The sterile smell of the hospital corridor felt like a chokehold around Mayra's neck. She sat on the cold plastic chair, her eyes red from crying. Ten million rupees. That was the amount she needed for her father's heart surgery.
Suddenly, the heavy doors of the VIP wing swung open. A man stepped out, surrounded by bodyguards. He was Adiyan Shekhar. He stopped in front of Mayra and offered a deal. "One year. You will act as my wife. In exchange, I pay for your father's surgery."
Mayra looked at the paper, then at the man who looked like he had no heart. For her father's life, she would walk through fire. With a shaking hand, she picked up the pen. "I'll do it."
"Good," Adiyan replied coldly. "Welcome to hell, Mrs. Shekhar."