CHAPTER THREE: The Performance

Let’s pivot to the first public trial of their marriage. The world is watching, and in Mumbai, a smile is often the best weapon.

The sun rose over the Arabian Sea, casting a deceptive gold glow over the Rajpoot estate. In the grand dining hall, the air was thick with the scent of expensive coffee and the unspoken tension of a firing squad.

The Power Breakfast

The Rajpoot family was already seated when Aavya entered. She had traded her bridal red for a sharp, emerald-green silk sari—the color of envy and money. She looked every bit the billionaire's wife, her makeup concealing the fact that she hadn't slept a wink.

Vihaan was at the head of the table, looking terrifyingly composed in a charcoal suit. Beside him sat his mother, Devyani Rajpoot, the matriarch whose disapproval was a physical weight in the room.

"You’re late, Aavya," Devyani remarked, not looking up from her tea. "In this house, we value discipline. A wife is the heartbeat of the home."

"Then you’ll be glad to know my heart beats quite fast, Mother-in-law," Aavya replied with a saccharine smile, taking the seat directly opposite Vihaan. "Usually out of excitement for the day's... acquisitions."

Vihaan’s eyes flickered toward her. He remembered the USB drive from the night before. "Aavya is just eager to begin her new life. Aren't you, jaan?"

The endearment felt like a threat.

The Move

Before Aavya could respond, Vihaan’s brother, Dev, walked in, tossing a newspaper onto the table. The headline screamed: RAJPOOT-MALHOTRA MERGER: A NEW ERA OR A HOSTILE TAKEOVER?

"The markets are twitching," Dev said, glancing between his brother and Aavya. "The press is outside the gates. They want a statement. They want to see if the 'Ice King' has finally melted."

Vihaan stood up, smoothing his tie. He walked around the table and placed a heavy hand on Aavya’s shoulder. To anyone else, it looked like a caress. To Aavya, it felt like a trap.

"We’ll give them what they want," Vihaan whispered in her ear. "We’re going to the charity gala at the National Gallery tonight. Your first public appearance as a Rajpoot. You’ll stand by me, you’ll look devoted, and you’ll keep your mouth shut about our... midnight conversation."

"And if I don't?" Aavya whispered back, leaning into his touch to maintain the illusion for the room.

"Then I’ll remind you that while you have a drive, I have your father’s debt signatures," he countered. "I can have him arrested before the appetizers are served."

The Counter-Move

Aavya felt a chill, but she didn't break. "Fine. We’ll play the happy couple. But at the Gallery tonight, one of my paintings is being auctioned. If you want me to play my part, you’ll be the highest bidder. I want to see exactly how much my 'devotion' is worth to you, Vihaan."

Vihaan’s grip tightened for a split second before he let go. A dark, twisted respect flashed in his eyes. She wasn't just surviving him; she was taxing him.

"Consider it bought," he said coldly.

The next move is yours:

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