Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**Riya**

The reply came in under four minutes.

I was still sitting in the same chair, staring at the sent confirmation like it might reverse itself if I looked hard enough, when my phone lit up again.

**Aryan Rajvansh.**

Not his lawyer.

Him.

I almost didn’t open it.

Almost.

*Be at the Tower at 10 a.m. tomorrow. Bring your father if he can travel. If not, I’ll send a car and a nurse. We sign the preliminary papers in person.*

No greeting.

No “thank you for accepting.”

No softness.

Just orders.

I typed back before I could overthink it.

*I’ll come alone. My father stays where he is.*

The three dots appeared almost immediately.

*Understood. Come alone then. Don’t be late.*

I locked the phone and set it face-down on the table.

My hands were steady now. That felt wrong. Like my body had already decided to treat this as normal.

I stood up, walked to the sink, and drank water straight from the tap because the idea of reaching for a glass felt like too much effort. The apartment was too quiet. The only sound was the oxygen machine and the low hum of the refrigerator that still belonged to us for another twenty-something days.

I checked on Dad again.

He was awake this time. Barely.

“You’re still up,” he rasped.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

His eyes moved over my face like he was trying to read something I hadn’t said yet. “The letter… the Rajvansh people. Did they contact you?”

I almost lied.

Almost.

“They made an offer,” I said carefully. “I’m handling it.”

He tried to push himself up and failed. The effort left him breathing harder. “What kind of offer?”

“The kind that keeps this apartment and pays the hospital.”

His face changed. Fear first. Then something closer to shame. “Riya. What did you agree to?”

I looked at him and felt the full weight of the three words I’d already sent.

“I’ll tell you everything tomorrow,” I said. “After it’s done. Just rest tonight. Please.”

He wanted to argue. I could see it. But the cancer had stolen most of his fight already. He only nodded once, eyes still full of questions I wasn’t ready to answer.

I left the room before he could ask again.

---

Sleep didn’t come.

I lay on the couch with the contract open on my phone, reading every clause until the language stopped making sense and just became noise. Three years. Shared residence. Public appearances. The section about heirs that made my stomach turn every time I scrolled past it. The quiet little paragraph that spelled out the revenge like it was just another business term.

At some point I must have dozed, because the next thing I knew the sky outside the window was turning gray and my neck hurt from the angle I’d fallen asleep in.

I showered in water that never got hot enough. Put on the same black dress from yesterday because it was still the most presentable thing I owned. Did my makeup like armor. Looked at myself in the mirror and barely recognized the woman staring back.

She looked calm.

She looked like someone who had already sold herself and was just waiting for the paperwork to catch up.

I left a note for the day nurse who came in the mornings, told Dad I’d be back by afternoon, and locked the door behind me.

The cab ride into Manhattan felt longer than it should have. Every block closer to Midtown made the air in the back seat feel thinner. By the time the black glass of Rajvansh Tower came into view, my pulse was loud in my ears.

Same private elevator.

Same silent man with the keycard.

Same long hallway of expensive art.

This time the woman in the gray suit didn’t even speak. She just opened the double doors and stepped aside.

Aryan was already standing when I walked in.

Not behind the desk this time. In front of it. Black suit again. No tie. Same heavy watch. Same cold whiskey eyes that looked like they’d never been surprised by anything in their life.

He studied me for a second longer than necessary.

“You came,” he said.

“You didn’t give me much of a choice.”

“There’s always a choice.” He gestured to the two chairs in front of the desk. One of them had a leather folder waiting on the seat. “Sit. We have documents to review.”

I didn’t sit yet.

“I have conditions,” I said.

That got a reaction. Small. Just a slight tilt of his head.

“Go on.”

“This stays a marriage on paper. Nothing else. No sharing a bed. No touching. No public performance of affection beyond what is strictly required for appearances. I live under your roof because the contract says I have to, but I keep my own room and my own life as much as possible.”

I kept my voice steady even though my heart was trying to climb out of my throat.

“And my father is off-limits. You don’t use him. You don’t threaten him. You don’t mention him again after today. The debt is cleared the second I sign. That’s the deal.”

Silence stretched between us.

Aryan watched me like he was turning every word over carefully.

Then he spoke, quiet and precise.

“You seem to be under the impression this is a negotiation.”

“I’m the one who has to live with it. So yes. It is.”

He stepped closer. Not enough to crowd me, but enough that I had to tip my chin up to keep meeting his eyes.

“The contract is already written, Riya. You accepted the terms last night. These documents are the formal version of what you already agreed to.” He nodded toward the folder on the chair. “You can add a personal clause about separate bedrooms if it makes you feel safer. I’ll allow it. Everything else stays.”

“And the touching?”

His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth, then back up. Something unreadable moved behind his eyes.

“I don’t force women into my bed,” he said. “When that changes, it will be because you want it to. Not before.”

The way he said *when*, not *if*, made heat crawl up the back of my neck.

I hated that it did.

I sat down before my legs could do something stupid. Opened the leather folder. The papers inside were thicker than the ones from last night. More official. My name and his already printed in clean black ink on the signature pages.

Aryan took the chair across from me. Close enough that I could smell that same dark cologne again.

“Read carefully,” he said. “Once these are signed, the debt is considered settled. Your father’s medical bills will be transferred to a private account under my name by end of day. The apartment stays in the Kapoor name for the remainder of his life. After that, it reverts to the Group.”

I looked up.

“You said the debt disappears.”

“It does. The apartment is a separate courtesy. I’m not in the business of throwing dying men into the street. Even ones who once helped destroy my family.”

There it was again. The reminder. Quiet. Deliberate.

I forced my eyes back to the pages.

We went through them one by one. He answered every question I asked with the same calm precision. No raised voice. No impatience. Just facts. By the time we reached the final signature pages, my hand felt like it belonged to someone else.

He slid a heavy black pen across the desk.

I stared at it.

Then I picked it up and signed my name where the little flags told me to.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Each signature felt louder than the last.

When I finished, Aryan took the pen, signed his own pages without hesitation, and closed the folder.

“It’s done,” he said.

I stood up too fast. The room tilted for half a second.

“What happens now?”

“Now you go home. Pack what you need. A car will collect you and your father on Friday. He’ll be moved to a private care suite with full-time nursing. You’ll move into my residence the same day.”

Friday.

Three days.

I nodded once because speaking felt dangerous.

Aryan stood as well. For a moment we were the same height only because of the heels I was wearing. Up close, the cold in his eyes wasn’t empty. It was focused. Like he was already calculating the next ten moves.

“One more thing,” he said.

I waited.

“You’re not a prisoner, Riya. You’re my wife on paper. That means certain protections come with the name. It also means certain expectations. Don’t test the difference between the two until you understand it.”

I held his gaze.

“I understand enough.”

Something that might have been approval flickered across his face and vanished.

“We’ll see.”

He walked me to the door himself this time. Didn’t touch me. Didn’t offer any final soft words. Just opened it and waited until I stepped through.

The woman in the gray suit was already waiting with a thin envelope.

“Copies of the signed documents, Miss Kapoor. And a preliminary schedule for the next two weeks.”

I took it without looking inside.

The private elevator felt colder on the way down.

I stepped out into the Midtown sunlight with the envelope in one hand and the knowledge that I had just signed away three years of my life in the other.

My phone buzzed as I reached the sidewalk.

A new message from an unknown number.

*Welcome to the family, Mrs. Rajvansh.*

No name.

No signature.

Just those five words and a cold little chill that slid straight down my spine.

I stared at the screen until the message blurred.

Then I deleted it, flagged the number, and started walking.

Three days.

That was all I had left of the life that still belonged to me.