The dinner ended late.
Too many smiles. Too many soft questions. Too many careful glances.
Aarohi felt them weighing her—her clothes, her accent, her pauses. She answered what was asked. She kept her voice calm. She let Kabir speak when silence needed filling.
When the last guest finally left, the house grew quiet again.
Different quiet.
Heavier.
A door closed somewhere down the hall.
Another.
Staff footsteps faded.
Only then did Kabir move.
"Come," he said.
He didn't wait.
Aarohi followed him through a corridor she hadn't seen before. The lights here were dimmer. The walls darker. No windows. No decoration.
He stopped before a door that didn't match the rest—metal instead of wood.
He placed his palm on a scanner. The door unlocked with a soft sound.
Inside, the room was colder.
Monitors lined one wall. Screens glowed with charts, moving numbers, maps she didn't understand. A long table stood in the center with files spread across it.
This didn't feel like a home office.
This felt like control.
Kabir walked in, loosened his cuffs, and spoke without turning.
"You were recognized tonight."
"Yes."
"Do you know him?"
"No."
"That's unlikely."
She stepped closer. "Then tell me who he is."
Kabir finally turned.
The softness he wore in front of others had disappeared. His face looked sharper. His eyes darker. Like something had been set free.
"He is part of a group that monitors everything connected to my corporate world," he said. "Hospitals. Research. Funding channels. Political ties."
"That still doesn't explain why he recognized me."
Kabir watched her carefully now.
"Which means," he said slowly, "your past touches something it shouldn't."
Aarohi's chest tightened.
"My past is ordinary," she said.
"Ordinary people don't trigger men like him."
She didn't reply.
Kabir walked to the table, picked up one of the files, and slid it toward her.
"Your background," he said. "What my team found."
She opened it.
Pages. Addresses. Work history. Photos she didn't remember being taken. Names of hospitals. Old phone numbers. Even a copy of her college ID.
Someone had built her life on paper.
"This is invasive," she said.
"This is protection."
"For you," she corrected.
"For both of us," Kabir replied. "From tonight onward, every step you take reflects on me. And everything aimed at me can reach you."
He leaned forward, resting his hands on the table.
"I will not let anyone touch what is under my name."
The way he said it made something clear.
She was under his name now.
"And what about what's under mine?" she asked.
Kabir held her gaze.
"That," he said, "depends on how honest you choose to be."
Aarohi closed the file.
"You hired me for my silence," she said. "Not my history."
"I hired you because your silence had weight," Kabir answered. "And weight comes from somewhere."
The room felt smaller.
"Tell me," he said quietly. "Who are you, Aarohi Mehra?"
She felt the old instinct rise. The one that sealed doors. That learned early which truths made things worse.
"I'm someone who needs this marriage," she said.
Kabir straightened.
"That," he said, "is the only honest thing you've said tonight."
He walked past her toward the door.
"Your room is secured. My floor is restricted. If anyone speaks to you privately, you tell me."
"That's an order?" she asked.
"That's survival."
He stopped at the door, his hand resting against the metal.
"There are things in this house," he added, "that even my guests don't know exist."
He glanced back at her.
"And now, there are people who know you exist."
The door opened.
Kabir stepped out.
It closed behind him.
Aarohi stood alone among the glowing screens.
And understood something she hadn't when she signed that paper.
This marriage wasn't protecting her from the world.
It was placing her directly in front of it.