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In continuation of My girlfriend is sleeping with her boss (M) and my boss (F) knows I’m fine with it [Part 3]
After the party, things between Riya and Gaurav didn’t end with some dramatic fallout — they just… faded. That’s how it always goes with her.
One evening, while I was watching TV, she dropped it casually: “I’ve accepted an offer at a new law firm. I looked up. “Wait, what? You didn’t even tell me you were interviewing.” She smiled faintly, tying her hair up. “Didn’t want to jinx it.”
Her new firm was a bigger name. Better floor, flashier crowd, louder energy. She sent me photos from her first day: new cubicle, designer coffee mug, the skyline behind her. New colleagues, new group dinners, office gossip. Then came her “welcome party.” She asked me to come along; said it would “look good” for her to bring her boyfriend.
The moment we walked in, I felt it. That same rush of unfamiliar faces, laughter that felt too loud, drinks moving faster than time. And then — him. Sankalp.
I froze the second I saw him. Same crooked smile, same cocky shoulders. He hadn’t changed since law school — maybe sharper suit, better watch, but still the same man who’d once made me feel like a joke. The guy who’d turned my breakup into a running gag, who’d whispered things loud enough for everyone to hear. Back then he wasn’t just a bully—he was the person who’d turned my worst insecurities into entertainment. My ex hadn’t left me for him; she’d simply chosen him, over and over, in secret, until the whole college knew. The guy who had made me an oblivious cuck wherein most of the people in my college, obviously knew.
He was talking to a senior partner when his eyes caught mine. For a second, he didn’t recognize me. Then his lips curved into that smirk. “No way,” he said, walking over. “Hrithik? Dude. You’re with Riya?”
Riya looked between us, confused. “You two know each other?”
Sankalp chuckled. “Oh, you could say that. We were in law school together. He was…” — he paused just long enough for the smirk to sting — “…the loser one.”
My throat tightened. Before I could respond, someone called his name, and he walked off — but not before leaning in just enough to whisper, “Didn’t expect you to have a type that keeps repeating history.”
It took me a second to process. He was hinting at my ex.
The rest of the night blurred — music, laughter, half-empty glasses. Riya kept socializing; I kept pretending. But every few minutes, I’d spot him. Watching her. Watching us.
When we were leaving, the elevator doors were closing when he caught my arm. “Hey,” he said softly. “Just so you know — I’m gonna do the same thing I did last time. Let’s see if you still like watching.”
He stepped out before the doors closed.
Riya noticed something off on the ride home. “You didn’t tell me how you know him,” she said.
I took a breath. “He’s the guy my ex cheated with. The reason people used to laugh at me. The reason I—” I stopped short of finishing the sentence. Her face softened, like she wanted to say something comforting, but the silence stretched. Then I added quietly, “Anyone but him, Riya. I don’t want that again. I was fine with Gaurav. I’m fine with anyone, but him.
She nodded, but something in her eyes — curiosity, guilt, maybe excitement — told me she’d already thought about it.
After that night, things changed in small, almost invisible ways. Riya started mentioning Sankalp more often — casually, like people do when they want you to think something doesn’t matter.
“He’s actually not that bad once you talk to him.” “He’s senior, but surprisingly chill.” “He’s been helping me with some case notes.”
Every time she said his name, it felt like someone was tracing an old wound open again.
At first, I convinced myself I was imagining things. Then came the texts. Sankalp started messaging me. Little things at first — jokes, work updates, fake friendliness. But they carried that same undertone he always had. Like every word had a smirk hidden behind it.
“She’s fitting in well here.” “You must miss her during late hours — don’t worry, I keep her busy.” “Guess I’m helping her grow… professionally.”
The more I tried to ignore him, the worse it got. I could feel it — he was playing me, the way he always had. Then one Friday night, Riya told me about an outstation “work trip.” “It’s just two days,” she said, throwing clothes into her bag. “Client meetings, early flight, back by Sunday.”
When Riya was about to leave for the work trip, she hugged me tighter than usual, almost to convince me more than herself. “You trust me, right?” she asked. I wanted to — God, I really wanted to. She had promised me that she wouldn’t spend any personal time with Sankalp, that it was strictly work, that she’d even avoid after-hours hangouts. “You’ll see, I’ll text you all the time,” she said, smiling softly, before leaving with her suitcase.
The first day, she did — messages, photos from meetings, even a quick video call before bed. But by the second night, the tone shifted. Short replies. “Busy.” “Sorry, exhausted.” “Talk tomorrow?” The next day, even those stopped. I stayed up, phone in hand, watching her last seen tick away into hours.
But something in the way she said “goodnight” felt rehearsed. Like she wasn’t alone. Like she was speaking softly not out of tiredness, but because someone else was nearby. Deep down, I already knew how that story ends.
Saturday passed in silence. Her phone was off most of the day. I texted her; messages stayed on “delivered.”
Then one night, Sankalp texted me. No words — just a photo. Her bag on his chair. Then another — her bracelet on his wrist.
Each image hit like a wave of nausea and adrenaline mixed together. I didn’t reply. I couldn’t.
The final night. Then a buzz — not from her, but again from Sankalp. A picture.
The picture showed Riya and Sankalp in his hotel room. Riya was completely naked, kneeling prostrate in front of him, kissing his feet.
I couldn’t breathe. My first instinct wasn’t anger. It was that same cold mix of humiliation and heat. My head spun; I hated him for it, hated her for letting it happen — but more than that, I hated how it made me feel.
And maybe that’s what he knew all along.
Because that night, as I stared at her empty side of the bed, another message came in.
“You said you didn’t want this again. But deep down, you did. Didn’t you?”
He wasn’t wrong.
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