Anaya stood outside the tall glass building, holding her file tightly.
This interview was her last chance.
Her father was sick.
Bills were piling up.
And hope was slowly dying.
"Miss Anaya Sen?" the receptionist called.
"Yes," she replied and walked in.
The cabin was silent.
A man stood near the window, his back facing her.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Powerful presence.
"Sit," he said coldly.
Anaya sat down slowly.
He turned around.
Her breath caught.
Sharp eyes.
Cold face.
No emotion.
"You're Anaya Sen?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
He smirked.
"Do you know why you're here?"
"For the job interview," she answered honestly.
He laughed softly. Not a happy laugh.
"No," he said. "You're here because of your surname."
Anaya frowned. "I don't understand."
He leaned closer.
"I know everything about your family," he said quietly.
"Your father. Your past. Your weakness."
Her hands started shaking.
"This is inappropriate," she said, standing up.
"Sit," he ordered.
She didn't.
"Leave now," she said, her voice trembling.
He smiled.
"I can save your father."
Her heart stopped.
"What?" she whispered.
"I can pay his hospital bills," he continued calmly.
"In return, you'll sign a contract."
"A job contract?" she asked.
"No," he said.
"A marriage contract."
The room spun.
"You're crazy!" Anaya shouted.
"Think carefully," he said coldly.
"One year. Fake marriage. No love. No questions."
She stared at him in disbelief.
"And if I say no?" she asked.
He looked at her straight in the eyes.
"Then your father dies."
Tears filled her eyes.
She realized—
This wasn't an offer.
It was a trap.