Katha's POV
The ride to the office had been suffocating. Dhruv hadn't spoken a single word since he slammed the bathroom door in my face. He had buried himself in his laptop, typing furiously, creating a wall of silence that I dared not breach.
Now, standing in front of the colossal glass-and-steel skyscraper that was Rathore Industries, I felt smaller than I ever had in my life. The building pierced the Mumbai sky, a monument to money and power—things I didn't have.
"Walk," Dhruv commanded, buttoning his suit jacket. His voice was back to being steel—sharp, professional, and detached.
He walked fast. His long strides ate up the marble floor of the lobby. He didn't wait for me. He didn't offer his hand. He walked like a king entering his castle, expecting the Red Sea to part for him.
And it did. Employees stopped mid-sentence, bowed their heads, and whispered as The Shark passed by.
I had to practically jog to keep up with him, my sandals clicking frantically on the polished floor. I kept my head down, feeling the heavy gaze of hundreds of strangers burning into my skin.
They see the wife, I thought bitterly. But he sees a liability.
We reached the top floor—the Executive Suite. It was quiet here. The air smelled of expensive coffee and cold ambition.
Dhruv threw open the heavy oak doors to a massive conference room.
Inside, a man was waiting. He was older, balding, with spectacles perched on his nose and a stack of files in front of him.
"Mr. Khanna," Dhruv greeted him with a curt nod, taking the seat at the head of the long obsidian table. "Is it ready?"
"Yes, Sir," Mr. Khanna replied, standing up. He looked at me, his expression unreadable. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Rathore. Please, have a seat."
I sat on the chair to Dhruv's right. The leather was cold against my back. The room was freezing.
Mr. Khanna slid a thick document toward me. It was bound in a black folder.
Post-Nuptial Agreement & Non-Disclosure Agreement (NDA)
The words stared up at me in bold, black letters.
"What is this?" I whispered, my hands gripping the edge of the table.
Dhruv didn't look at me. He pulled a gold fountain pen from his pocket and spun it idly between his fingers.
"Formalities," he said flatly. "Since the marriage was... hurried, we couldn't get the paperwork done in time. This defines the terms of our arrangement."
Mr. Khanna cleared his throat. "It is standard procedure, Ma'am. It outlines your rights—and your limitations."
He opened the file to a marked page.
"Clause 4," the lawyer began reading in a monotone voice. "Asset Protection. In the event of a separation or divorce, Mrs. Katha Rathore waives all rights to the Rathore estate, shares, properties, and liquid assets. She shall leave the marriage with exactly what she brought into it."
I felt a lump form in my throat. Zero.
I brought zero.
"Clause 7," the lawyer flipped the page. "Confidentiality. Mrs. Rathore is forbidden from discussing the private matters of Mr. Dhruv Rathore, his past relationships, or the nature of this contract marriage with any third party, including media or family. Breach of this clause will result in a penalty of..."
He pointed to a figure.
Twenty Crores.
My eyes widened. I looked at Dhruv.
He was staring out the window, looking at the city below, completely detached from the fact that he was threatening to bankrupt me if I spoke.
"And finally," Mr. Khanna flipped to the last page. "Clause 12: Termination. This marriage is a contract for a period of one year. At the end of the term, Mr. Rathore reserves the right to dissolve the union without contest."
I felt like I had been slapped.
One year.
That was my expiration date.
I looked down at the necklace my mother had left for me—the necklace Dhruv had put on my neck this morning. The necklace I had hugged him for. The necklace that had made me think, just for a foolish second, that he had a heart.
It's not a gift, I realized, a cold numbness spreading through my chest. It's a uniform. Just like this saree. Just like this title.
"Sign here," Dhruv said, finally turning to look at me.
He slid the gold pen across the obsidian table.
I stared at the pen. It glinted under the harsh conference lights.
"You..." I started, my voice shaking. I looked at him, searching for the man who had caught me when I fell. Searching for the man who had whispered Sorry in the bedroom.
But that man was gone. Sitting next to me was the Billionaire. The man who had bought a wife to save his stock prices.
"Is this all I am to you?" I whispered, my voice barely audible over the hum of the AC. "Just a signature? Just a risk you need to manage?"
Dhruv's jaw tightened. For a fleeting second, something flickered in his eyes—guilt? Regret?
But he crushed it instantly. He remembered the terrace. He remembered the vulnerability he had shown. He couldn't afford to be weak. Weakness had destroyed him once. He wouldn't let it happen again.
"This protects us both, Katha," Dhruv said coldly. "It ensures you get your monthly allowance, and it ensures I get my privacy. It's business. Don't make it emotional."
Business.
I let out a shaky breath. A sad, broken smile touched my lips.
"Right," I whispered. "Business."
I picked up the pen. My hand trembled as I brought the nib to the paper.
The kiss was a lie. The hug was a mistake. The necklace is a loan.
I am not a wife. I am an employee.
I signed my name.
Katha Rathore.
The ink looked dark and permanent, sealing my fate.
Mr. Khanna quickly pulled the papers away as if afraid I might change my mind. "Thank you, Ma'am. Everything is in order."
Dhruv stood up immediately, buttoning his jacket. "Good. Send the copies to the vault."
He looked at me. I was still staring at my empty hands.
"Let's go," he said, checking his watch. "We have a lunch meeting with the investors. You need to smile."
I stood up slowly. I felt heavy. The Kanjeevaram saree felt like lead. The gold necklace felt like a noose.
I looked at Dhruv's back as he walked toward the door, already on a call.
You want a doll, Dhruv Rathore? I thought, wiping the dampness from my eyes and putting on a blank, porcelain mask.
Fine. I will be the best doll you ever bought.
"Yes, Sir," I whispered to the empty room, and followed him out into the cold.
Dhruv's POV
I walked toward the private elevator that led to the main lobby, my stride long and purposeful.
Behind me, I could hear the soft, rhythmic clicking of Katha's sandals against the polished granite. Click. Click. Click.
She was keeping pace, just a few steps behind, exactly where a dutiful, submissive wife should be.
But the sound grated on my nerves. It sounded like an accusation.
I stared straight ahead, my jaw clenched, but my mind was drifting back to the conference room. I pictured her face when the lawyer read the termination clause. The way her shoulders had slumped. The way the light had vanished from her eyes as she signed her name.
Did I do too much?
The thought whispered in my mind, uninvited.
She hasn't done anything wrong. She didn't ask for this. She didn't scheme like her greedy uncle.
Since she stepped into my house, she has only obeyed. She took the insults, she took the floor, she took the contract.
I adjusted my cufflinks, my chest tightening with a foreign sensation. Guilt?
She looks so innocent, I thought, visualizing her wide, tear-filled eyes from this morning. There is no fault of hers in all this. I am punishing her for crimes she didn't commit.
I almost slowed down. I almost turned around to say something—perhaps to tell her that the 20-crore penalty was just a formality, that I wouldn't actually destroy her life.
But then, the ghost of the past rose up, cold and venomous.
Fuck, Dhruv Rathore. Don't you dare.
My eyes hardened, the brief flicker of empathy crushed under the boot of my trauma.
Don't ever think like that. That kindness... that softness... look where it got you. It cost you everything. It made you a laughing stock. It broke you.
I remembered Tara's smile. It had been innocent too. And it had been a lie.
Don't ever try to be the same Dhruv you used to be, I commanded myself, my heart turning back into stone. That Dhruv is dead. This is business. She is just a contract wife. That's it.
She is getting benefits too, I reasoned, desperately justifying my cruelty. She gets millions, luxury, clothes, status. She was cleaning floors yesterday, now she is walking in Rathore Industries. It's a fair trade.
I don't owe her my heart. I only owe her the deal.
We reached the massive glass doors of the main entrance. Through the tint, I could see the swarm. The media. The paparazzi. The sharks waiting for blood.
I stopped abruptly.
I turned around.
Katha was a few feet away. She stopped the moment I did, quickly bowing her head, staring at my expensive shoes. She looked small, defeated, and utterly resigned.
I took a deep breath. I needed the prop now. I needed the wife.
"Katha..." my voice was low, echoing in the quiet hallway.
She didn't look up immediately. "Yes, Sir?"
"Come here."
She stepped forward, obedient and silent, until she was standing right in front of me.
I looked at her pale face. I needed her to shine. I needed her to sell the lie.
I raised my hand—the same hand that had dismissed her feelings minutes ago—and held it out to her, palm open.
It was an invitation. A command wrapped in chivalry.
Katha stared at my hand. She hesitated for a fraction of a second—a tiny rebellion—before she slowly lifted her own hand and placed it in mine.
Her fingers were cold. Mine were warm.
As soon as our skin touched, I tightened my grip. I pulled her closer to my side, interlocking our fingers. It looked intimate. It looked possessive. It looked like love.
"Head up," I whispered, a smirk plastering onto my face—the mask of the billionaire husband. "The drama begins."
I signaled the security.
The glass doors slid open.
Flash! Flash! Flash!
A wall of noise and blinding white light hit us instantly.
"Mr. Rathore! Mr. Rathore! Is this your wife?" "Look here, Ma'am!" "When was the wedding?" "Is it true it was a secret ceremony?"
I didn't flinch. I walked out into the chaos, my grip on Katha's hand iron-clad, pulling her into the spotlight.
"Smile," I murmured through my teeth, waving at a camera with my free hand.
And Katha smiled. It was a beautiful, hollow thing.
The world saw a fairytale. I saw a merger.
And Katha saw a cage made of camera flashes.