his cock.