He took two steps toward me, his footsteps completely silent. “My family’s business in Mexico isn’t just shipping and textiles, Aarohi. We control the primary supply chains across the northern border. Logistical arteries that certain dangerous organizations want to control. By playing the invalid, I became invisible. I built an international intelligence network from a wheelchair while my enemies grew complacent.“
“Then why marry me?” I cried out, keeping my voice down to a harsh whisper. “If your life is a battlefield, why bring a stranger into it? Why did you agree to this?“
A dark, cynical smile touched the corners of his lips. “Because a man in a wheelchair who suddenly demands to marry a middle-class girl from Jaipur looks weak. It looks like a desperate attempt to find a caretaker, an act of submission to his family’s wishes. It lowers my enemies’ guard even further. They think I’ve given up. They think I am retreating into domestic misery.“
He stopped just inches away from me. The scent of expensive cologne, old paper, and gunpowder washed over me. “Your stepmother didn’t just stumble upon this arrangement, Aarohi. Her ‘pragmatism’ was bought and paid for. Someone paid off your father’s debts to ensure you were the one who walked down that aisle.“
My blood ran cold. “What? Who?“
“That is what we are going to find out,” Arnav said, his eyes narrowing. “But until I know exactly whose pawn you are—whether willing or unwilling—you play your part. To the maids, to the bodyguards, to my own family, I am a broken man who needs your help to do the simplest tasks. If you breathe a word of this to anyone, including your parents, the accident from five years ago will repeat itself. Only this time, there won’t be any survivors.“
I nodded dumbly, the sheer weight of my new reality crushing me. I hadn’t just married into wealth to save my family; I had walked straight into a den of international vipers, bound to a man who was fighting a silent war.
“Understood,” I whispered.
“Good,” Arnav replied coldly. He walked back to the wheelchair, sat down, and instantly, his posture changed. His shoulders slumped, his face grew pale and distant, and his legs went completely limp. The transformation was terrifyingly perfect. “Now, lift me onto the bed. We have an audience.“
Before I could ask what he meant, a faint, rhythmic scratching sound came from the hallway outside our bedroom door. Someone was testing the lock.
The mechanical scratching at the lock stopped, followed by the faint, distinctive metallic click of a skeleton key turning inside the mechanism.
Arnav’s eyes didn’t widen, but his entire body went rigid beneath his manufactured state of weakness. His gaze shot to mine, burning with a silent, ferocious intensity. He couldn’t move—not without breaking the illusion for whoever was watching through the wide courtyard windows or listening at the door. If he leaped up to fight, the five-year-old facade would shatter in an instant.
“Aarohi,” he hissed under his breath, his lips barely moving. “The lights. Kill the candles. Now.“
My legs felt like lead, but the raw authority in his voice propelled me forward. I rushed toward the bedside table, my heavy sari rustling loudly in the quiet room. With one swift breath, I blew out the cluster of candles. The room plunged into near-total darkness, illuminated only by the pale, silver moonlight filtering through the velvet curtains.
The heavy oak door creaked open, just a fraction of an inch. A sliver of light from the grand hallway cut through the darkness of our bedroom, reflecting off the polished floorboards.
Through the narrow gap, a shadow stretched into the room. It wasn’t the shape of a curious maid or a worried family member. The silhouette was wide, imposing, and clad in tactical gear. In the figure’s right hand, the distinct shape of a suppressed automatic pistol caught the moonlight.
They weren’t here to spy. They were here to execute.
My breath hitched, and a gasp threatened to escape my throat, but a sudden, iron grip clamped over my mouth from behind. Arnav had managed to slide off the wheelchair and onto the floor without making a single sound. He pulled me down into the shadow of the heavy mahogany bedframe, his chest pressed against my back. His heartbeat was steady, terrifyingly slow for a man facing an assassin.
