The Man Who Should Be Dead

 

Ares moved before the sound downstairs came again.

He caught Riva by the wrist and pulled her away from the bedroom door.

“Stay here.”

“No.”

His eyes flashed.

“Riva.”

“You just told me my father didn’t die eleven years ago.”

“I told you what I know.”

“You told me the last person he spoke to was your father.”

“Yes.”

“And now someone is inside this house.”

“Yes.”

“Then I'm coming with you.”

“No.”

She yanked her wrist free.

“You don't get to keep deciding what I can and cannot know.”

Ares stared at her for a long second.

Then another crash echoed from below.

His jaw clenched.

“Fine.”

He reached for her hand.

She looked down at it.

“What?”

“Hold on to me.”

“I thought I wasn't supposed to move.”

“You aren't.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Neither does tonight.”

He pulled her behind him.

They stepped into the corridor.

The mansion was unnaturally dark.

The emergency lights hadn't come on.

Only thin strips of moonlight slipped through the tall windows, cutting across the polished floor.

Riva stayed close.

Too close.

She could feel the heat of Ares's body through his shirt.

She hated that even now, with fear crawling under her skin, some primitive part of her noticed him.

His hand remained wrapped around hers.

Firm.

Possessive.

Protective.

For once, she didn't pull away.

They reached the staircase.

Ares stopped.

Riva almost walked into his back.

“What?”

He lifted one finger.

Listen.

She did.

Nothing.

Then—

A faint scraping sound.

From the library.

Ares turned toward it.

Riva whispered, “The library?”

He nodded.

They moved silently.

The library door was open.

Ares pushed it wider.

The room looked untouched.

Books lined the walls.

The fireplace was cold.

The desk stood exactly where it always had.

Then Riva saw the window.

Open.

Curtains moving in the night wind.

Someone had escaped.

Ares crossed the room.

Riva followed.

He stopped beside the desk.

There was a single piece of paper lying on it.

He picked it up.

His expression changed.

“What?”

He didn't answer.

Riva stepped around him.

The paper contained only one sentence.

YOU WERE NEVER SUPPOSED TO MARRY HER.

Her heart sank.

“What does that mean?”

Ares folded the paper.

“Nothing.”

She snatched it from his hand.

“Stop saying that.”

“It means someone wants to provoke me.”

“Why?”

“Because it's working.”

She stared at him.

“Who?”

Ares's gaze went toward the open window.

“I don't know.”

“You're lying again.”

His eyes returned to hers.

“You think I enjoy this?”

“I think you know more than you're telling me.”

“I do.”

The honesty stunned her.

“How much?”

“Enough to know that you're in danger.”

“That isn't an answer.”

“It is the only answer you're getting tonight.”

Riva's anger flared.

“You don't get to decide that.”

Ares stepped closer.

“You want the truth?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.”

His voice dropped.

“Your father disappeared because he discovered something he wasn't supposed to discover.”

“What?”

“That the people he owed weren't the people he thought they were.”

Riva frowned.

“What does that mean?”

“They weren't creditors.”

“Then what were they?”

Ares's expression hardened.

“Owners.”

The word made her skin prickle.

“Owners of what?”

“People.”

Silence.

Riva stared at him.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“My father wouldn't—”

“He didn't sell people.”

Ares cut her off.

“He was trying to stop it.”

She swallowed.

“Then why did they call it a debt?”

“Because debt is easier to accept than ownership.”

Riva looked at the ring lying on the desk.

“A.S.”

Ares followed her gaze.

“That belonged to my father.”

“Why was it sent here?”

“I don't know.”

“You're sure?”

“Yes.”

Riva picked it up.

This time Ares didn't stop her.

The metal was cold.

Too cold.

She turned it over between her fingers.

There was another engraving on the outside.

Tiny.

Almost invisible.

A number.

17.

Her breath caught.

“Seventeen.”

Ares looked at her.

“What?”

“The photograph.”

She grabbed it from her pocket.

“The number on the envelope was twenty-seven.”

Ares's eyes narrowed.

“The photograph was taken when I was seventeen.”

He looked at the ring again.

“And the ring says seventeen.”

“Coincidence?”

“No.”

Ares took the photograph.

He examined the man standing behind her.

Then his face went still.

Riva noticed.

“You know him.”

“No.”

“You do.”

Ares's fingers tightened around the photograph.

“I've seen him before.”

“Where?”

“My father's records.”

Her stomach dropped.

“Who is he?”

“I don't know his name.”

“Then find out.”

Ares looked at her.

“I will.”

A noise came from behind them.

Both turned.

A book had fallen from one of the shelves.

Riva froze.

Ares stepped in front of her.

Then something small rolled across the floor.

A metal cylinder.

Ares crouched and picked it up.

There was a symbol engraved on it.

The same split circle.

He opened it.

A tiny key fell into his palm.

Riva stared.

“What does it open?”

Ares looked at the key.

“Something my father kept hidden.”

“Where?”

He looked toward the wall behind the fireplace.

Riva followed his gaze.

“There?”

Ares nodded.

They moved toward it.

He pressed his palm against the wood paneling.

Nothing.

Then he pushed the third panel from the left.

A click sounded.

A section of the wall opened.

Behind it was a narrow compartment.

Inside sat a black metal box.

Ares stared at it.

Riva whispered, “You've never seen that before?”

“No.”

“Then why does it feel like you expected it?”

He ignored her.

The key fit the lock.

He turned it.

The box opened.

Inside were documents.

Photographs.

A small USB drive.

And a wedding invitation.

Riva picked it up.

Her hands started shaking.

The names were printed in elegant black lettering.

Ares Malhotra

and

Riva Sharma

She looked at Ares.

“This is ours.”

“Yes.”

“The date…”

Her voice broke.

It was dated six months before they had met.

Ares took it from her.

His face hardened.

“That isn't possible.”

“Apparently it is.”

He opened the rest of the documents.

One page.

Then another.

Then another.

His breathing changed.

Riva watched him.

“What is it?”

He didn't answer.

She took the papers from his hands.

The first page was a list of names.

The second was a list of dates.

The third contained a single sentence.

THE MARRIAGE WILL COMPLETE THE TRANSFER.

Riva felt sick.

“Transfer of what?”

Ares looked at her.

“You.”

The room went silent.

She stared at him.

“No.”

“Riva—”

“No.”

She backed away.

“You knew.”

“I suspected.”

“You knew!”

“I didn't know what the transfer meant.”

“You married me because of this.”

“No.”

“You said you didn't marry me because of my father's debt.”

“I didn't.”

“Then why?”

His silence was devastating.

Riva laughed once.

A broken sound.

“Of course.”

She turned away.

Ares caught her arm.

“Look at me.”

“Let go.”

“Riva.”

“Let go of me.”

He released her.

She turned back.

Her eyes burned.

“What were you supposed to receive when you married me?”

Ares's expression changed.

“I don't know.”

“Then what does ‘debt paid in flesh’ mean?”

He didn't answer.

Riva looked down at the documents.

Then she noticed something.

A handwritten note beneath the wedding invitation.

Only four words.

HE WILL FALL IN LOVE.

Her blood ran cold.

She looked at Ares.

He hadn't seen it yet.

She slowly turned the paper toward him.

His eyes moved across the words.

His face went blank.

Then—

The lights came back on.

Ares immediately looked toward the door.

Someone was standing there.

An old man.

Blood ran down the side of his face.

He leaned heavily against the frame.

Riva gasped.

Ares stepped forward.

“Who are you?”

The man smiled.

Not at Ares.

At Riva.

“Your father sends his regards.”

Riva couldn't breathe.

Ares reached for his weapon.

The old man laughed softly.

“He told me you'd be beautiful.”

Riva's heart stopped.

“My father?”

The man's smile disappeared.

“He also told me never to trust the Malhotras.”

Ares moved toward him.

The old man raised one trembling hand.

“Don't.”

Ares stopped.

“Where is he?”

The man looked at Riva.

Then at Ares.

“He's been waiting for you.”

“For what?”

The man's eyes settled on the wedding invitation.

“For the day you discovered that your husband was never the buyer.”

Riva's blood turned cold.

“Then who is?”

The old man smiled.

“Your father.”

And before Ares could reach him—

The man collapsed.

Riva screamed.

Ares caught him before his head struck the floor.

But the man's final words were already burned into her mind.

Your father.

Alive.

Somewhere.

Waiting.

And suddenly, the most terrifying question wasn't why had Ares married her?

It was—

what had her father promised to give him?