The air was thick with unspoken tension as Abhira sat across from Armaan in his office, the dim evening light casting long shadows across the room.

The contract sat between them on the glossy mahogany desk, its contents spelled out clearly in bold, black ink, but it might as well have been a bomb waiting to explode with how she was so hesitant to touch it.

Her fingers grazed the edge of the paper as she stared down at it, her mind racing.

Marrying Armaan. A man she barely knew beyond the polished surface of his public persona — wealthy, powerful, intimidatingly controlled.

But it was a marriage only in name. A means to an end. One year. They had agreed on the terms.

So what was stopping her from picking up the pen and signing?

She could do this. She *had* to.

"You don't have to look so nervous," Armaan's smooth, deep voice broke the silence. "It's a contract, nothing more."

She glanced up sharply, meeting his dark, unreadable gaze. He was lounging back in his leather chair, impossibly composed, like the idea of this arrangement didn't faze him at all. His crisp white shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, exposing the tanned skin of his forearms, and his fingers, long and elegant, tapped rhythmically on the arm of the chair.

"Easy for you to say," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, but he caught it.

His lips curved into a slow, almost dangerous smile. "Is it? This contract works both ways, Abhira."

Her heart skipped at the way he said her name — the way it rolled off his tongue, sending a ripple of something she didn't want to identify straight through her. She hated that. Hated how her body seemed to respond to him against her will, like it had its own secrets, its own desires that didn't align with her mind.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to focus. "We both know why I'm doing this," she said, her voice steadier this time. "It's a business arrangement. I need your help with my family, and you..."

"And I need a wife," he finished smoothly, his gaze never leaving her face. "For appearances."

Abhira nodded, grateful that he'd said it. It made it feel more distant, more transactional. It reminded her of why she was sitting here, agreeing to this insane proposal in the first place. It *was nothing personal. Just business.

"Exactly," she replied. "For appearances."

Armaan leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk, his eyes locking with hers. "But there's one thing you need to understand before you sign this, Abhira."

She swallowed hard as the space between them seemed to shrink. He wasn't touching her, but his presence was overpowering, suffocating in a way that was both terrifying and thrilling at the same time.

"What's that?" she managed, her voice a little breathless despite her efforts to remain composed.

"In public, we won't just be pretending," he said, his voice dropping lower, sending a shiver down her spine as he made his way round the table to hover over her. "You'll be my wife. You'll act like it, look like it, and—" his eyes flicked down to her lips for the briefest moment before returning to her eyes, "—you'll feel like it."

Her pulse quickened at the weight of his words. Feel like it? What the hell did that mean?

"I'll... act the part," she replied, her throat suddenly dry. "I understand the terms."

Armaan's gaze darkened, a flicker of something unreadable — something dangerous — passing through his expression. "You think you do. But I want to make sure there are no misunderstandings."

He reached around her, clicking the pen and slipping it into her shaking hand that he steadied in his hold.

The touch was brief, almost casual, but it sent a jolt through her body, heat pooling low in her stomach.

He leaned in closer, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the air between them. "When we're in public, you belong to me. Every smile, every glance, every touch—" His fingers lightly grazed the back of her hand, sending another wave of heat through her. "It's mine."

Her breath hitched at the feel of his skin against hers, and she hated how her body responded. It was wrong. This whole thing was wrong. But God, the way he was looking at her... like she was something to be devoured.

"And in private?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, half-afraid of the answer.

Armaan's smile deepened, a wicked glint in his eyes. He stood slowly, rounding the desk with a predator's grace, his gaze never leaving hers as he took his seat at the head of the desk.

"In private..." He paused, his eyes flicking over her face, her lips, as if considering his next words carefully. "In private, I won't ask for anything you're not willing to give."

The words were simple, but the way he said them, low and rough, sent a wave of heat straight through her core. Abhira swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. She needed to get a grip on herself. This was just a business arrangement. That's all. He was laying out terms. Terms that she could accept or decline. She could walk away right now, but...

Her eyes drifted to the contract again. The paper seemed to blur before her, her mind spinning with the gravity of what she was about to do.

"Sign it," he murmured, his voice so close she could feel the heat of his breath on her face as he leant closer.

She froze, every nerve in her body on edge, hyper-aware of how close he was, how his body seemed to surround her, dominate the air around her. His nose barely touched hers, but it was enough to set her skin on fire.

Her heart hammered in her chest as her hand trembled slightly. She could feel his eyes on her, watching, waiting. Testing her resolve.

She stared down at the contract, the words blurring for a moment before coming into sharp focus. This was her only option, her only way out of the mess she'd been dragged into. And Armaan... well, he was the only man capable of saving her family from ruin. She couldn't afford to back down now. Not when she was this close to securing everything.

Abhira pressed the pen to the paper, the ink flowing in a smooth line as she scrawled her name at the bottom of the contract. The sound of the pen scratching against the paper echoed in the silent room, final, decisive.

She placed the pen down, her hand still shaking slightly as she pulled away. Her pulse raced, a mix of adrenaline and something she didn't want to name surging through her.

"It's done," she whispered, her voice barely audible, as if speaking louder would make it too real, too fast.

Armaan didn't move for a moment. The silence between them stretched thin, taut with unspoken words. Then, like the speed of light, he was behind her, leaning down, his lips brushing dangerously close to her ear.

"Good girl," he whispered, his voice dark and full of promise.

The words sent a shiver down her spine, her entire body going rigid at the sound of his approval. She should be angry at the way he spoke to her, at the way her body reacted to him. But all she could feel was the fire building inside her, the heat pooling low in her belly. She could barely breathe as he straightened, his hand lingering on her back before pulling away.

"When we go public, you'll be mine in every way that matters. So be ready for that," he said, his eyes dark and intense. "No turning back now."

Abhira stood abruptly, desperate to escape the suffocating heat that had settled between them, her heart pounding as she moved toward the door. Her hand froze on the handle as his voice, smooth and lethal, cut through the air one last time.

"Remember, Abhira," he said softly, his voice dripping with possessiveness. "This might be a contract, but don't forget who you belong to now."

She didn't dare turn around. Instead, she pushed open the door, her legs trembling beneath her as she walked out, knowing full well that nothing would ever be the same again.