Twins innocent wife: Care and love Chp 4

 The morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, casting long, pale beams across the pristine white flooring. Nandini sat on the edge of the bed, the silk sheets pooled around her waist. The silence of the apartment was absolute, broken only by the low, rhythmic hum of the air conditioning. She was twenty-four, a woman with curves that drew the eye wherever she went, her figure full and soft in the harsh light of the modern room. She glanced down at her body, the skin warm to the touch, and then felt the sudden, familiar dampness between her thighs.

Her breath hitched in her throat. It was her period.

In the home where she grew up, this had been a signal for immediate exile. Her mother would hand her a separate set of bedsheets, her voice dropping to a hush as if speaking a secret curse. Nandini would be confined to the far corner of the house, forbidden from entering the kitchen, barred from touching the prayer room idols, and forced to eat from a metal plate that was kept apart from the rest of the family’s dishes. She had been treated as if she were stained, a temporary disruption to the order of the house.

But here, in the glass apartment overlooking the chaotic city skyline, the rules were different. Or perhaps, there were no rules at all, only the ones Manik and Maanav created.

She stood up, the cool air raising gooseflesh on her arms. The penthouse was vast, a maze of sharp angles and expensive minimalism. 

Nandini walked into the bathroom, the tiles cold under her bare feet. The space was larger than her entire childhood bedroom had been. Shelves lined the walls, filled with crystal bottles of expensive perfumes, oils, and creams that smelled of sandalwood and jasmine. She caught her reflection in the mirror—dark hair disheveled from sleep, eyes wide with uncertainty.

She didn't know what to do. If she stayed naked, she would make a mess of their pristine furniture. If she covered up, she broke their rule.

She turned on the tap, waiting for the water to heat up, but only a cold stream rushed out. She shivered as she washed herself, the icy water shocking her skin, scrubbing away the evidence of her body’s betrayal. Her movements were quick, efficient, born from years of habit where speed meant less chance of being seen, less chance of offending.

Drying off with a plush, navy-blue towel, she opened the cabinet under the marble sink. It was completely organized Rows of neatly aligned boxes sat on the shelves. Her fingers trembled slightly as she pushed aside a stack of spare toothpaste tubes to find what she needed. There, tucked in the back corner, was a box of sanitary supplies. They were unopened, the plastic wrap gleaming under the vanity lights. She stared at it for a moment. They had bought them for her. They had anticipated this.

She took one out, After taking care of her needs, she looked around for clothes. The rule echoed in her mind—*always naked*. But the fear of staining the white sofa or the beige carpet gnawed at her. 

She went inside and took a red satin shorts

Nandini hesitated, her hand hovering over the fabric. The satin was smooth, cool against her fingertips. She bit her lower lip, a habit she displayed whenever she was anxious. Pulling them on, she felt a strange mix of relief and guilt. The shorts clung to her hips, the fabric sliding over her thighs. It was a violation of their rule, surely. But surely, they wouldn't want blood on their furniture?

She left the bathroom, the satin shorts whispering against her skin with every step. The penthouse felt too quiet, too empty. She made her way to the living area, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city waking up below. Cars moved like colorful ants along the winding roads.

She didn't know where to go. In her parents' house, she would have retreated to the small room in the back, closing the door and waiting for the days to pass. Here, there was no designated place for shame.

The sound of the front door clicking open shattered the silence.

Nandini froze, her heart hammering against her ribs. She turned to see Manik and Maanav stepping inside. They wore tailored suits that fit their frames perfectly, the dark fabric contrasting with the crisp white shirts underneath. They looked like men who owned the world, and in many ways, they did.

Manik was the first to see her. His eyes swept over the living room before landing on her figure. He paused, his gaze dropping to the red satin shorts covering her legs. Maanav followed his gaze, stopping dead in his tracks.

Nandini’s hands instinctively moved to cover herself, her arms crossing over her chest. Her shoulders hunched inward, making herself smaller. She waited for the reprimand, the sharp command to strip, the cold disappointment in their eyes.

Instead, Manik dropped his briefcase by the door. The heavy thud echoed in the quiet room. He walked toward her, his stride purposeful but not angry. Maanav followed, loosening his tie as he moved.

"Whats wrong jaan?," Manik said. His voice was deep, a low rumble that vibrated in the air between them.

"I..." Nandini started, her voice barely a whisper. She cleared her throat, trying to find the words. "I didn't want to... make a mess."

Maanav reached her first. He didn't look at the shorts with anger. He looked at her face, seeing the fear in her eyes. He reached out, his hand large and warm against her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray lock of hair.

"Is it that time?" he asked softly.

Nandini nodded, unable to speak, her eyes fixed on the floor.

Manik stepped up behind her, his chest pressing against her back. He placed his hands on her shoulders, his grip firm but gentle. He didn't order her to take the shorts off. He didn't scold her for breaking the rule.

"Why are you standing here in the cold?" Manik murmured close to her ear. "You should be in bed."

"But the... the sheets," Nandini stammered. "I didn't want to ruin them."

"We have people who wash sheets, Nandini," Maanav said, a hint of amusement in his tone. "And you more important than any sheet

He took her hand, his fingers interlacing with hers. "Come on."

He led her back toward the bedroom, Manik walking close behind her. When they reached the bed, Maanav pulled the duvet back. Nandini hesitated, but a gentle squeeze of her hand from Maanav urged her forward. She climbed onto the mattress, the satin shorts rustling.

"Lie down," Manik commanded, though his voice lacked its usual hard edge.

She lay back against the pillows, watching them warily. She expected them to leave, to let her rot in her room as her parents would have done. Instead, Manik began to unbutton his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves to reveal his forearms.

"Turn over," he said.

Nandini blinked. "What?"

"Onto your stomach," Maanav clarified, already moving to the side of the bed.

Confused, she slowly rolled over, burying her face in the pillow. She felt the mattress dip as Manik sat on the edge. A moment later, strong hands began to knead the muscles of her lower back.

She tensed at first, her body rigid. The touch wasn't sexual, at least not in the demanding way she was used to. It was methodical, firm pressure applied to the base of her spine, working its way up to her shoulders.

"Relax," Manik said quietly. "You're tense."

"I'm sorry," she mumbled into the pillow.

"Don't be," Maanav replied from the other side. She heard the crinkle of a wrapper. A moment later, a piece of dark chocolate was pressed against her lips. "Open."

Nandini parted her lips, and the rich, sweet taste of cocoa melted on her tongue. It was high quality, bitter and sweet at the same time.

"Good girl," Maanav murmured, stroking her hair.

Manik’s hands worked out a knot in her shoulder, his thumbs pressing deep into the tissue. The pain mingled with relief, her muscles slowly uncoiling under his expert touch. She had expected disgust. She had expected to be hidden away. Instead, they were touching her, feeding her, caring for her.

"Does it hurt?" Manik asked, his hands pausing on her lower back.

"A little," she admitted.

"Heat helps," Maanav said. He walked over to the thermostat on the wall, adjusting the temperature. A moment later, the room began to feel warmer, the air less biting against her skin.

Manik continued the massage, his hands moving down to her legs, squeezing her calves through the satin shorts. "We didn't make the rule about clothes to punish you, Nandini. We made it because we like looking at you."

"But today..."

"Today is just a day," Maanav interrupted, coming back to sit on the bed near her head. He brushed her hair away from her face so he could see her profile. "And you are not unclean. You are never unclean to us."

Nandini felt a lump form in her throat. She closed her eyes, letting the sensation of Manik’s hands and the warmth of the room wash over her. The fear of the morning began to recede, replaced by a heavy, drowsy comfort.

"I'll order food," Maanav said, taking out his phone. "Something warm. Fried rice?"

Nandini nodded slightly against the pillow.

"And more chocolate," Manik added, not stopping the movement of his hands.

She lay there, sandwiched between them, listening to the low hum of their voices and the city far below. The red satin shorts remained on her body, a silent rebellion that had been forgiven without a second thought. As Manik pressed a kiss to the back of her neck and Maanav scrolled through the menu on his phone, Nandini realized that this new world she lived in had rules, yes. But they were rules written to keep her close, not to cast her out. She drifted into a light sleep, safe, warm, and cared for.