The Contract
Kavya's POV
Love was never part of the deal.
That was the first thing he said to me.
No greeting.
No introduction.
Just a statementcold, precise, and final.
I sat across from him, my fingers curled tightly around the edge of the chair as if it were the only thing grounding me in that suffocating room. The office was too quiet, too polished… too perfect.
Just like him.
Ayaan Mehra.
Even his name carried weight.
He didn’t look at me immediately. His attention remained on the file in front of him, flipping a page with calm indifference, as if this meeting this decision was nothing more than another business transaction.
Maybe for him, it was.
“You’ve read the proposal?” he asked, finally lifting his gaze.
And for a second....
just a second....
I forgot how to breathe.
Not because he was handsome.
Not because he was intimidating.
But because his eyes… held nothing.
No curiosity.
No hesitation.
No emotion.
Just silence.
“I have,” I replied, forcing my voice to remain steady.
A lie.
I had read it.
But I hadn’t understood it.
Not completely.
Not the way I was about to.
He slid the file toward me without another word. The soft sound of paper against glass echoed louder than it should have.
“A three-year contract marriage,” he said, his tone as controlled as ever. “No expectations. No emotional involvement. Full independence in personal and professional matters.”
Each word landed like it had been rehearsed.
Like he had said this before.
Like this was normal.
Like marriage was something you could reduce to clauses and conditions.
I lowered my gaze to the document again, this time forcing myself to read every line carefully.
Duration: Three years.
Public image: Husband and wife.
Private lives: Separate.
My chest tightened slightly.
This wasn’t a marriage.
It was an arrangement.
A perfectly structured, legally bound illusion.
And then
my eyes stopped.
A single clause.
A single line that changed everything.
An heir is expected within the duration of the contract.
For a moment, the words didn’t register.
And then they did.
Slowly.
Heavily.
I looked up at him.
“You want a child?” I asked, my voice quieter now… more cautious.
His expression didn’t change.
Not even a flicker.
“I want an heir,” he corrected.
Of course he did.
To him, this wasn’t about building a family.
It was about continuing a legacy.
Control.
Name.
Power.
Everything about him screamed control.
And yet...
there was something else.
Something hidden beneath that perfectly composed exterior.
Something I couldn’t name.
Something he made sure no one ever saw.
“You’ll have complete freedom,” he continued. “After three years, we go our separate ways. No complications.”
No complications.
As if feelings could be switched off.
As if time didn’t change people.
As if living under the same roof wouldn’t create something… anything.
I should have laughed.
I should have walked away.
I should have told him that marriages don’t come with expiration dates and children aren’t part of business deals.
But instead...
I stayed.
Because life isn’t always about what you want.
Sometimes, it’s about what you need.
And right now… I needed this.
My fingers tightened around the pen resting beside the file.
“This is just a contract,” I said, more to myself than to him.
“Yes,” he replied simply.
No hesitation.
No doubt.
Just certainty.
I looked at him one last time.
At the man who didn’t believe in love.
At the man who reduced marriage to an agreement.
At the man whose eyes revealed absolutely nothing…
…and yet made me feel like there was so much he wasn’t saying.
Maybe that was my mistake.
Trying to find something human in someone who had built himself to feel nothing.
I signed.
The sound of pen against paper was soft.
But the impact
was not.
Because in that moment, I didn’t just agree to a contract.
I stepped into a life that would slowly blur the line between real and unreal…
Between obligation and emotion…
Between control
and love.
And I didn’t know it yet…
…but some contracts aren’t meant to be fulfilled.
They’re meant to break you
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