The Dot (.)

The Dot (.)

Chapter 1

My name is Kamya, I am a 28-year-old Indian house wife with an attractive figure and long hair, my husband works abroad in Dubai. He comes home every six months or so.

This time when he came home, he appeared distracted and worried. Every time his phone would ring, he would rush away and talk to someone in a hush-hush tone as if he was afraid of something and wanted keep this as a secret from me.

That day, the house was quieter than usual, just the occasional tick of the grandfather clock echoing down the corridor and birds chirping outside. The setting sun spilled a warm, golden light through the curtains, painting the living room in a comforting glow. I can still faintly smell the snacks I made, a sweet aroma that pulled a small, sad smile from me as I remember the last time he ate it.

He's been so worried since he got home, the lines on his forehead were deepening with every hushed phone call. Standing here in the kitchen, I've made up my mind. Tonight, I'm going to confront him. The silence in this house was becoming heavy and thick with the secrets that he had been keeping, and I could not bear it any longer.

I knocked gently on the door, "What's the matter honey?" I call out softly, my voice filled with genuine concern.

There's a brief pause before he responded, his tone strained and distant.

"Nothing," he says, and I can hear the rustling of papers or something similar from inside the room.

The sound of his footsteps retreating further from the door caused a twinge of sadness within me. It's clear he doesn't want to talk about it, but I can't shake off the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

The phone rang again!

My curiosity piqued, I press my ear against the door, straining to make out the muffled words. The conversation is hushed, but the urgency in his voice was unmistakable.

"No, no... for God sake no! Don't involve my wife into this..." His words are a jolting revelation. Who is he speaking to, and why would they want to involve me? I held my breath, heart racing, as the person on the other end seems to argue with equal fervour.

But the voice was too faint for me to discern any details. All I know is that my husband's secret has grown too large to ignore, and it's about to spill over into my world.

That night, as the moon cast its silvery glow through the bedroom window with my husband's form is barely discernible in the shadows. His deep, even breaths suggested a deep sleep fuelled by exhaustion or perhaps alcohol. The quietness was suddenly shattered by the piercing ring of my phone.

Yes! It was my phone this time.

The digital display flashed an unknown number, and fear clutched at my heart.

With trembling hands, I swipe to answer. "Hello?"

A man's gruff, unfamiliar voice fills the room, sending chills down my spine. "Kamya," he says, his tone menacing yet oddly calm, "Your husband has a little... problem. A debt. A rather significant one, Ten Million to be precise. But I can make it all go away. Just say the word. A simple 'yes' from you is all it takes."

The silence stretched taut between us as I try to process the sheer magnitude of his claim. What could this 'yes' possibly entail? I stood there, paralyzed, the phone a cold, heavy weight in my hand.

I decided to confront my husband the next morning, when the house is bathed in the gentle light of dawn. His eyes are bloodshot and weary when he emerged from the bedroom, his usual crisp shirt wrinkled, and his tie askew.

He looked up at me, the weight of the unspoken truth hanging heavy between us.

"Honey," I begin, my voice shaking slightly, "I overheard your phone call last night. Who was that? What's going on?"

His face went pale, and he ran a shaky hand through his hair, avoiding eye contact.

My husband sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He knew that he could not keep this from me any longer. He took a seat at the breakfast table, his gaze finally met mine.

"It's complicated, love", he started, his voice a whisper, "But I promise you, it has nothing to do with us. I... I've made a mistake, a terrible mistake that could cost us everything. But it's my burden to bear."

His eyes fill with desperation as he spoke, and I could see the cracks in his usually stoic facade. Despite his protests, I insisted on knowing the truth.

And after a moment of agonizing silence, he relents, his shoulders dropping in defeat. "It's about a bet... and some people I've... crossed. They're dangerous... very dangerous, and they want their money back. But I don't have it," he admitted, the words spilling out like a confession.

With a tremor in his voice, my husband finally revealed the source of his distress, "I got involved with a betting app... from the dark web," he confessed, his eyes avoiding mine. "It was supposed to be a quick way to earn some extra cash. I had a sure bet on a football match. I was going to win 10 times what I put in!"

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "But I made a mistake with the amount. Instead of betting one hundred thousand, I accidentally entered ten million.... that is instead of 100000.00 (one hundred thousand dot zero zero) I had entered 100000 00 (one hundred thousand zero zero) the dot did not go thru. And... my team lost in the last moments of the game. Two more goals were scored by the enemy team. The dot... it just didn't register, and now..." His voice trails off, the gravity of his error hanging in the air like a dark cloud. "They're threatening dire consequences if I don't pay them back. And I don't know how to fix this mess."

My heart raced as I tried to understand the magnitude of what he had just told me. The silence in the room is deafening, the only sound being the soft ticking of the clock on the wall.

"You... you owe them ten million?" I repeated in disbelief! My voice barely above a whisper. "How are we going to pay that back? What did you get us into?"

Tears threaten to spill over as I struggled to reconcile the reality of our situation. My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and fears. But amidst the chaos, a spark of resolve ignites.

"We'll figure this out together," I tell him firmly, placing a hand on his trembling shoulder. "We'll find a way."

Despite the terror that was coursing through me, I stand tall, ready to face whatever comes next alongside the man I love. Our world might be falling apart, but we'll face it together.

The very next evening, my husband excused himself to go out on an errand. I decided to stay in the house, my nerves on edge. As I was watching TV, my phone rang again.

The same unknown number.

This time, the man's voice is smooth, almost seductive. "Your husband has informed me of your... situation," he purrs, "I can see that you're quite the devoted wife. And since I have access to your husband's phone, I have seemed all your pictures. You are quite a beautiful woman with long hair and an attractive figure.... Well, what's your cup size?" He was very direct.

I could not help but whisper, "36 C"

He smiled and I could sense that and then he said, "I'm willing to make a deal."

There's a pause, and I feel a cold knot in my stomach.

"If you're willing to... spend a night with me," he says, his words dripping with malicious intent, "I'll forgive the debt. It's a simple exchange, really. A night of pleasure for a lifetime of freedom." The silence is thick, filled with the thunderous beat of my heart.

I stared at the phone in horror; the proposal was echoing in my ears. This is not what I had expected. How could I ever agree to such a thing? And yet, the alternative is too terrifying to consider.