Rain poured relentlessly over the city, blurring headlights into streaks of gold and white as if the world itself had dissolved into tears. Aarohi Mehta tightened her thin shawl around her shoulders and stood outside the towering glass building that carried the name Raichand Global Enterprises in bold silver letters. Even through the storm, the building gleamed with quiet arrogance, rising high into the clouds like it owned the sky. It probably did. Everything about Aryan Raichand screamed ownership—of businesses, of cities, of people's futures. And once upon a time… of her.
Her fingers trembled, not from the cold but from the weight of the paper clutched tightly in her hand. A marriage certificate. Slightly crumpled. Slightly faded. But real. Painfully real.
Three years ago, she had walked into this building as Aryan Raichand's wife.
Today, she was nothing more than a stranger asking for an appointment.
The security guard glanced at her worn kurti and rain-soaked sandals, clearly doubting her presence. "Do you have a meeting?" he asked, his tone polite but dismissive.
"Yes," Aarohi lied softly. "With Mr. Aryan Raichand."
He raised a brow but made the call anyway. Minutes later, after several suspicious looks, she was allowed inside.
Warm air rushed over her skin. The marble floors shone like mirrors. Crystal lights hung like frozen stars. Everything here screamed luxury. Power. Distance. It reminded her just how small she was in Aryan's world now.
Her reflection in the elevator doors startled her. She looked thinner than she remembered. Paler. The last few years hadn't been kind. Life rarely was to women who married powerful men for reasons that weren't love.
But then again… had it really been loveless?
The memory surfaced before she could stop it.
A small courthouse. Two signatures. His cold voice saying, "This marriage is only for one year. After that, we go our separate ways. You get the money. I get my inheritance clause fulfilled. No emotions."
She had nodded.
Because her father needed surgery.
Because the hospital bills were impossible.
Because she had no choice.
It was supposed to be a contract.
So why had she fallen for him?
The elevator dinged softly, dragging her back to the present. The top floor.
The receptionist smiled professionally. "Mr. Raichand will see you."
Her heart skipped painfully.
She hadn't seen him in two years.
Not since the accident.
Not since the day he forgot her.
The door to his office opened silently.
And there he was.
Aryan Raichand.
Still devastatingly handsome. Still sharp. Still terrifying in the quiet way only powerful men could be. He stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, phone pressed to his ear, his voice low and commanding. His black suit fit him perfectly, every line crisp and deliberate. His hair was neatly styled, his jaw shadowed with light stubble. The same face she had memorized in the dark when sleep refused to come.
He ended the call and turned.
For a second, her heart betrayed her.
Because he looked exactly the same.
But his eyes…
His eyes held nothing.
No recognition.
No warmth.
No memory.
"Yes?" he said coolly. "Who are you?"
Three words.
That was all it took.
Her chest tightened like something had stabbed straight through her ribs.
Who are you?
Not "Aarohi."
Not "You came back."
Not even surprise.
Just distance.
Professional detachment.
Like she was another employee.
She forced herself to breathe. "My name is Aarohi."
He nodded once. "And what business do you have with me, Miss Aarohi?"
Miss.
The word hurt more than it should.
She swallowed. "I think… you should see this."
Her fingers shook as she placed the marriage certificate on his desk.
Aryan glanced down lazily at first.
Then his eyes froze.
His expression changed.
Only slightly.
But she noticed.
He picked it up slowly, scanning the document. His brows furrowed. "This is a joke, right?"
"No," she whispered.
His jaw hardened. "You're telling me… we're married?"
"Yes."
Silence fell like thunder.
Outside, lightning cracked across the sky.
Aryan leaned back in his chair, studying her as if she were a puzzle. "I don't remember this."
"I know."
"I don't remember you."
Her throat burned. "I know that too."
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Two years ago I had a car accident. I lost parts of my memory. The doctors said some things may never return. But marriage?" He laughed bitterly. "That's not something a man forgets."
She almost smiled sadly. "Apparently… it is."
He looked at the certificate again, then at her. His gaze was analytical now. Calculating. Like he was negotiating a deal.
"So what do you want?" he asked bluntly. "Money?"
The question slapped her harder than anything else.
"I didn't come for money."
"Then what? Blackmail?"
Her eyes stung. "I came because I'm still your wife."
The words echoed between them.
For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Confusion? Irritation? Or something softer he refused to acknowledge?
"This marriage," he said carefully, "was it real or contractual?"
She hesitated.
He noticed.
"Contractual," he guessed.
"Yes."
His lips curled slightly. "Then legally it was business. Which means it can be ended like business."
Her heart sank.
He reached for his pen. "I'll have my lawyer prepare divorce papers. You'll be compensated generously. Whatever amount you want."
She stared at him.
This man.
This stranger.
Was the same man who once stayed up all night holding her hand when she had a fever.
The same man who quietly sent money to her father's hospital without telling her.
The same man who accidentally smiled at her terrible cooking and said, "Don't quit your day job."
He didn't remember any of it.
But she did.
Every second.
"I don't want compensation," she said softly.
"Then what do you want, Aarohi?" he snapped.
She met his eyes.
"For you to remember me."
The room went still.
Something shifted.
Aryan wasn't used to people wanting him for anything other than money or power. Her answer clearly unsettled him.
"That's not how memory works," he said coldly.
"Then let me stay," she whispered. "Just for a while. If after that you still feel nothing… I'll sign the divorce myself."
He stared at her like she had proposed insanity.
But Aarohi didn't look away.
She had already lost everything once.
She wouldn't run again.
After a long pause, Aryan spoke.
"One month," he said finally. "You stay here. One month. If nothing comes back… we end this permanently."
Her heart pounded.
One month.
Thirty days.
Thirty chances.
"Okay," she said.
He pressed the intercom. "Arrange a guest room."
Then he added, almost absentmindedly, "And get her some proper clothes."
Guest room.
Not wife's room.
Still… it was something.
As she turned to leave, his voice stopped her.
"Aarohi."
She froze.
It was the first time he had said her name.
"Yes?"
He frowned slightly, like he was chasing a shadow. "Have we… met somewhere before? You seem… familiar."
Her eyes filled.
"Yes," she whispered. "We have."
More than you know.