Adultery Innocent Housewife Tricked by Luck By Chance

[Luck by chance]

Chapter 4 - That Fateful Day

In the morning Chitra comes to Ankita while Ravi was having breakfast and tell her that she will have to go to her village because her mother is sick. The aroma of sizzling parathas filled the small kitchen as Ravi tore off another piece, his focus entirely on the plate before him, oblivious to the tension that suddenly thickened the air. Chitra stood in the doorway, her usual bright smile replaced by a shadow of worry that pulled at the corners of her mouth, her hands twisting the end of her worn dupatta. Ankita, pouring tea, noticed immediately and straightened up, her own movements stilling as she met Chitra's troubled gaze. "Didi," Chitra began, her voice barely a whisper that cut through Ravi's contented chewing, "my brother called from the village just now. Maa... she's been ill for a few days, but it's worse now. They've taken her to the clinic. I have to go.".

Ankita Says “Ok, take some money from me.”


Ravi stood by the car, his jaw tight with a frustration that had become his constant companion. He watched Ankita walk towards him, her saree—a vibrant mustard yellow—swaying around her ankles. Each day, his performance as the devoted "bhaiya" grew more polished, while the beast within him grew more restless.

"Ravi bhai, we need to go to Crawford Market today," she said, her voice bright and completely unaware of the turmoil she caused in him. "The vegetables there are much fresher."

"Of course, Mrs. Gupta," he replied, holding the door open for her. As she slid in, his eyes were drawn to the exposed skin of her waist, a flash of soft, warm brown that made his fingers twitch.

The market was a chaotic symphony of sights, sounds, and smells. Ravi stayed close, a shadow behind her, his senses overwhelmed. He watched her bend over a crate of bright red tomatoes, the fabric of her saree stretching taut across her buttocks. The shape was perfect, round and full, a masterpiece that made his cock begin to stir. He imagined himself behind her, not in a crowded market, but in the privacy of her bedroom, his hands gripping those hips as he...

"Madam, these tomatoes are as red as your lips," a young salesman leered, his eyes boldly roaming over Ankita's body. "And these brinjals... they are not as firm as..."

The comment, crude and direct, hit Ravi like a jolt of electricity. A wave of possessive anger and raw lust surged through him. His erection sprang to life, hard and demanding, pressing painfully against the seam of his trousers. He shot the salesman a murderous glare, but the boy had already turned to another customer.

Ankita, bless her oblivious soul, simply frowned at the boy's impertinence and moved on. Ravi followed, his mind a whirlwind of dark fantasies. He picked up a long, thick cucumber from a basket, its cool, smooth skin a poor substitute for what he truly wanted to hold. He walked behind her, his eyes glued to the hypnotic sway of her ass, his knuckles white as he gripped the vegetable. He pictured her bent over, that saree lifted, her body open and waiting for him. The frustration was a physical pain, a fire in his gut.

The drive back was silent and tense. Ravi's frustration had curdled into anger. She was right there, beside him, smelling of jasmine and fresh vegetables, her body inches away, yet she might as well have been on the moon. He couldn't touch her, couldn't have her. The injustice of it all made his hands tremble on the steering wheel.

Ankita's phone rang, the shrill sound cutting through the thick silence. She glanced at the screen, and a flicker of hope crossed her face before she answered. "Arjun? Beta, I was so happy to see your call..."

Her face fell as she listened. Ravi could hear the muffled, impatient voice of her son from the other end.

"No, Arjun, I am questioning about the money you are spending recklessly" Ankita's voice trembled. "I just wanted to talk... It's been two months since we last spoke... I am your mother, I worry."

There was a pause, and Ravi saw a single tear trace a path down her cheek.

"But the transfer you mentioned... it didn't go through. The bank said..." Her voice broke. "Fine. Fine. I won't bother you again."

She ended the call, her hand dropping to her lap. The silence in the car was now heavy with her sorrow. She stared out the window, her shoulders slumped, the vibrant energy from the market extinguished.

"Ravi," she said, her voice hollow. "Just... drive fast. I want to go home."

Her sadness, her vulnerability, should have been an opportunity for him. Instead, it fueled his own frustration. He was angry at her son, angry at her, angry at himself. He nodded, his face grim, and slammed his foot on the accelerator. The car surged forward, weaving through the traffic with a recklessness that was foreign to him.

His eyes kept darting from the road to her. She had closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the seat, a single tear glistening on her cheek. His gaze dropped to her chest, the rise and fall of her breasts with each breath, the tantalizing curve visible above her saree's pallu. He was so lost in his fantasy, so consumed by his anger and lust, that he didn't see it until it was too late.

A massive truck, lumbering out of a side lane, filled his entire vision.

Time seemed to warp. Ravi's eyes widened in terror. He slammed his foot on the brake, the pedal hitting the floor with a sickening thud. The tires screamed in protest. The seatbelt slammed into his chest, knocking the wind out of him, holding him in place.

Ankita, without a belt, became a projectile. Ravi watched in horror as her body flew forward. Her head struck the dashboard with a dull, sickening crack. She crumpled against the passenger-side door, limp and silent.

The world screeched to a halt. The truck driver blared his horn and sped away. Ravi sat there, his heart hammering against his ribs, his ears ringing. He fumbled with his seatbelt, his hands shaking uncontrollably. "Mrs. Gupta? Ankita?" He reached for her, his fingers trembling as he touched her shoulder. She was unnaturally still. There was no blood, but a dark bruise was already forming on her forehead.

Panic, cold and sharp, cut through his lust and anger. "Ankita! Wake up!" He shook her gently, then more forcefully. Her head lolled to the side, her eyes closed. She was breathing, but it was shallow.

"Hospital. I have to get her to a hospital."

He drove like a madman, the car's engine screaming, his knuckles white on the wheel. He kept glancing at her pale face, the beautiful, trusting face of the woman he had been fantasizing about violating just minutes ago. A wave of nauseating guilt washed over him, but it was quickly pushed aside by the raw, primal need to save her. His Mrs. Gupta. He couldn't let her die.

The emergency room at City Hospital was a blur of chaos and sterile white. Ravi carried her in, his strong arms cradling her limp body, shouting for help. Nurses and a doctor swarmed them, taking her from him and placing her on a gurney. He was left standing alone, his shirt stained with her tears, his hands still shaking.

Hours passed. He paced the sterile corridor, his mind replaying the crash, the salesman's comment, his own reckless anger. The guilt was a physical weight now, pressing down on his chest.

Finally, a doctor approached him, a kind-faced man with tired eyes. "She's stable. A severe concussion, but no internal bleeding. She's resting now. You can see her."

Ravi followed him to a private room. Ankita lay on the bed, her face as pale as the sheets, an IV drip in her arm. She looked fragile, broken. He sat in the chair beside her bed, his large hand reaching out to gently hold her small, cool one. He watched her chest rise and fall, a rhythm that was now the most important thing in his world.

The doctor returned a few minutes later, holding a chart. He looked at Ravi, his expression sympathetic. He assumed the role of the concerned husband, the grieving partner.

"Mr. Gupta," the doctor said softly, his eyes on the chart. "Can you come here for a moment?"