Riyan Malhotra's office wasn't the kind of place a girl like me belonged in.
Everything inside it was cold, sharp, expensive—
just like him.
I stood near the glass table, clutching the strap of my bag as if it could stop my heartbeat from falling apart. He didn't look up when I entered. He didn't even acknowledge that I was breathing in the same room.
He simply said, "You're late."
"I was at the hospital—"
"I didn't ask for an explanation."
I swallowed my words. My cheeks warmed with humiliation, but I stayed quiet. I couldn't afford pride. Not today.
Finally, he lifted his eyes.
Those eyes…
they were the kind you couldn't read even if you begged for answers.
He pushed a folder toward me with a single finger, as if touching anything I held would dirty him.
"Your marriage contract," he said. "Read it."
My hands shook as I opened the file.
The first line felt like a slap.
— The marriage will last for twelve months, no extension.
— No physical relationship unless initiated by the husband.
— The wife will not interfere in the husband's personal life.
— The wife has no right over the husband's assets, property, or business.
— The wife will maintain a respectful image in public.
— Breaching any rule terminates the agreement immediately.
My vision blurred.
It wasn't a marriage contract.
It was a prison sentence.
I didn't realize I had stopped breathing until he spoke again.
"If you follow the rules, your mother's hospital bills will be paid today."
My mother.
Her pale face in the ICU flashed before my eyes.
Her trembling hand squeezing mine weakly.
The doctor's voice saying "critical."
I blinked away the tears threatening to fall.
"Why… why do you hate me this much?" My voice cracked without my permission.
Something flickered in his eyes—anger, maybe pain, maybe memory—but it vanished before I could understand it.
"This isn't about hate," he said calmly.
"This is about consequences."
"For what? What did I do?"
He leaned back in his leather chair, tilting his head slightly.
"You really don't know?" His voice softened in a way that made my chest tighten—not with hope, but with fear. "You truly have no idea what your actions cost me?"
I stared at him helplessly.
"I don't understand," I whispered.
He stood.
And suddenly, he was in front of me—too close, too tall, too intense. He wasn't touching me, but I felt cornered by everything he carried inside him.
"Maybe you will understand someday," he murmured.
"But not today. Today, you sign."
He placed a pen on the contract.
My fingers hesitated above it.
This signature would chain me to a man who looked at me like I was a mistake he regretted knowing.
But my mother…
My mother didn't have time for my fear.
I exhaled shakily.
My heart shattered once.
Then twice.
And then I signed the paper.
The ink had barely dried when he pulled the contract away and closed the folder.
"Good," he said. "The wedding is in two hours."
My head snapped up. "Two hours?!"
He didn't flinch. "I don't want media coverage. We'll do it privately. A signature, a witness, and it's done."
My throat tightened. "Can I see my mother before the wedding?"
His jaw clenched—so small, so quick, I almost missed it.
"You have ten minutes," he said finally. "My driver will take you."
Ten minutes.
To see my mother as her daughter…
before I walked back as someone's wife.
I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me at the door.
"Aarvi."
I froze.
"When you enter my house," he said softly, "remember one thing."
My heart pounded painfully.
"You're there because I allowed it. Don't expect more."
I nodded numbly and walked out.
But as the elevator doors closed, a single thought echoed inside me:
I just married the man who wanted to break me—
and I didn't even know why.