The address provided by Liam's secretary led Piya far out of the city and up a winding, private road carved through dense forest. When the black taxi finally pulled through a massive, wrought-iron gate, Piya felt a cold dread settle in her stomach. The driver had dropped her off at the foot of an impossibly large estate—a minimalist marvel of glass and steel that looked more like a fortress than a home. It was the antithesis of the warmth and chaos of her own small house. It was a place designed for power and solitude.
The security guard, expressionless and silent, directed her toward the main entrance. Piya clutched her small, simple purse, wearing the only decent dress she owned—a modest navy blue that felt instantly wrong against the backdrop of unimaginable wealth. She had intentionally left Liam's expensive blazer and her broken heel at home, a tiny, silent act of defiance.
She was ushered into a cavernous study. The walls were lined with dark, imposing wood and tall bookshelves that held history, finance, and power. Liam was already there, standing before the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a sprawling, moonlit landscape. He looked exactly as he always did—impeccably tailored, unreadable, and utterly commanding.
He turned slowly, his dark eyes cutting through the vast space, finding her instantly. The weight of his stare felt heavier than the threat in the letter.
"Miss Arora," he stated, his voice cool and level, betraying no memory of the previous night's drunken confessions or their intimate dance.
"Mr. Asher," Piya managed, her voice barely a tremor.
He didn't invite her to sit. He simply walked to his immense desk, picked up a thin file—her file, she realized with a sickening lurch—and set it down.
"We will dispense with pleasantries," Liam began, his tone strictly business. "My grandfather made his request. Your parents are currently in a state of shock and expectation. I believe you understand the gravity of the situation."
Piya nodded stiffly, unable to form a word.
"Good. Then you also understand that this is not a proposal based on affection or choice," he continued, his eyes dissecting her composure. "This is a contract. A necessary fulfillment of my grandfather's wish to stabilize the company's future while mitigating the unnecessary drama from my father, who seeks an alliance through marriage."
He began to lay out the terms, dictating them with the same razor-sharp authority he used in board meetings:
Public Persona: "We will maintain the public façade of a devoted couple. You will attend the necessary social and corporate events. You will follow every instruction provided by my staff regarding your appearance and schedule."
Private Distance: "This marriage will exist on paper and in public only. We will occupy separate suites, separate wings, if necessary. There will be no intrusion into each other's private lives, and certainly no expectation of marital intimacy."
Duration: "The arrangement will last for a minimum of three years, or until the agreed-upon security of the Asher Legacy is achieved."
Consequences: "Any breach of these terms, particularly public embarrassment or betrayal of confidence, will result in an immediate, absolute, and destructive dissolution of the arrangement. You will leave with nothing."
He finished, his posture perfect, his gaze challenging. "I am paying you handsomely for your compliance, Piya. This is a job, the highest-paid position you will ever hold. Are you in agreement?"
The insult of the word 'job' stung, but the relief that he didn't demand intimacy flooded her system. He was offering her a prison, but one with bars she could live behind. She swallowed the bitterness, forcing her trembling hands to clasp in front of her.
"I agree to your terms, Mr. Asher," she said, her voice small but surprisingly clear. "But I have one condition of my own."
A flicker of surprise—a tiny, almost invisible movement—crossed Liam's perfect features. No one ever gave him conditions.
"Speak," he commanded, a subtle warning in his tone.
Piya met his eyes, drawing on the desperate courage of a cornered animal. "I am not a trophy to be stored. I will not be a silent prisoner in this house." She took a breath. "I must be allowed to keep my job. I will continue to work in the company, in my department, under Mr. Rao. My life outside this arrangement will remain the same."
Liam watched her, unmoving, analyzing the defiance in her eyes. Most women would demand jewelry, freedom from work, or a new identity. She demanded the simple, humble routine she already had—the one that defined her independence.
"Why?" he asked, the question laced with cold curiosity. "Why risk the scrutiny? Why not simply accept the financial security?"
"Because," Piya responded, her jaw tight, "I refuse to be completely defined by you. My job is mine. My work is my dignity. I will be your wife on paper, but I will not be your creation. If I am to save the people you threatened, I must do it on my own terms. And this is my term."
The silence stretched for a full minute, heavy with unspoken power and surprising respect. Liam saw the fear in her eyes, yes, but he also saw the backbone he had glimpsed beneath the clumsiness. Her condition was a challenge to his control, but it was also a sign of the very resilience his grandfather admired.
His lips curved into the faintest, predatory smirk. "Done," he stated simply. "You will be my wife, Miss Arora. And you may keep your 'dignity'—for now."
He picked up a contract, already prepared, and slid it toward her. The document was dense with legal jargon, but the key terms were bolded, exactly as he had laid them out.
Piya read the relevant clauses concerning the financial compensation, the confidentiality agreements, and the devastating termination penalties. Her hand shook as she reached for the pen. This was it. The end of her simple, invisible life.
As she signed her name, her gaze flickered up. Liam was watching her, his dark eyes unreadable, the corner of his jaw ticking almost imperceptibly.
"Your first duty begins immediately," he stated, walking toward the door, his tone abrupt. "Tomorrow, you will accompany me to my father's estate. You will act the part. Do not fail, and do not embarrass me."
He didn't wait for her response. He was already gone, leaving Piya sitting alone in the overwhelming study, the signed contract a cold, heavy truth beneath her fingertips.
She was Mrs. Liam Asher. And her true struggle had just begun.