The pen was still warm in her hand when Aarvi left Malhotra Towers that night.
The city lights blurred around her, the honking of cars fading into the distance. All she could feel was the heavy weight in her chest—the weight of her own signature, binding her to a man she loathed.
She walked home with slow, mechanical steps, as if every stride carried her deeper into a cage she could never escape.
---
The Announcement
The next morning, her phone buzzed violently on the rickety table beside her bed.
She blinked blearily at the screen, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest when she saw the words plastered across every news site and social media feed:
BREAKING NEWS: Reyansh Malhotra to Wed in Surprise Private Marriage
Her blood ran cold.
She clicked one of the articles, her stomach tightening as her own name appeared in bold.
"Sources confirm that the bride-to-be is none other than Aarvi Sharma, daughter of late industrialist Rajesh Sharma of Sharma Textiles."
Dozens of comments trailed below the article:
Who is she? Never heard of her.
From a bankrupt family to the Malhotra Empire? She must've trapped him somehow.
A pity. Mr. Malhotra deserves better.
Aarvi's hands shook as she put the phone down.
She hadn't even had time to breathe, and already the world was judging her.
---
The Wardrobe
By afternoon, she found herself standing stiffly in the middle of a luxury boutique.
Rows of designer dresses glittered under golden lights, fabrics so soft they seemed like clouds. She felt out of place, like a beggar who had wandered into a palace.
Reyansh stood a few feet away, scrolling through his phone, his suit immaculate as always. He hadn't spoken much since she arrived.
A poised woman in her forties approached Aarvi with a polite smile. "Good afternoon, Madam. Mr. Malhotra requested we prepare several outfits for you. Please, follow me."
The word Madam made Aarvi flinch. It felt too heavy, too foreign on her shoulders.
In the dressing room, attendants swarmed around her, holding up gowns, fussing with her hair, measuring her waist.
"This one would be perfect for the gala tonight," one said, lifting a sleek crimson dress.
"This shade brings out her eyes," another chimed in, holding a pale blue gown.
Aarvi's head spun. She wanted to scream at them to stop, to remind them she was just an ordinary girl who'd worn the same two kurtis for months.
But when she glanced out of the dressing room and caught sight of Reyansh, her words froze.
He wasn't even looking at her. He was on the phone, giving crisp instructions, his face unreadable.
To him, this wasn't about her comfort. It was about appearances.
And appearances meant everything in his world.
---
The Gala
That evening, the Malhotra family gala glittered with wealth. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, glasses clinked, laughter filled the grand ballroom.
Aarvi stood at the entrance in a silver gown, her hair swept elegantly over one shoulder. The transformation in the mirror earlier had startled her—she looked nothing like the Aarvi Sharma she knew.
But inside, she was still trembling.
Reyansh appeared at her side, his arm extending toward her. His black suit was perfectly tailored, his presence commanding.
"Shall we?" he asked coolly.
Her throat tightened. She wanted to refuse, to spit in his face. But dozens of eyes were already turning toward them, curious and hungry for gossip.
She placed her hand on his arm, the contact sending an involuntary shiver up her spine.
Together, they walked into the ballroom.
---
Whispers
The whispers began immediately.
"Who is she?"
"Isn't she from that failed textile family?"
"She doesn't belong here."
Each murmur was a dagger, cutting into Aarvi's skin. She kept her chin high, forcing herself to meet their stares without flinching.
Reyansh, however, was unaffected. His expression remained cold, distant, as though the world's judgment was beneath him.
At the center of the room, he raised his glass. The chatter dimmed instantly.
"Ladies and gentlemen," his deep voice carried across the hall, "allow me to introduce my fiancée, Aarvi Sharma."
The crowd erupted in shocked gasps.
Aarvi's heart pounded so hard she thought her ribs might crack.
Reyansh's arm tightened slightly around hers, his grip firm, grounding. But his eyes stayed on the crowd, daring anyone to challenge him.
---
The First Clash
Later, after endless introductions and fake smiles, Aarvi escaped to the balcony for air. She gripped the railing, her chest heaving.
The city sparkled below, but she felt trapped in a cage of diamonds.
"You handled yourself well."
She turned sharply. Reyansh stood behind her, his gaze unreadable.
"Well?" she snapped. "They looked at me like I was dirt under their shoes."
"They'll get used to you," he said simply.
Her laugh was bitter. "Used to me? Or used to the idea that their precious CEO married a nobody?"
His jaw tightened. "What they think doesn't matter."
"It matters to me!" she shot back, her voice cracking. "Do you have any idea what it feels like to stand in a room full of people who think you don't deserve to breathe the same air?"
For a fleeting second, something softened in his eyes. But it vanished quickly.
"You wanted freedom from your debts," he said coolly. "This is the price."
Her hands trembled against the railing. "You make everything sound like a transaction. Marriage, dignity, even people. What kind of man are you?"
His lips curved in a faint, humorless smile. "The kind who doesn't believe in illusions."
She glared at him, anger and frustration burning hot in her chest. "Then maybe you don't believe in love either."
His expression darkened, and for a moment, silence stretched between them.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost dangerous.
"Love is the greatest illusion of all."
Her breath caught. She wanted to ask what had broken him so badly to make him say that—but his eyes were already shuttered again, cold as steel.
---
Alone in the Crowd
The rest of the gala blurred for Aarvi. She smiled mechanically, endured polite conversations, and let herself be paraded like a trophy.
But every whisper, every glance, every sneer carved deeper into her heart.
By the time the night ended, she felt like a hollow shell wrapped in silk.
In the car ride home, silence hung heavy between them. Reyansh stared out the window, his profile sharp and unreadable.
Aarvi clenched her fists in her lap, her thoughts a storm.
She had stepped into his world. But could she survive it without losing herself completely?