Piya sat at the mahogany table, her hand resting near the still-warm signature on the contract. She felt a sickening sense of finality. She had traded her freedom for the stability of her manager, Mr. Rao, and the illusion of normalcy.
The silence that had followed Liam's departure was broken by the quiet, efficient return of Karan. The secretary carried a tablet and approached the table, his face professionally neutral but his eyes holding a fleeting look of pity for the girl who had just signed her life away.
"Mrs. Asher," Karan began, using the title with a jarring formality. "I apologize for the immediate intrusion, but Mr. Asher requested a minor amendment be confirmed for the Private Distance clause. He believes, given your background, the reality of a shared marital suite may require clearer definition."
Piya's head snapped up. "Shared suite? Mr. Asher explicitly said separate wings!"
Karan scrolled down the tablet. "He has already made the necessary amendment, madam. The clause now reads: 'Shared Proximity: This marriage will exist on paper and in public. We will occupy the marital suite at all primary residences to maintain appearances. There will be no intrusion into each other's private lives, and certainly no expectation of marital intimacy. Physical distance within the shared space is non-negotiable.'"
Piya's face drained of color. Her only relief—the promise of distance—had been yanked away. Sharing a room with Liam? The man whose slightest presence made her panic? The man who radiated cold, precise authority?
"This is unacceptable," she whispered, shaking her head. "He didn't mention this. This changes everything."
Karan's expression softened momentarily. "Mr. Asher's decision is final, madam. A shared bedroom is non-negotiable for the required social optics. However, the rest of the clause stands. He will not touch you, nor will he invade your privacy. You will be roommates bound by a contract, nothing more. A single suite ensures no room for gossip or doubt among the staff."
Piya slumped back, defeated. The sheer ruthlessness of his control was overwhelming. He had given her one small victory—her job—only to ensure he held the ultimate leverage: her peace.
The next morning, Piya was collected from her home by a black chauffeur-driven car.
Her first duty was attending a formal brunch at the main Asher estate—not Liam's cold fortress, but the ancestral home where his father, Mr. Adrian Asher, resided. This man, who had always intended a political marriage for his son, was Piya's first major antagonist.
Karan, who sat beside her, gave her final, crisp instructions. "Your role today is simple: The devoted fiancée. You are nervous, but fiercely proud. Mr. Asher Sr. is expecting a compliant trophy bride. You are not that. You are the woman Liam chose for reasons he alone understands. Maintain composure. Speak only when spoken to. And watch the heiress."
"The heiress?" Piya asked nervously.
"Miss Tanya Sharma. She was the woman Mr. Asher Sr. intended for Liam. She will be present. Do not be intimidated by her perfection."
When the car pulled up, Piya took a deep breath. She was dressed in a simple, but expensive, silk dress that Karan's assistant had delivered hours ago. She stepped out, instantly feeling the weight of the enormous, sprawling manor and the staff watching her every move.
Liam was waiting for her at the door, an imposing figure in a dark charcoal suit. The sight of him, cool and utterly composed, sent a familiar jolt of fear and electricity through her.
He didn't smile. He simply extended his hand. "Remember your role," he murmured, his gaze sweeping over her face.
Piya placed her trembling hand in his. His touch was warm, firm, and instantly anchoring. The moment their hands met, a spark—not of romance, but of charged, controlled energy—passed between them.
They walked into a sunlit conservatory where the brunch was being held. Liam, with Piya by his side, commanded the room's attention. Every head turned. Every conversation paused.
Piya felt exposed, but Liam's grip on her hand was a constant, solid anchor. He led her directly toward a group of formidable-looking people.
Adrian Asher, Liam's father, was a slightly older, sterner version of his son, his eyes cold and judgmental. Beside him stood a woman of devastating, polished beauty: Tanya Sharma. Tanya was the picture of corporate elegance, perfectly manicured and dressed in a gown that whispered 'old money.' Her eyes, when they landed on Piya, were sharp with immediate, glacial disdain.
"Father," Liam said, his voice flat. "This is Piya Arora. My fiancée."
Adrian's gaze dissected Piya, lingering on her slightly too-simple dress and her nervous posture. He didn't offer his hand. "Liam tells me you are from his office staff. A modest background."
Piya felt a flush of embarrassment. Before she could stammer a reply, Liam squeezed her hand, a subtle warning.
"She has integrity, Father," Liam cut in, his voice carrying an edge that silenced his progenitor. "Something I value more than a manufactured portfolio."
Tanya Sharma's perfectly painted lips curled into a faint, hostile smile. "How fascinating. I suppose an unexpected choice keeps things interesting, Liam. But darling," she addressed Piya, her voice smooth and patronizing, "you look terribly overwhelmed. Are you quite sure you understand the expectations that come with the Asher name?"
Piya took a breath, remembering Karan's advice: Don't be a compliant trophy.
"I understand," Piya replied, her voice shaky but clear. "The expectation is integrity and hard work. I am happy to meet both, Miss Sharma, as I have always done in Mr. Asher's company."
Tanya's smile faltered, genuinely surprised by the small defiance. Adrian Asher's eyes narrowed, intrigued despite his coldness.
Liam's grip tightened briefly again, this time not as a warning, but perhaps a subtle acknowledgement. He guided Piya away before anyone could press her further, pulling her into a private corner where a large buffet spread was laid out.
"Not bad," Liam murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "You didn't collapse, and you showed a spark of defiance. Adequate."
Piya stared at him, her chest heaving. "I am not doing this for you, Mr. Asher. I am doing this to save my job and Mr. Rao. And I am terrified about the shared room."
Liam's dark eyes fixed on her. The silence was thick. "We have a contract, Piya," he stated, using her first name for the first time outside of the proposal, making it feel less like a name and more like a brand. "We share the room. We maintain distance. Do you understand the definition of 'non-negotiable'?"
"I understand control," Piya retorted, fueled by exhaustion and fear. "And I know that what you demand is impossible."
Liam leaned closer, his tall, imposing figure overshadowing her completely. His breath brushed her ear, the familiar scent of his cologne enveloping her.
"Then your greatest challenge," he whispered, his voice dangerously soft, "will be proving me wrong. You may be my wife, but you are still just an intern. Your obedience is expected."
He pulled back, his face a mask of cold composure, but the air around them was now thick with an almost unbearable tension—the promise of close quarters and unyielding emotional distance. They were bound by paper, but the real bond—the one forged in fear, control, and proximity—was just beginning to tighten.