Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**Riya**

I stayed in the suite until 7:40.

Not because I was making a point. Because every time I thought about walking downstairs I felt the weight of the house pressing against my ribs. Thick walls. Quiet corridors. Restricted floors. A text that still sat on my phone like a threat I couldn’t block.

*No joke. Sleep light.*

I had checked the number three more times. Nothing. No reverse lookup. No social media trail. Just a dead end and that single reply.

At 7:45 I forced myself into the shower. The water pressure was perfect. The towels were thicker than any I had ever owned. I hated how easily my body accepted the luxury while my mind stayed braced for the next blow.

I ignored the new clothes in the closet and put on one of my own dresses. Black. Simple. The same one I had worn to the Tower. It felt like the last piece of my old life I still controlled.

At 7:58 I left the suite.

The hallway was empty. The lights were low and warm. Somewhere below, soft classical music played at a volume that felt deliberate. I took the stairs slowly, counting each one, listening for other footsteps. There were none.

Mrs. D’Souza appeared at the bottom as if she had been waiting.

“This way, Miss Kapoor.”

She led me through the entrance hall and into a dining room that could have seated twenty. Only two places were set. One at the head of the long table. One to its right. Crystal. White china. Heavy silver. A single low arrangement of white flowers that looked like it had never been touched by human hands.

Aryan was already seated.

He looked up when I entered. No smile. Just that same calm assessment, like he was checking whether I had followed instructions.

“You’re on time,” he said.

“You said not to be late.”

He gestured to the chair on his right. I sat. The distance between us was polite and still too close. I could smell his cologne again. Dark. Expensive. The same one from the office.

A server appeared, poured wine I didn’t ask for, and disappeared without a word. Another placed the first course in front of us and vanished just as quietly.

We ate in silence for several minutes.

I kept my eyes on my plate. Every sound felt amplified. The soft clink of silver against china. The faint tick of a clock somewhere in the room. The controlled rhythm of his breathing.

Finally he spoke.

“Your father is comfortable. The attending physician says his pain management is already improved.”

I looked up. “Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a favor. It was part of the agreement.”

“Still. Thank you.”

He studied me over the rim of his glass. “You’re thinner than the measurements I was given. The stylist will adjust.”

“I brought my own clothes.”

“I noticed.” His gaze flicked over the black dress once, then returned to my face. “Wear what you like inside the house. Outside, you’ll dress to the standard expected of my wife. The closet exists for a reason.”

There it was. The first quiet order that had nothing to do with debt or signatures.

I set my fork down. “And if I refuse?”

“Then you’ll be underdressed at events where appearance is not optional. I don’t recommend testing how that reflects on both of us.”

He said it without heat. Without threat. Just fact. That made it worse.

The next course arrived. I barely tasted it.

“The restricted floors,” I said. “Why?”

Aryan’s expression didn’t change. “Because they are restricted. The third floor contains private offices and meeting rooms. The basement contains security and storage. Neither concerns you.”

“I’m living here for three years. Everything in this house concerns me.”

He set his glass down with deliberate care. “No. You are living under my protection and under the terms of a contract. That does not make you entitled to every room. Curiosity is understandable. Acting on it would be unwise.”

The word *unwise* landed heavier than any raised voice could have.

I held his gaze. “Someone texted me the day I moved in. ‘Welcome to the family, Mrs. Rajvansh.’ Then, when I asked who it was: ‘No joke. Sleep light.’”

Something very small shifted in his eyes. Not surprise. Recognition.

“I see.”

“Do you know who sent it?”

“I’ll look into it.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting tonight.” He leaned back slightly. “Finish your meal, Riya. You’re safe inside these walls. That message changes nothing about the arrangement.”

Safe.

The word felt wrong in this dining room.

We finished in near silence. When the last plate was cleared he stood. I did the same.

“Breakfast is available from seven onward,” he said. “Mrs. D’Souza will show you the morning routine if you want it. Otherwise, your time is your own until I require otherwise. There is a dinner on Tuesday. You’ll attend. Details will be sent to your phone.”

He walked me as far as the staircase. Stopped.

“One more thing.”

I waited.

“The locks on your suite are for your privacy, not your imprisonment. But the external doors and the gate are monitored. If you leave the property, security will know. If you take a car, it will be one of mine. These are not suggestions.”

I met his eyes. “Am I a wife or a prisoner?”

Aryan’s mouth almost curved. Almost.

“You’re whichever one keeps you alive and the contract intact. Try not to force me to demonstrate the difference.”

He turned and walked toward the rear of the house without waiting for a reply. I watched him go until he disappeared through a door I hadn’t noticed before.

Then I climbed the stairs alone.

Back in the suite I locked the door, sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled out my phone.

No new messages.

I opened the old thread anyway and stared at the last line.

*No joke. Sleep light.*

Somewhere below me, deep in the house, another door closed. Soft. Final.

I left the bedside lamp on when I finally lay down.

Sleep did not come easy.