"Did he see us? Did he hear everything?" A wave of doomed dread washed over me, my hand clamped over my mouth. Across the coffee table, Aditya merely offered his signature, almost self-satisfied smile. An hour earlier, the carefully constructed facade of my life had already begun to splinter. My daughter, Trisha, held unabashed contempt for my husband, Dhruv, even bluntly wishing Aditya was her father. When Dhruv couldn't even manage a simple meal, my patience snapped. Sharp words spilled out, accusing him of pushing Trisha further and further away. Aditya, with effortless grace, filled every void. He smiled, attentive and thoughtful, planning special meals for Trisha, comforting the child Dhruv could never truly connect with. Dhruv, his face etched with hurt, silently watched their easy, joyful intimacy. Now, at an outdoor café, the charade escalated. My colleagues, mistaking Aditya for my husband, chattered endlessly about our "lovely family." One of them even egged Aditya on, urging him to re-enact his college proposal to me. Trisha, eyes sparkling with excitement, joined in: "Please, Uncle Aditya, propose to Mommy!" A fleeting tremor of unease crossed my heart, but I quickly succumbed to the moment's intoxicating atmosphere, a soft smile playing on my lips, as I let Aditya loudly proclaim his "love" for me. In a nearby corner, Dhruv watched it all, a chilling certainty solidifying in his heart: **"Swapna, you truly are two-faced."** He watched me, his wife, playing a dangerous game, seemingly oblivious to his pain. Back at our table, my anxious whisper returned: "Did he see us?" I repeated, fearing Dhruv's reaction. Aditya remained nonchalant, lightly chuckling, "Just for fun." Dhruv's shattered gaze, however, presaged a different truth: for someone, this "fun" was irrevocably over.