The SUV doors shut out the storm, but not the cold inside me.
Rishabh hadn't let me go once—not even when he carried me out of my ruined home, not even when I tried to twist out of his grip, not even when my voice broke begging him to stop.
He placed me onto the leather seat gently, like I was something fragile—
like he was afraid I'd break.
I hated that gentleness.
I hated how it made something sharp twist in my chest.
He slid into the seat beside me. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him, but not touching me. A predator giving his prey a moment to breathe.
"Seatbelt," he said.
My voice was hoarse. "I can do it myself."
His eyes flicked to my trembling fingers—the ones that couldn't even hold my phone moments ago. Something darkened in his gaze, and before I could move, he reached across me.
The soft click of the belt locking echoed like a threat.
His arm brushed my chest.
His breath brushed my cheek.
My heart stuttered painfully.
Then he whispered:
"Good girl."
The air punched out of my lungs.
Heat shot up my spine.
Shame followed instantly.
"Don't—" I swallowed hard. "Don't call me that."
A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"You weren't shaking like this when I held you."
"That… that's not—"
He leaned back, studying me with unsettling calm.
Every emotion I tried to hide reflected in his eyes.
Every tear.
Every tremor.
"You think you're hiding from me?" he asked softly. "Aarya… you've never been good at hiding."
My nails dug into the seat.
"Stop talking like you know me."
Lightning flashed outside the window, illuminating his face in sharp, cold silver.
"I married you," he said simply. "I know everything."
"No," I whispered. "No, you don't. My husband was sick. Dying. Weak. You—" my voice cracked—"you're not him."
He didn't flinch.
"He wasn't me," he said. "But the name on your marriage license was."
My breath hitched.
"No."
He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a manila folder.
Placed it in my lap.
"Look."
"I don't want—"
"Look."
The command hit deeper than it should.
I opened it with shaking hands.
My marriage certificate stared back at me.
My name.
His name.
Date.
Venue.
Witness signatures.
Official stamp.
Reality punched me so hard I swayed.
My voice was barely a sound. "This is real."
He didn't blink. "It is."
"But the man there—" I flipped to the next page, the courthouse security photo—"he was in a wheelchair. He was—"
"My brother."
I froze.
"What?"
"He owed me a favor."
"No." My throat tightened. "No, you're lying."
"Why would I lie?"
His voice dropped, softer than the storm outside.
"I had enemies watching. I couldn't show my face."
"Then why marry me at all?" I demanded.
My voice rose—fear, confusion, grief all tangled together.
"You could've chosen anyone. Why me? Why pull me into your world? Why—"
He cut me off.
"Because you were the only thing I wanted."
The world stilled.
His eyes held mine—
not cold,
not cruel—
but haunted.
And I hated that I understood that look.
"You disappeared," I whispered. "You left me alone for years."
"You were supposed to stay away from my world."
"You keep saying that," I snapped, tears stinging again. "If you didn't want me involved, why marry me? Why claim me?"
His jaw clenched.
Once.
Tightly.
"You don't remember," he said, voice low.
"Remember what?"
His gaze flicked to my lips—as if my answer lived there.
"The day you signed the papers," he murmured. "You looked at me."
"I didn't—"
"You did."
His voice was quiet, but unshakeable.
"And I knew."
"Knew what?" My pulse hammered.
"That you were mine."
My breath broke.
"No," I whispered. "No, I didn't even know your name. I didn't even—"
"Aarya."
He leaned closer.
I pressed back into the door.
His hand lifted.
Not touching—just hovering close enough that my skin tingled.
"You looked at me," he said again, each word firm, deliberate.
"And something in you… recognized me."
My heart stumbled.
Recognized him? How?
Why?
From where?
I shook my head violently.
"You're wrong."
He tilted his head, studying me like he could peel the truth straight from my bones.
"You forget," he said quietly. "I didn't marry a ghost. I married a girl with eyes too honest to lie."
My throat tightened until it hurt to breathe.
"You're insane," I whispered.
"Possibly."
The SUV slowed.
The city lights reflected off a towering glass skyscraper.
"What is this?" I whispered.
"Home."
"No."
I recoiled instinctively.
"No, I'm not going in there."
He didn't argue.
He didn't threaten.
He just opened the door—and lifted me again.
My breath hitched at the sudden closeness.
"Put me down—"
"No."
"Stop—"
"You're cold."
"I don't care—"
"I do."
His voice didn't rise.
Didn't harden.
Didn't soften, either.
It just wrapped around me like something heavy and unbreakable.
The lobby was silent when he walked in.
Guards bowed.
Even the receptionist lowered her gaze.
No one met his eyes.
No one even dared inhale too loudly.
He carried me straight into a private elevator.
Only when the doors slid shut did he finally speak.
"Aarya."
I didn't look at him.
"Aarya, look at me."
I shook my head, pressing into the far corner of the elevator, putting space between us.
Not much—but enough for one breath of air.
He watched me, jaw clenched, chest rising with slow control.
"You're shaking," he said.
"Because I'm terrified."
My voice cracked open.
"You destroyed my home. You took me. You're dragging me into your life—the life you vanished from—and I don't even know why!"
"You know why."
"No, I don't!"
He took one step toward me.
I pressed flat against the wall.
He stopped.
Hands at his sides.
Tension coiled through every line of his body.
"I told you the truth," he said quietly. "Now you tell me yours."
"I don't have one."
"You do. You're just afraid to say it."
"Say what?"
He looked at me like he could see through my skin.
"That you knew I wasn't dead."
My breath caught.
"You looked for me," he said.
Calm. Controlled. Too controlled.
"You read every article. Every rumor. Every obituary. You searched for the truth."
My voice broke. "How do you know that?"
His eyes darkened.
"Because I was watching."
The elevator chimed.
The doors slid open.
His penthouse was vast, cold, beautiful, and terrifying.
He stepped inside without waiting—then turned back to face me.
"Come here."
I shook my head.
His voice dropped lower.
Not threatening.
Something worse.
"Aarya."
My name in his mouth made my knees weaken.
I stepped inside despite myself.
He closed the elevator behind me.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he moved—slow enough that I could have stepped away, fast enough that my breath didn't return before he was in front of me.
He lifted my chin with two fingers.
My pulse hammered against my throat.
"Tell me," he whispered,
"why you're lying about not remembering my face."
"I don't—"
"You do."
His thumb grazed my bottom lip.
"And I remember the way you looked at me the night I married you."
"I didn't—I didn't even know—"
"Say it," he murmured, leaning in until his breath brushed my cheek.
"Say you didn't look at me like you already knew me."
My chest trembled.
My legs trembled.
I inhaled him like he was the only oxygen left in the world.
"I don't remember," I whispered.
He smiled.
Sad.
Dark.
Inevitable.
"Then I'll help you remember."
His hand slid to my jaw.
His face lowered—
Not to kiss me.
Not yet.
But close enough that I felt the promise of it like a brand.
Close enough that my breath hitched.
Close enough that running became impossible.
His lips hovered just above mine.
His words were a whisper against my mouth.
"You're not afraid of me, Aarya."
He paused.
"You're afraid of what you felt… before I ever touched you."
The truth of it ripped something open in me.
I didn't have time to deny it.
Because the front door of the penthouse slammed open.
A guard rushed in.
"Sir—he's awake."
Rishabh didn't touch me again.
He just straightened slowly—like a storm rising to full height.
"Who?" I whispered.
He didn't look away from me when he answered.
"The man who ruined your home."
My heart stopped.
Rishabh's eyes burned.
"And I'm going to make him regret breathing."