She never imagined that saving her father's life would cost her freedom. The hospital carridor was cold and silent.machines booped behind the glass door, reminding her that time was running out. "Yes gneed the money by tomorrow," the doctor said firmly. She nodded, holding back tears .She had nothing left. Then the offer come. "A marriage contract,"her uncle whispered. "He will pay for everything" Her heart froze. A few hours later , She stood inside a luxurious office .The Man in front of her didn't even look up ." One year, " he said coldly " No love , No expectations . You will be my wife only in name ." She clenched her fists . This was wrong. But her father's life mattered more .With shaking hands, she signed the papers . He finally looked at her and said , " welcome to your new life ." The rain poured relentlessly over the city, blurring the glass walls of the courtroom into streaks of gray. Ananya Sharma sat on the cold wooden bench, her fingers clenched tightly around the worn strap of her handbag. Each drop of rain outside echoed the heaviness in her chest.
"Miss Sharma, you may leave."
The judge's voice felt distant, unreal. The words case dismissed still rang in her ears like a cruel joke. Dismissed—not because she was wrong, but because she was powerless.
Ananya stood up slowly, her legs trembling. Across the courtroom, her stepmother Kavita Sharma was already smiling, adjusting her expensive saree, as if she had just won a business deal instead of destroying a young woman's life.
"You should've listened to me," Kavita said softly as Ananya passed her. "This wouldn't have happened."
Ananya stopped. Her nails dug into her palm, but she didn't turn around. Arguing was pointless. It always was.
She walked out of the courtroom, the rain soaking her clothes within seconds. She didn't bother opening her umbrella. What was the point? Her life had already collapsed—what more damage could a little rain do?
Her father was dead. The house that once felt warm now felt like a stranger's property. The small café she had dreamed of opening was gone, sold to clear debts she never created. And now, even the last legal hope had slipped through her fingers.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown Number
She almost ignored it. Almost.
"Hello?" Her voice cracked.
"Miss Ananya Sharma," a deep male voice said calmly. "This is Adv. Mehra. I represent Mr. Aarav Malhotra."
Ananya frowned. The name was impossible not to recognize. Aarav Malhotra—the cold CEO of Malhotra Group. A man whose name appeared in business magazines, not in the life of an ordinary woman like her.
"I think you have the wrong number," she replied.
"I don't," the lawyer said. "Mr. Malhotra would like to meet you. Today."
Her heart skipped. "Why?"
There was a pause. "To discuss a… proposal."
Ananya stood in the lobby of Malhotra Group an hour later, staring at the towering glass building. Everything about the place screamed power—marble floors, silent elevators, people walking briskly with purpose.
She didn't belong here.
"Miss Sharma?" A receptionist smiled politely. "Mr. Malhotra is expecting you."
The elevator ride felt endless. When the doors finally opened, she was led into a massive office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.
And there he was.
Aarav Malhotra stood near the window, hands in his pockets, his tall frame rigid and commanding. He turned slowly, sharp eyes landing on her like a calculated assessment.
So this was him—the man rumored to be heartless, ruthless, untouchable.
"Sit," he said, his voice low and firm.
Ananya swallowed and sat across from him, her back straight despite the storm of nerves inside her.
"You're wondering why you're here," Aarav said, walking to his desk. "I don't waste time, so I'll be direct."
He slid a thin folder toward her.
"A contract marriage."
The words hit her like a slap.
"A what?" she whispered.
"A legal marriage," he clarified, unbothered. "For two years."
Ananya stared at him, disbelief flooding her face. "You called me here to joke?"
"I never joke," he replied coldly. "Read the terms."
Her hands shook as she opened the file. The pages were filled with neatly typed clauses, legal language, signatures waiting to happen.
Clause 1: The marriage will be purely contractual.
Clause 2: No emotional involvement is required.
Clause 3: Both parties will maintain a public image of a married couple.
Clause 4: After two years, the marriage will be dissolved legally.
Ananya looked up, anger rising. "You think marriage is a business deal?"
"For me, everything is," Aarav answered honestly.
"Then why me?" she demanded. "There must be hundreds of women who'd jump at this."
"I don't want women who jump," he said calmly. "I want someone invisible to the media. Someone with no scandals. Someone desperate enough to agree—but strong enough to follow rules."
Her breath hitched. Desperate.
"I'll pay off all your father's debts," he continued. "Your stepmother will transfer the house back to your name. And you'll receive a monthly allowance."
Ananya's heart pounded violently.
This was insane.
This was humiliating.
This was… salvation.
"And if I refuse?" she asked quietly.
Aarav met her gaze, his eyes unreadable. "Then nothing changes. You walk out, and your life continues exactly as it is."
Silence filled the room.
Ananya thought of her father's smiling face, of the café blueprint still folded in her bag, of nights spent crying silently so no one would hear.
She laughed bitterly. "So this is it? I'm being sold."
"If you prefer to see it that way," Aarav said. "Fate is often cruel."
She closed the file slowly. Her reflection stared back at her from the glass desk—tired eyes, clenched jaw, a woman cornered by circumstances.
"How do I know you won't destroy me after I sign?" she asked.
Aarav leaned closer, his presence overwhelming. "Because destroying you gives me nothing. Protecting you gives me everything I need."
She hesitated for a long moment… then picked up the pen.
Her signature looked unfamiliar, shaky, final.
Aarav signed immediately after.
"Welcome, Mrs. Malhotra," he said flatly.
The words sent a strange chill down her spine.
That night, Ananya sat alone in the guest room of a luxurious penthouse that was now, apparently, her home.
She stared at the ceiling, sleep refusing to come.
A contract.
A fake marriage.
A stranger as a husband.
She turned on her side, clutching the pillow tightly.
"I won't break," she whispered to herself. "No matter what."
In the dark, somewhere beyond the walls, fate smiled quietly.
Because the marriage might be fake…
But the storm it would unleash was very real.