Rain hammered against the glass windows of the lawyer’s office.

Aarohi Sharma sat motionless, her fingers tightly gripping the edge of the chair. The stack of papers in front of her looked less like a contract and more like a prison sentence.

“Read it carefully,” the lawyer said.

She forced a smile. “I already know what it says.”

One year.

A fake marriage.

No emotional involvement.

No questions about his personal life.

No claim over his wealth.

At the end of twelve months, she would receive enough money to clear her father’s debts and save the only home they had left.

The lawyer pushed a pen toward her.

“If you sign, the marriage will take place tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.

Aarohi closed her eyes for a moment.

Just three months ago, her father had suffered a stroke after discovering that his business partner had disappeared with borrowed money. Creditors had started visiting their house every day. Their electricity had been cut twice. The bank had issued a final notice.

She had tried everything—loans, overtime, selling jewelry, asking relatives for help.

Nothing was enough.

Then the offer came.

Marry billionaire Arjun Malhotra for one year.

She had laughed when she first heard it.

Until she realized it was real.

“Why me?” she asked quietly.

The lawyer adjusted his glasses.

“Mr. Malhotra personally selected you.”

A strange chill ran down her spine.

“He doesn’t know me.”

“He believes you’re suitable.”

Suitable.

As if she were being hired for a job.

Aarohi picked up the pen.

The ink touched the paper.

With a single signature, her life stopped belonging to her.

The next evening, the Malhotra mansion looked like something from a dream.

Crystal chandeliers.

White orchids.

A red carpet stretching through a hall filled with the wealthiest people in the city.

Aarohi stood in a heavily embroidered bridal lehenga that felt far too expensive for someone who had spent the previous week worrying about grocery bills.

She looked at herself in the mirror.

The woman staring back was beautiful.

But she wasn’t happy.

A maid entered the room.

“Mr. Malhotra is waiting.”

Aarohi nodded.

The wedding ceremony happened like a blur.

Photographers flashed cameras.

Guests whispered behind polite smiles.

The groom barely looked at her.

Arjun Malhotra was even more intimidating than the newspapers described.

Tall.

Sharp features.

A perfectly tailored black sherwani.

Cold eyes that revealed absolutely nothing.

He looked like a man who had forgotten how to smile years ago.

They exchanged garlands.

Circled the sacred fire.

Took the vows.

Signed the marriage register.

And just like that—

She became Mrs. Malhotra.

When the guests finally left, silence settled over the mansion.

Aarohi stood on the balcony outside the bridal suite, watching the rain.

The door opened behind her.

Arjun stepped out.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then he said, “I’ll make this simple.”

She turned to face him.

“This marriage exists only on paper.”

“I know.”

“You’ll have complete freedom. You can continue your work, your studies, whatever you want.”

She nodded.

“But there are conditions.”

His voice was calm, almost emotionless.

“You will not interfere in my business.”

“You will not enter the west wing of this mansion.”

“And you will not ask about my past.”

The west wing?

The words felt oddly familiar.

Aarohi frowned.

“Is someone living there?”

His expression hardened instantly.

“That is exactly the kind of question you shouldn’t ask.”

She looked away.

“I’m sorry.”

He took out another document.

“This is a confidentiality agreement.”

She almost laughed.

“Another contract?”

“Yes.”

She signed it without reading.

What difference did it make now?

Arjun folded the papers and turned toward the door.

Before leaving, he paused.

“One more thing.”

She looked at him.

“Don’t fall in love with me.”

Aarohi let out a soft, humorless laugh.

“That wasn’t part of my plan.”

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes.

Pain.

It disappeared so quickly she thought she had imagined it.

He left.

Aarohi remained on the balcony, listening to the rain.

A sudden headache struck her.

Sharp.

Intense.

She pressed her fingers against her temple.

A child’s laughter echoed in her mind.

A little boy running through heavy rain.

Someone crying.

Someone calling—

“Aaru!”

She gasped.

The vision vanished.

Her breathing became uneven.

What was that?

The balcony door opened again.

Arjun had returned, holding a small velvet box.

“You forgot this.”

He handed it to her.

As she reached for it, his sleeve shifted slightly.

A scar.

A thin crescent-shaped scar on his right wrist.

The moment she saw it—

The world shattered.

A memory exploded inside her mind.

A frightened little boy.

A flooded road.

Blood.

A silver bracelet.

And her own voice, trembling with fear—

“Arjun, don’t leave my hand!”

The box slipped from her fingers.

Her eyes widened in horror.

She knew that scar.

She had seen it before.

Years ago.

Long before this contract.

Long before this marriage.

Long before she had forgotten everything.

Arjun looked at her pale face.

“What happened?”

Aarohi stared at him, her voice barely a whisper.

“I know you.”

The color drained from his face.

And for the first time in years—

The billionaire who feared nothing looked terrified.

End of Chapter 1