"The Proposal She Couldn't Refuse" (Anaya is forced into a marriage she didn’t want, with a man she’

You’re getting married in three days.”

The words hung in the air like a slap.

Anaya stared at her father from across the dining table, spoon halfway to her mouth, completely frozen. The late morning sun streamed through the glass windows of their Delhi home, but the warmth didn’t reach her.

“I’m sorry… What did you just say?” she asked, voice tight.

Her father didn’t look up from the newspaper. His tone was calm — too calm.

“I said, you’re getting married. In three days.”

Her spoon clattered against the ceramic bowl.

“To who?”

A pause.

Her mother shifted uncomfortably beside her, wringing the edge of her dupatta. That’s when Anaya knew — this wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t a surprise proposal. This was a deal.

“To Aarav Raichand,” her father said finally.

Silence. Thick and heavy.

Anaya blinked.

“The Aarav Raichand? The billionaire? The recluse? The one who doesn’t even attend his own press events?”

Her father nodded once, still not meeting her eyes.

“You’ve lost your mind,” she snapped, standing up from her chair. “You want me to marry someone I’ve never even spoken to? Why? Because he’s rich?”

“Because he’s our only way out,” her father growled, finally looking at her. “Our company is on the edge of collapse. Investors are pulling out. The Raichand Group offered to help us — but only if you agree to the marriage.”

“Help us?” she scoffed. “You mean buy us.”

Her mother stepped in quickly, her voice gentle. “Anaya beta, it’s not like that. You’ll have security. Comfort. You won’t have to struggle.”

Anaya turned to her, voice rising. “I’m not marrying for comfort, Ma. I’m not a pawn.”

“Maybe not,” her father said quietly. “But you're the only one who can save this family now.”

Later that night...

Anaya sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the plain white envelope in her hand — the “agreement.” The marriage would be legal, but temporary. A contract for two years. No personal expectations. No emotional entanglements.

In simpler terms: a business arrangement. She signs, and her father’s company survives.

She didn’t cry.

She didn’t scream.

She just signed.

Not because she wanted to.

But because it was the only way to protect the people she loved — even if it meant destroying her own freedom.

Three days later...

The wedding was held in the Raichand estate — a modern palace hidden behind tall gates and stricter NDAs.

There were no flowers. No music. No laughing relatives. Just a notary, two families, and an atmosphere so tense, it could crack stone.

Anaya stood in front of the mirror in the bridal room, dressed in a deep red lehenga that felt like armor more than silk. Her makeup was flawless, but her eyes held no spark.

A soft knock on the door.

“It’s time,” her mother whispered, peeking in. Her eyes looked puffy — she had cried enough for both of them.

Anaya took a deep breath, adjusted her veil, and walked down the empty hallway toward her future.

When she entered the ceremonial hall, everyone was already seated — including him.

Aarav Raichand.

Tall. Sharp. Immaculate in a black tailored suit. His expression was unreadable, carved from stone.

He didn’t smile.

He didn’t offer a greeting.

He just… watched.

She walked past rows of expressionless witnesses — lawyers, secretaries, and two people from the press who were sworn to secrecy.

As she stood beside him, her heart thundered in her chest. Not from excitement — from fear.

The priest began chanting quietly. Vows were read aloud, legally binding but emotionally hollow.

When it came time to exchange rings, Aarav slid the platinum band onto her finger with mechanical precision. His touch was ice cold.

“You may say your vows,” the priest said.

Anaya turned to look at him.

Aarav met her eyes for the first time — and said nothing for a long second.

Then he spoke.

“This is a contract. Nothing more. I expect you to remember that.”

Gasps echoed faintly from the few guests present.

Anaya’s throat went dry, but she forced herself to lift her chin.

“If it’s just a contract, then let’s get it over with,” she replied sharply.

And just like that, the signatures were made. The photos were taken.

That night...

Anaya sat on the edge of a king-sized bed in a luxury penthouse she now lived in — as a Raichand.

Aarav was in the next room, already on a call, discussing mergers and stock prices as if he hadn’t just married someone.

She looked down at the sparkling diamond ring on her finger.

Wife.

Legally, yes.

Emotionally? She was still just… alone.

But she made herself a promise that night.

If love wasn’t part of this marriage... then she wouldn’t expect it. But she would survive it. On her own terms.

What she didn’t know was that her new husband had secrets buried deeper than she could imagine.

And marrying him? Was just the beginning.

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