Chapter 2 — THE DEAL.

One Week Earlier

Rain pressed hard against the glass walls of Rajveer Mehra’s office, turning the city outside into a blur of distorted lights. Inside, the air felt heavier—thick with tension and the quiet panic of a man running out of time.

Files lay scattered across the desk—loan defaults, legal notices, final warnings stamped in red.

Everything was slipping.

For the first time in years, Rajveer Mehra didn’t have control.

Suddenly a knock on the door—

The door opened, and Kabir Shekhawat walked in.

Confident. Well-dressed. Composed.

But his eyes gave him away.

They moved across the room and paused—just briefly—on Zoya’s photograph placed on the shelf. Something flickered in his gaze. Not warmth.

Possession.

He looked back at Rajveer, masking it instantly.

“Uncle,” he greeted.

Rajveer didn’t entertain the politeness. “Say what you came here to say.”

Kabir stepped closer, calm but deliberate. “I know what you’re going through. The debts, the pressure… the time running out.”

Rajveer’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I also know you don’t have a solution,” Kabir continued. “But I do.” kabir said.

That made Rajveer look at him.

“I’ll clear everything,” Kabir said. “Every debt. Every liability.”

Silence filled the room.

Rajveer studied him carefully. “And what do you want in return?”

Kabir didn’t hesitate.

“Zoya.”

A pause followed.

“I want to marry her.”

There was no uncertainty in his voice. No room for negotiation.

“I’ve known her since childhood,” Kabir added. “I understand her. I’ll take care of her.”

His tone softened slightly—but not enough to hide what lay beneath it.

“She should be with someone who’s always been there.”

A beat.

“And someone who won’t let her go.”

Rajveer leaned back, thinking. It wasn’t love he heard in Kabir’s voice.

It was something tighter.

Something that didn’t let go.

But none of that mattered.

What mattered was the offer.

He was ready to agree—

when the door opened again.

No knock.

No hesitation.

Aarav Malhotra walked in.

The shift in the room was immediate.

Not loud.

Not chaotic.

Just… undeniable.

He moved with slow, controlled steps, like he already owned the space. His presence alone seemed to silence everything else.

Kabir frowned. “What the hell is this?”

Rajveer snapped, “What are you doing here, Aarav Malhotra—”

Aarav didn’t answer.

His gaze moved once—measured—and settled on Kabir.

Then he gave a slight nod.

That was enough.

The men behind him stepped forward and forced Kabir back before he could react.

“Rajveer, don’t—!” Kabir’s voice cut off as the door shut behind him.

Silence returned.

Heavy.

Controlled.

Aarav walked to the desk and placed a sleek black suitcase on it. With a small gesture, it was opened.

Stacks of cash.

Neatly arranged.

More than enough.

Rajveer’s eyes flickered.

“This clears everything,” Aarav said calmly.

Rajveer looked up slowly. “And what do you want?”

“Zoya.” Aarav said.

The word landed without hesitation.

“For sixty-six days,” Aarav continued. “She stays with me. As my wife.”

Rajveer’s mind worked quickly.

Temporary.

Contained.

Profitable.

“What happens after?” he asked.

“She walks away.”

Simple.

Clean.

But something about the way Aarav said it—

felt incomplete.

Rajveer ignored the instinct.

Money had already decided for him.

He picked up the pen.

Signed.

Just like that.

But as Aarav took the contract, his fingers tightening slightly around the paper, something flickered in his eyes—

not satisfaction.

Not relief.

Something darker.

Something that made it clear—

this wasn’t just a deal.

And whatever this contract truly meant…

Rajveer Mehra had just signed more than he understood.

Little did he knew this contract was just the beginning of his real destruction.

⚡ Day 0

The door shut behind her with a sharp sound that echoed through the room.

Zoya barely had time to turn—

before something hit her.

White fabric.

A wedding dress.

Her fingers tightened around it as she looked up, anger and disbelief flashing in her eyes.

“This isn’t happening,” she said, her voice shaking despite her effort to stay firm. “You can’t force me—”

Aarav stepped closer.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

The air shifted with him.

She instinctively stepped back—until her back hit the wall.

No space left.

No escape.

“Look outside,” he said.

She didn’t want to.

But she did.

And froze.

Her father stood there—restrained, completely at someone else’s mercy.

Her breath caught.

Aarav’s voice came again, calm and steady.

“You know it very well,” he said, stepping closer, his gaze locking onto hers, “your father has signed a contract with me.”

Her grip tightened around the dress.

“And if he breaches that contract before the completion of sixty-six days…”

A pause.

His voice dropped—

“…he pays for it with his life.”

Her breath stilled.

“If you want him alive,” he continued quietly, “then just do as i say.”

Silence filled the room.

Heavy.

Unavoidable.

He leaned slightly closer, his voice lowering near her—

“Now Be a good girl… And get ready.”

A pause.

Closer.

“Unless you want me to make you wear that dress myself.”

Her heartbeat echoed in her ears.

Anger burned inside her—

but now it was wrapped in something colder.

Something unavoidable.

Aarav straightened, stepping back as if the outcome was already decided.

“You have thirty minutes,” he said.

He turned toward the door, then paused.

Without looking back—

“Be downstairs on time.”

A beat.

“Don’t make me come looking for you.”

And with that—

he walked out.

Zoya stood there, unmoving.

The silence pressed in around her, thick and suffocating.

Her fingers slowly tightened around the white dress, crushing the soft fabric in her grip.

For a moment—

she didn’t move.

Then her gaze lifted.

Slowly.

Toward the door he had just walked through.

The fear in her eyes didn’t disappear.

It changed.

Hardened.

Turned into something sharper.

Her lips parted, her voice low, steady—

“You want me to be a good girl…”

A pause.

Her eyes burned, no longer weak.

“Then be ready to see what my version of goodness looks like Aarav Malhotra.”

And in that moment—

it no longer felt like the beginning of a forced marriage.

It felt like the beginning of a war.

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