The night air was thick and humid, clinging to Aarvi's skin like a second layer. She walked fast, almost stumbling over her own steps, desperate to put distance between herself and the towering skyscraper behind her.
Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out the sounds of the city. Buses roared past, street vendors shouted their wares, neon signs flickered—but all she could hear was his voice echoing inside her head.
"You'll be back, Aarvi. You don't have a choice."
Her lips curled bitterly as she whispered into the night, "Arrogant bastard. You think I'll crawl back to you? Never."
But the words were hollow even to her own ears.
Because deep down, a tiny voice whispered the truth: he might be right.
---
Home
Her one-room apartment smelled faintly of damp walls and stale air. The single bulb flickered like it was too tired to keep burning. She dropped her sling bag onto the floor and collapsed onto the narrow bed.
Her gaze fell on the framed photograph on the bedside table. Her father's warm smile stared back at her, frozen in time.
The pressure in her chest broke, and tears spilled down her cheeks. She pulled the frame into her arms, clutching it tightly.
"Papa," she whispered hoarsely, "what do I do now? Tell me. Please… tell me."
Her father had always been her anchor, her safe harbor in a storm. Even when business went bad, even when the loans piled up, he'd never lost hope.
"Fight, Aarvi," he used to say, patting her head. "No matter what happens, fight with your head high."
But now he was gone, and the burden was hers alone.
And fighting felt impossible when the world had already decided she was nothing.
Her throat burned. She pressed her forehead to the frame and let the sobs shake through her.
---
The Knock
The pounding on the door came the next morning like a gunshot.
Aarvi jerked awake, her heart racing. She rubbed at her swollen eyes, the photo frame still clutched in her arms.
"Aarvi Sharma! Open up!" a rough voice barked.
Her stomach dropped. Debt collectors.
The pounding grew louder.
She dragged herself to the door and opened it a crack. Two bulky men shoved it wide, barging inside like they owned the place.
"You think you can hide forever?" one sneered, his breath reeking of cigarettes. "Your father's loans are overdue. We need payment."
"I told you," Aarvi said quickly, her voice trembling, "I just need a little more time—"
"Time?" The man laughed harshly. "Time's run out, sweetheart. You've got three days. If you don't pay up, we'll take it out of you in other ways."
The second man picked up her father's photo from the table, examining it with a mocking smile. "Nice picture. Shame you won't be able to afford a funeral."
Something inside Aarvi snapped.
"Put that down!" she shouted, lunging forward. She snatched the frame from his hands, holding it protectively against her chest.
Her hands shook with fury, but she stood her ground.
The men only smirked as they brushed past her.
"Three days," the first one repeated coldly, jabbing a finger at her. "Don't make us come back angry."
The door slammed shut, the echo reverberating through the tiny room.
Aarvi slid to the floor, her back against the wall, clutching the photo like a lifeline. Her tears blurred her vision, but the reality was sharp as a blade.
Three days.
That was all she had.
---
The Breaking Point
She spent the day wandering aimlessly through the city, her thoughts a whirlpool.
She applied at two shops, a restaurant, even a cleaning service. Each rejection was the same: "We're not hiring," "You're overqualified," "You're too late."
By evening, her feet ached, her throat was dry, and her spirit was shattered.
She sat on a park bench, staring at the children playing nearby. Their laughter was bright and careless, a cruel contrast to the storm in her heart.
Her phone buzzed with a message.
[Hospital: Payment due. Final notice.]
Her chest constricted. She wanted to scream.
She had fought so hard, but every path was blocked. Every door slammed shut in her face.
And there was only one door left open.
The one that led to Reyansh Malhotra.
She hated him. Hated everything he stood for. But her hatred couldn't change reality.
Her father's body was still being held. The debts were still growing.
She pressed her face into her hands.
"Papa," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Forgive me. I don't see another way."
---
Back to Malhotra Towers
The skyscraper loomed like a predator waiting for her return.
Her chest felt heavy as she stepped inside, her pride bleeding with every step.
The receptionist greeted her with the faintest flicker of recognition. Within minutes, she was escorted back to the 47th floor.
The elevator doors slid open, and there he was.
Reyansh Malhotra stood by the window, his tall frame outlined against the city skyline. He turned slowly, as though he had known she would come.
His lips curved in the faintest ghost of a smile. "I told you you'd be back."
Her jaw clenched. "Don't flatter yourself. I had no choice."
He tilted his head. "Choice is an illusion. Only decisions matter."
Her hands fisted at her sides. "This isn't a decision. It's blackmail."
"Call it what you like," he replied calmly, moving behind his desk. He slid the contract across the polished wood. "The offer stands."
---
The Struggle
Aarvi stared at the folder as if it were a snake ready to strike.
She sat down stiffly, flipping it open. Her eyes scanned the words.
Marriage contract. One year. Full discretion required. Terms of confidentiality. Financial coverage provided.
Her vision blurred. The words seemed unreal.
She looked up, her voice hoarse. "Why me? Why not someone else?"
For the first time, something flickered in his gaze.
"Because you're not like them," he said evenly. "You won't chase my money. You won't pretend to love me. You'll hate me, and that makes you honest. That makes you trustworthy."
Her breath hitched. Of all the reasons she had imagined, that was not one of them.
He wanted her because she hated him?
Her laugh was bitter. "You're insane."
"Perhaps." He leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "But it doesn't change the fact that you're the only one who fits."
Her fingers trembled as she picked up the pen.
She thought of her father's photograph. Of the debt collectors' threats. Of the hospital's final notice.
And she signed.
The ink bled across the page, binding her fate.
---
Bound
The silence stretched after she set down the pen.
Reyansh picked up the folder, scanning her signature with a faint nod.
He stood, moving closer.
Up close, his presence was suffocating. His eyes were sharp, but beneath the cold steel, she glimpsed something else—weariness, perhaps, or pain long buried.
"Welcome to our marriage, Mrs. Malhotra," he said softly, though his tone carried no warmth.
The words sliced through her.
She lifted her chin, her voice steady despite the storm inside. "This may be a contract to you, Reyansh Malhotra, but don't think for a second that you own me."
For a moment, his lips curved—not in mockery, but in something dangerously close to amusement.
"Good," he murmured. "I wouldn't want an obedient wife."
Her heart stuttered.
What kind of man had she bound herself to?
And would she survive the next year as his wife… or lose herself completely?