Anaya woke up to silence.
Not the comforting silence of early mornings in her old home, but a heavy, unfamiliar quiet that pressed against her ears. For a few seconds, she lay still, staring at the ceiling above her.
White. Clean. Too perfect.
Then it hit her.
She wasn't home.
She sat up abruptly, the silk bedsheet sliding down her fingers. The room was bathed in soft morning light filtering through sheer curtains. Everything around her looked expensive—tastefully minimal furniture, muted colors, a balcony door slightly ajar.
This wasn't a guest room.
This was *her* room.
Her chest tightened.
Last night replayed in her mind—the contract, the mansion, the rules spoken in Aarav's calm, emotionless voice.
*One year.*
Anaya rubbed her temples and took a deep breath. Panicking wouldn't change anything. She had made this choice, even if it had been forced upon her.
She got out of bed and walked toward the balcony.
Outside, the garden below was immaculately maintained. Not a leaf out of place. Even nature seemed to follow rules here.
Just like everything else in this house.
---
After freshening up, Anaya hesitated in front of her wardrobe. Sometime during the night, her clothes had been neatly arranged—hung, folded, organized by color.
Someone had gone through her things.
The thought made her uncomfortable, but she reminded herself this was part of the arrangement. Nothing here belonged to her—not the room, not the clothes, not even the name she now carried.
She chose a simple pastel kurti and tied her hair back, refusing to dress like she was attending a board meeting in her own marriage.
When she stepped out into the hallway, the house was already awake.
Soft footsteps echoed somewhere downstairs. The faint aroma of coffee drifted through the air.
She followed it.
---
The dining area was bright with morning sunlight. Aarav sat at the table, dressed in a crisp white shirt and dark trousers, scrolling through his phone while sipping coffee.
He looked… unchanged.
As if yesterday hadn't altered his life at all.
"Good morning," Anaya said softly.
He glanced up, his eyes flicking over her briefly before returning to his screen. "Morning."
That was it.
She took a seat across from him, unsure what role she was supposed to play now. Wife? Guest? Employee?
A staff member placed breakfast in front of her—toast, fruits, and a cup of tea made exactly how she liked it.
She blinked in surprise.
Aarav noticed. "I asked Nandini to find out your preferences."
"Oh," she murmured. "Thank you."
He nodded once, as if this was nothing worth acknowledging.
They ate in silence.
Again.
Finally, Aarav set his cup down. "We're leaving in an hour."
She looked up. "Leaving?"
"To register the marriage," he said calmly. "After that, we'll attend a brief meeting with my legal team."
Her stomach tightened. "Both… today?"
"Yes."
She hesitated before asking, "Do we have to—"
"Appear together?" he finished for her. "Yes."
She nodded. Of course.
"There's something else," he added. "From today onward, you won't go anywhere alone."
Her brows furrowed. "What?"
"For security reasons," he clarified. "My driver or a guard will accompany you."
Anaya stiffened. "That feels excessive."
"It's necessary," he said firmly. "You're my wife now. That comes with attention—wanted or not."
The word *wife* felt strange coming from his mouth.
She looked down at her hands. "I understand."
Good, he thought. She didn't argue much. That made things easier.
Or more dangerous.
---
As they stood to leave, Aarav paused near the doorway.
"There's one more rule," he said without turning around.
Anaya looked at him. "What is it?"
"In public," he said slowly, "you will act like you chose this marriage."
Her heart skipped. "And if I don't?"
He finally turned, his gaze steady but sharp. "Then people will start asking questions neither of us can afford to answer."
She swallowed. "I can do that."
"Good."
They walked out together.
Side by side.
Not touching.
Not close.
Yet bound by a contract that had already begun to reshape both their lives.
As the car pulled away from the mansion, Anaya stared ahead, her reflection faintly visible in the tinted glass.
This wasn't love.
This wasn't even partnership.
But somehow, she knew—
This deal was going to cost her far more than she had expected.