The hospital corridors were colder than I remembered.
I walked toward my mother's room with a heaviness in my chest I couldn't put into words. The nurse let me in quietly, giving me a look that almost felt like pity.
My mother lay there, pale, fragile, and fighting for every breath.
Her eyes fluttered open when she heard my footsteps.
"Aarvi…" Her voice was barely a whisper.
I forced a smile. "Maa, I'm here."
I held her hand and placed my forehead gently against it. Her skin was cold. Too cold.
"Did you… arrange the money?" she asked, her brows pulling together. "We shouldn't take loans—don't put yourself in trouble for me."
My chest tightened painfully.
How could I tell her I had done something worse than taking a loan?
I stroked her hand softly. "Everything is taken care of. I promise."
She smiled faintly, relief softening her tired eyes.
"Good… you always manage somehow."
If she knew the "somehow" was a marriage contract to a man who despised me… would she still call me strong?
A knock on the door broke the moment.
It was Riyan's driver.
Time was up.
"Maa," I whispered, trying to steady my voice, "I'll be back soon."
She nodded, already tired. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."
I kissed her forehead, trying to memorize the warmth of her skin before walking out with my lungs burning.
---
Two hours later, I stood in a registrar office wearing the same clothes I wore at the hospital.
No wedding dress.
No sindoor.
No family.
No blessings.
Just a government building, a contract, and a man who wouldn't look at me for more than three seconds.
We sat across a wooden desk, the registrar stamping papers like we weren't two lives crashing into something irreversible.
"Please sign here and here," the clerk said casually, sliding the documents across the table.
Riyan signed without even reading.
His hands were steady.
Mine weren't.
When the pen touched the paper, something inside me sank… something I didn't know I still had left.
The clerk looked up. "Congratulations. You are now legally married."
The words felt wrong.
Ugly.
Heavy.
Married.
To a man who didn't want me.
To a man who saw me as punishment.
I didn't realize someone else had entered the room until footsteps echoed behind us.
A woman — tall, perfect, dressed like she belonged at a luxury fashion event. She looked at Riyan with eyes that held history… and then at me with disbelief.
"Riyan," she said, her voice cold but trembling, "tell me this isn't true."
He didn't blink. "It's true."
Her face fell.
"You married her?" she whispered. "This… girl?"
My chest tightened, and I looked down, heat rushing into my eyes.
Riyan didn't look at me, not even once.
He simply said, "It's done. Leave it."
The woman stared at him like he had stabbed something inside her.
Then she turned to me.
"You have no idea what you've stepped into," she said softly, almost like a warning. "And you'll regret this more than he will."
Before I could understand what she meant, she walked out.
My breath shook.
Who was she to him?
Why did she look at me like I had stolen something that never belonged to me?
Riyan stood up abruptly. "Let's go. I don't have time to waste."
I followed him silently through the corridor, trying to keep my steps steady.
Outside, the wind was cold against my skin, but nowhere near as cold as the silence between us.
He opened the car door, paused, and said:
"This marriage changes nothing. Remember that."
I nodded, even though my throat hurt.
As the car drove toward his mansion — my new prison — one realization settled in my heart like a bruise spreading:
I married him to save one life…
but doing so, I might have destroyed my own.