The car slowed in front of a mansion that didn't look like a home —
it looked like a reminder.
A reminder that I didn't belong here.
Tall iron gates opened silently, as if even they were trained not to disturb the world inside. The house rose in front of me like a palace carved out of stone and cold money.
I stepped out of the car slowly, my legs stiff from exhaustion and nerves. The wind carried the faint smell of jasmine from the gardens… a smell that should've been calming but somehow made my stomach twist.
Riyan walked ahead without looking back to see if I was following.
Of course he didn't.
Why would he?
He only slowed when he reached the massive glass doors. A middle-aged man in a black suit opened it quickly.
"Welcome home, sir," he said respectfully.
His eyes briefly landed on me—confusion, then surprise, then something like discomfort.
The kind people wore when they didn't know whether to greet you or ask why you're standing where you shouldn't be.
Before he could say anything, a sharp voice cut through the space.
"Riyan? What is going on?"
A woman stepped out from the marble staircase, wrapped in a silk saree that probably cost more than my yearly salary. Her eyebrows furrowed when she saw me.
Her eyes traveled over my hospital-worn clothes, the messed-up hair I couldn't fix, and the tired face that refused to hide its exhaustion.
"And who is this?" she demanded.
Riyan didn't blink. "My wife."
The silence that followed was so thick I felt it press against my spine.
The woman stared at him, then at me, then laughed under her breath as if he'd told a very bad joke.
"Riyan… your wife? Are you out of your mind? You married her without informing the family?"
He didn't flinch. "It was my decision. I don't need approval."
Her expression sharpened.
"You brought that girl into this house without even—"
"Enough," he said coldly.
That one word froze the air.
She stepped back slightly, shocked by his tone, but her eyes cut into me like knives.
"If this is your decision," she murmured tightly, "then she will have to learn… where she stands."
Her meaning was clear.
This house wasn't just unwelcoming.
It was hostile.
She walked away, her heels echoing like small warnings on the floor.
My fingers curled lightly against my palms. I hadn't even taken two breaths inside this house, and I was already unwanted.
The butler cleared his throat softly. "Madam, shall I show you to your room?"
Before I could open my mouth, Riyan said, "Her room is next to mine. Keep it simple. No need for anything extra."
My heart stuttered.
Next to his?
Not with him, of course.
But close enough to remind me every day who held the keys to my mother's life.
I nodded weakly. "Thank you."
As I followed the butler upstairs, I felt eyes watching me.
House staff whispering quietly.
Judging.
Guessing.
Wondering what a girl like me was doing here.
Halfway up the stairs, my foot slipped slightly — I was that tired — but I grabbed the railing quickly.
A voice behind me spoke, low and sharp.
"Try not to fall. I don't need another problem to handle."
I froze.
Because even without looking, I knew the voice belonged to him.
I turned my head slightly.
Riyan stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking at me with eyes that held no warmth, no softness — just control.
"I'm fine," I said quietly.
"You should be," he replied. "This contract does not allow weakness."
Something in my chest tightened painfully.
Contract.
Not marriage.
Not partnership.
Not life.
Just a business deal where I was the smallest, weakest line.
I climbed the remaining stairs without another word.
---
The room they gave me was beautiful… but nothing felt like mine.
Cream-colored walls, large windows, a bed with crisp white sheets, and a closet that had more space than my entire old apartment.
But I didn't touch anything.
I just stood there, feeling small in a space meant for someone else.
The butler placed the key card on the table. "If you need anything—"
"I won't," I said softly.
He hesitated, then lowered his voice.
"Madam, don't take what Ma'am said to heart. This house is… complicated."
I nodded. "Thank you."
When he left, silence enveloped me like a second skin.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands shaking from everything I'd held inside since morning.
I thought marriage would feel like something.
A beginning.
A promise.
A blessing.
But this felt like…
an ending I never chose.
I pressed my palms over my face, trying not to cry, trying not to break.
A soft knock came at the door.
My heart jumped.
When I opened it, Riyan stood there, still in his suit, looking composed even when I wasn't.
He held a small envelope.
"These are the hospital receipts," he said. "Your mother's surgery is scheduled for tomorrow morning."
Tears burned my eyes instantly.
"Thank you," I whispered.
He looked away, as if my gratitude offended him.
"This changes nothing," he said quietly. "Don't mistake obligation for care."
Then he turned and walked away.
I stood in the doorway holding the envelope, my vision blurring.
He saved my mother.
But he was breaking me piece by piece.
And the worst part?
I wasn't allowed to fall apart.
Not here.
Not in this house.
Not in this marriage.
Because in his world, I wasn't a wife.
I was just a contract he signed to punish someone I didn't even remember being.