The deal was done in minutes, much to Aryan's satisfaction. Money had never been a problem for him, and the amount he paid Meera's stepmother to release her was a pittance in his world. The older woman had hesitated for a moment, likely weighing whether she could extract more from him, but Aryan's cold, calculating gaze had ended the negotiation before it began. He wasn't a man to be toyed with.
Meera, however, was silent. She stood by the door, her hands trembling slightly as her eyes darted between Aryan and her stepmother. There was no joy in her expression, no relief at being freed from her torment. If anything, her face looked even more frightened than before.
Aryan barely noticed. He had achieved what he came for: control. Control over the situation, over Meera's fate, and, as he would soon find, over her entire life.
"Get your things," Aryan said curtly, not bothering to soften his tone. It was a command, not a request.
Meera didn't move at first, her body frozen in place. It wasn't until Aryan's sharp gaze turned on her that she finally nodded and disappeared into the house. The stepmother smirked, as if satisfied with the sudden shift in power, and retreated into the shadows of the door.
Minutes passed, and when Meera returned, she had a single small bag slung over her shoulder. That was it. Everything she owned, everything she was, was contained in that one frail piece of luggage. Aryan frowned, but he didn't comment. He would fix this. He fixed everything.
The ride back to the city was silent.
Meera sat stiffly in the back seat of the luxurious car, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She didn't glance out the window, didn't ask questions, didn't seem curious about where they were going. It was as though she had resigned herself to whatever fate awaited her.
Aryan, on the other hand, couldn't stop glancing at her through the rearview mirror. There was something about her silence that irritated him. Most women he knew would have been chattering by now, thanking him for his generosity, or, at the very least, asking where they were being taken. But Meera remained quiet, her head bowed and her eyes distant.
When they finally arrived at Aryan's mansion—an imposing structure that towered over the city like a fortress—Meera didn't react. No gasp of awe, no look of amazement at the grandeur of the place. Aryan's irritation deepened.
"Welcome to your new home," he said, stepping out of the car and opening her door himself. The mansion's staff quickly gathered around them, ready to take her bag and show her to her room. But Aryan waved them off. He wanted to do this himself, for reasons he couldn't fully understand.
Meera followed him silently, her footsteps barely audible on the marble floors. The mansion was a palace of glass and steel, with vast rooms and towering ceilings. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, and every surface gleamed with luxury. It was a world Meera had never known.
But still, she said nothing.
Aryan led her to a large bedroom, more lavish than anything she could have imagined. The bed was king-sized, draped with the finest linens, and the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city skyline. The closet was filled with designer clothes Aryan had ordered specifically for her—clothes she hadn't even seen yet.
"This will be your room," Aryan said, gesturing around with a sweep of his hand. His tone was still commanding, though he tried to soften it. "You'll have everything you need here."
Meera stood in the center of the room, her arms wrapped around herself as if trying to shield herself from the overwhelming opulence. Her eyes remained downcast, and for a moment, Aryan thought she might cry.
"This...this is too much," she finally whispered, her voice so soft that Aryan almost didn't hear her.
He frowned. "Too much? You deserve this, after what you've been through."
Meera shook her head, her eyes still avoiding his. "I didn't ask for this."
Aryan's jaw tightened. He wasn't used to people refusing his generosity. "You didn't have to. It's yours now. You're mine now."
The words came out harsher than he intended, but he didn't correct them. It was the truth. Meera was his now. He had freed her from her stepmother, and in return, she owed him her loyalty, her presence—her life. She might not have asked for it, but Aryan wasn't a man who waited for permission.
Meera didn't respond, her silence once again infuriating him. What was wrong with her? Why wasn't she grateful? He had given her everything—a life beyond her wildest dreams. Any other woman would have fallen at his feet by now.
But not Meera.
Days passed, and Aryan grew more and more frustrated. Meera remained distant, quiet, almost invisible in the vast mansion. She wore the clothes he provided, ate the food he offered, and stayed in the room he had given her, but there was no joy in her actions. She moved like a ghost, her presence barely felt, her spirit crushed under the weight of something Aryan couldn't quite understand.
At first, Aryan thought it was simply a matter of time. He believed that once she adjusted to her new life, once she saw all the wealth and comfort he had to offer, she would come around. But as the days stretched into weeks, he realized that Meera's silence wasn't something that could be bought away with money or luxury.
It was something deeper.
Late one night, after yet another silent dinner, Aryan's frustration boiled over. He had tried patience, tried to give her space, but nothing worked. He was a man who took what he wanted, and right now, he wanted answers.
Without thinking, he stormed into her room. Meera was sitting by the window, staring out at the city lights, lost in her thoughts. She didn't hear him approach until he was standing right behind her.
"Why?" he demanded, his voice low and filled with barely restrained anger.
Meera turned, startled by his sudden presence. "Why what?"
"Why are you like this?" Aryan's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I gave you everything. A life you couldn't have dreamed of. And yet you act like you're still in that miserable house with your stepmother. Why can't you be happy?"
Meera's eyes widened in surprise at the intensity of his words. For a moment, she didn't respond, as if searching for the right answer.
Then, finally, she spoke.
"Because I never asked for this life."
Aryan froze, her words slicing through him like a blade. He didn't understand. How could she not want the life he had given her? How could she not see that he had saved her?
But as he stared into her eyes, for the first time, he realized that maybe Meera didn't see him as a savior at all.
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