The hospital always smelled like fear.
Today, it smelled like mine.
I stood outside the ICU door, my fingers trembling around the bill that was heavier than any weight I'd ever carried.
₹18,50,000.
For a surgery my mother needed within 48 hours.
I didn't even have ₹18,000 in my account.
"Miss," the nurse whispered, "if you don't arrange the funds today, we… we can't proceed."
Her words blurred into the beeping of machines behind her.
My mother was fighting for her life.
And all I could do was stand here, useless.
I slid down the corridor wall, covering my face with both hands as my breath broke into pieces.
That's when my phone rang.
The name on the screen felt like a bad joke.
Riyan Malhotra.
Billionaire.
CEO.
And the man who couldn't stand the sight of me.
I wiped my tears and answered. "Why… why are you calling?"
His voice was cold enough to freeze bone.
"I heard about your mother."
My stomach twisted. "I don't need your sympathy."
"You're right," he said. "I'm not calling to offer sympathy."
He paused.
"I'm calling to offer a deal."
A deal?
"Aarvi," he said, voice emotionless, "I'll pay for your mother's surgery."
I stopped breathing.
"But in return…"
His tone sharpened like a blade.
"You'll marry me. One year. No questions. No emotions. No rights."
My heart stopped.
"Why me?" I whispered.
"Because," he said quietly, "punishment must be personal."
Punishment?
For what?
I opened my mouth to ask, but he cut me off:
"Come to my office in one hour. Bring your identification. And Aarvi—"
His voice softened, just for a second.
"Don't be late. Your mother doesn't have time."
The call ended.
And I realized my life had just been signed away.