Chapter 5: The Terms of Protection

Chapter 5: The Terms of Protection 

At 7:40 I was still in the suite.  

I wasn’t making a point. Every time I thought about going downstairs the house pressed on my ribs.

At 7:45 I showered. I hated how readily my body took the hot water and the soft towels while the rest of me stayed braced for the next hit. I put on my own black dress from the Tower. In the mirror I looked dressed for a funeral.

At 7:58 I took the stairs. Mrs. D’Souza was already waiting before I reached the bottom.

“Dinner is ready, Mrs. Rajvansh.”

The dining room could seat twenty. Only two places were set. Aryan sat at one end of the table, sleeves pushed up. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept enough and had no plan to admit it.

“You’re on time,” he said.

“You told me not to be late.”

A server poured wine. I left mine untouched.

“Your father is comfortable,” Aryan said. “His pain management has improved.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s part of the agreement.”

Of course it was. I should have known better than to mistake efficiency for kindness.

“Why was Suite 412 cancelled on Tuesday evening?”

He didn’t move, but something in his attention sharpened.

“Where did you hear the number 412?”

I slid my phone across the table. He read the anonymous message twice.

“Who else has seen this?”

“No one.”

“Keep it that way.”

“Is that an order or a precaution?”

“Both. Until I know which one it needs to be.”

I leaned back. “You changed the booking because of where it originated?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll explain when you know more?”

“When I know more.”

I wanted to push. Instead I changed the subject.

“The flag on my father’s oxygen account. Was that you?”

“No. But I looked into it.”

“Why?”

“Because someone had interfered with his care and I needed to know whether it was a mistake or a threat.”

He said it like the distinction mattered. It did.

“And the clothes upstairs?” I asked. “The tags were dated eleven days ago.”

“The stylist received your measurements.”

“Before I knew I was marrying you.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I don’t walk into a room without knowing what’s in it.”

“That’s a convenient philosophy for a man who seems to know things before they happen.”

His gaze held mine. “You’re thinner than the measurements she received. She’ll make the necessary adjustments.”

I stared at him. “You’re discussing alterations?”

“I’m discussing what you’ll wear when you accompany me outside this house. You’ll be expected to meet a certain standard as my wife.”

“And if I refuse?”

“You’ll be underdressed in rooms where appearances matter.”

I almost laughed. “How thoughtful of you to prepare my wardrobe before preparing me for the marriage.”

His expression didn’t change. “You’ll learn quickly that the two aren’t separate.”

I looked down at the untouched wine. Every answer he gave seemed to open another door and every door led to a corridor I wasn’t allowed to enter.

“Why are the third floor and basement restricted?”

“The third floor contains private offices. The basement contains security equipment and storage. Neither concerns you.”

“Everything in this house concerns me if I’m expected to live here for three years.”

“Protection and a contract don’t entitle you to every room.”

“No. But they do entitle me to know what kind of danger I’m being protected from.”

For the first time that evening he seemed to actually consider the answer instead of just delivering it.

“You’ll have access to your father’s room at any hour,” he said. “The garden level is open to you.”

“And the other floors?”

“Remain closed.”

I pressed my fingertips against the table. “So I can visit my father whenever I want, but I can’t explore the house I’m living in.”

“That’s correct.”

“What happens if I leave?”

“The gates and exterior doors are monitored. Security will know.”

“And if I take a car?”

“It will be mine.”

I stared at him. “Am I a wife or a prisoner?”

“Whichever keeps you alive and the contract intact. Try not to make me demonstrate the difference.”

The words settled between us. He hadn’t raised his voice. Somehow that made them worse.

Dinner ended without either of us pretending it had been pleasant.

Aryan walked me to the stairs. At the first step he stopped.

“Get some sleep, Riya.”

I turned to ask him something else, but he was already moving toward the back hall. A door I hadn’t noticed before opened, then closed behind him.

I stood there for several seconds staring at the empty corridor.

Upstairs I opened my spreadsheet.

Who Knew.

I added three new entries.

Aryan asked where I’d heard the number before asking what the message said.

He’d changed the care facility before I told him about the text.

He was either afraid of whoever had sent it or very good at pretending he wasn’t.

I saved the file and shut the laptop.

That night I left the lamp on. I lay down in my clothes, listening to the unfamiliar house settle around me.

Sleep came slowly.