The morning light seeped slowly through the curtains, casting a pale glow over Anaya's bedroom. The events of the previous night swirled relentlessly in her mind. Kavya's words had shattered the fragile world she had tried to build around herself. Meera's death wasn't an accident—it was a secret buried under layers of lies and power.
But the question that haunted her most was: How far was Aarav involved? Was he a victim, a pawn, or worse—a willing participant?
She knew one thing for certain—she couldn't keep pretending anymore. If their marriage was going to survive, if she was to survive, the walls between them had to come down. The ice had to break.
---
In the grand dining hall, Aarav sat across from Anaya, his face a mask of controlled indifference as the family buzzed around them with the usual forced politeness. But beneath the surface, Anaya could sense the tension radiating off him like heat from a furnace.
Her heartbeat quickened as she finally gathered the courage to speak. "Aarav, we need to talk."
He glanced up, surprise flickering in his eyes. "About what?"
"About Meera. About Kavya. About everything."
For a moment, he said nothing. Then, abruptly, he stood and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the manicured gardens.
"Do you have any idea what you're asking for?" he said quietly. "You're poking a sleeping tiger."
Anaya stood to face him, her voice firm. "I'm not asking for permission. I'm asking for truth."
He turned, eyes dark and stormy. "You don't know what this family is capable of."
"I'm learning," she said steadily. "And I'm not afraid."
Aarav ran a hand through his hair, frustration and something more—something almost like respect—etching his features.
"Fine," he said finally. "But if you want the truth, be prepared. It's not pretty."
---
He led her to his private study, a sleek, modern room contrasting sharply with the mansion's old-world grandeur. Aarav sat behind the massive mahogany desk, pulling open a hidden drawer to reveal a leather-bound journal.
"This was Meera's diary," he said, handing it to Anaya. "She kept it during the last year of her life."
Anaya opened the journal carefully, flipping through pages filled with Meera's neat handwriting—her hopes, her fears, her fight against the family's cruelty.
"I was trying to change things," Meera had written. "But every step I took, they pushed back harder."
Anaya's eyes filled with tears. The woman in these pages was brave and kind, everything Aarav had never let her see.
"He loved her," Anaya whispered.
Aarav nodded. "More than anything."
There was a silence between them, heavy with unspoken emotions.
Then Aarav spoke again. "She was the reason I agreed to this contract. To keep the family from tearing itself apart."
Anaya frowned. "But why marry me? Why drag me into this?"
"Because you're different," he said. "You don't just accept things as they are. You ask questions. You fight back."
Anaya's cheeks flushed. "I'm not sure if that's a compliment or a warning."
Aarav cracked the barest smile. "Both."
---
Days passed, and with each one, the walls between Anaya and Aarav grew thinner. They spent hours talking—about Meera, the family's dark past, and the fragile hope for a future that didn't revolve around power and control.
But the family's hostility didn't waver. The Raichands watched with narrowed eyes, waiting for Anaya to crack, for Aarav to put an end to the chaos she stirred.
One evening, as they sat in the mansion's grand library, Aarav reached out and took Anaya's hand.
"I don't trust easily," he admitted. "Especially after what happened."
Anaya squeezed his hand. "Neither do I."
He looked at her, his gaze intense. "But maybe... maybe this contract isn't just about business."
Anaya's heart skipped. "What do you mean?"
Aarav leaned closer. "Maybe it's about finding something neither of us expected."
Their eyes locked, the distance between them shrinking. For the first time, Anaya saw beyond the billionaire's cold exterior—a man who was scared, vulnerable, and yearning for connection.
---
That night, Anaya lay awake, thinking about the journey ahead. The secrets, the battles, the fragile trust they were building—it was daunting. But for the first time, she felt hope.
The accidental bride wasn't just surviving anymore.
She was fighting.
And maybe, just maybe, she was starting to fall in love.