Sara stood at the entrance of the massive Malik mansion, her small suitcase beside her.
This was her new home.
At least for one year.
The house was silent. Too silent.
Ayaan walked ahead of her without looking back.
"Your room is on the second floor," he said flatly. "Mine is separate. We will maintain distance."
Sara nodded.
Distance.
That word already hurt.
A maid showed her the room. It was beautiful—too beautiful for someone like her.
Silk curtains. Soft bed. A balcony overlooking the city.
But none of it felt like hers.
Later that evening, they sat at the dining table.
Long table.
Two people.
Miles of silence.
"You don't need to act here," Ayaan said while checking his phone. "Only in public."
Sara finally looked up.
"What if someone sees us at home? Staff… guests?"
"They are loyal," he replied. "They won't question."
She hesitated, then asked softly,
"What should I call you?"
Ayaan paused.
"Ayaan," he said. "No need to pretend when we're alone."
Sara nodded again.
She noticed it then—
He never looked at her for more than a second.
As if eye contact was dangerous.
That night, Sara lay awake on her bed.
She remembered the way he spoke.
Cold. Controlled. Careful.
This is just a contract, she reminded herself.
Yet, somewhere deep inside, a strange fear grew.
Not of him…
But of falling for someone who had already warned her:
Love was not part of the deal.