Chapter 3:

30 May, Thursday, 2024

12:20 p.m.

Anika's POV

Signing the first deal of the day with a world-famous modelling agency was more exhausting than I had anticipated. The endless paperwork, the stiff formality, the constant parade of signatures and handshakes — it was enough to drain even the most energetic soul.

Mrs. Yumi Suzume herself — Japan’s most celebrated model and the formidable owner of its top modelling agency — had chosen to sign with our company. I’d been chasing this deal for months, knowing it would open new doors for my brand in Japan. It wasn’t just a business opportunity; it was a milestone. A million-dollar milestone I could not afford to fumble.

As the meeting finally drew to a close, I let my head fall back against the high leather backrest of my chair, exhaling a breath that had been trapped inside me since morning.

My right hand came up almost lazily, wrist turning so I could glance at my watch. 12:25 p.m. Past noon. I closed my eyes for a moment, allowing my shoulders to relax, trying to let the tension ebb away.

A sharp knock on my office door shattered the fragile peace.

I muttered a quiet curse under my breath and called out for the intruder to enter.

Ryle stepped in, holding a sleek black device in her hand. My phone.

“Ma’am, you left this in the meeting room,” she said, setting it gently on my desk. “You received a call from Mr. Rai Mehrotra’s secretary. I apologise for glancing at the screen, but I thought it important to inform you.”

I gave her a brief nod. “Thank you, Ryle.”

Once she left, I picked up the phone. A single notification blinked at me: one missed call. If it was important, he would call back. I wasn’t about to chase him.

Yes, I am self-centred — and unapologetically so.

I placed the phone back on the desk and closed my eyes again.

Naturally, it rang almost immediately.

Gosh.

Why did people have such uncanny timing? And with him, it was always bad timing. Every interaction I’d had with Rai Mehrotra had been a test of my patience.

I snatched up the phone and pressed it to my ear. “Yes, Anika speaking.”

A polite male voice greeted me. “Good afternoon, Ms. Roy Chowdhury. I’m Mr. Rai Mehrotra’s secretary, Youngjae Kim.”

“Afternoon, Mr. Kim. How can I help you?” I sat up straighter, professional reflexes kicking in.

“Ma’am, Mr. Mehrotra has requested that you be ready by five o’clock this evening for a date. He will pick you up from your mansion.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. Why was this man so relentless? I’d told him to keep his distance until the wedding — which, incidentally, was happening in just twenty days. After that, he’d have all the time in the world to irritate me.

“Tell him I’m busy,” I said flatly.

“Ma’am…” Kim’s voice hesitated, “…he said that if you aren’t ready, he will get you ready himself.”

Typical. Stubborn didn’t even begin to describe him. And yes, it annoyed me — but the way his dominance slipped into his words without effort… well, it stirred something in my stomach I’d rather not name.

I sighed. “Fine. Tell him to be on time.” I hung up before Kim could respond further.

Asshole.

Leaning back, I massaged my temples. My life was turning into a circus. First, my carefully laid plan to cancel this marriage had failed miserably. Then there was Dadi’s joy — too pure, too genuine for me to crush with refusal. And finally, his mother, who seemed determined to become my best friend overnight, calling daily to discuss dresses, jewellery, menus, and God knows what else. She’d even started sending me gifts.

It all made me ache for my own mother.

Back when I was in Harvard, living alone in the hostel, Ma used to send me handmade gifts and little parcels of my favourite food. She never missed a week.

I’ve always believed emotions make people weak — yet at the same time, they’re the only thing that makes life worth living. Without them, we’re just machines. But there has to be a limit, a boundary. Letting feelings overflow only leads to chaos.

And right now, my head was beginning to throb.

I pushed myself to my feet and crossed the room to the glass wall, fishing my phone out again to dial a number.

Five rings later, a deep voice answered. “Mr. Volkov.”

Through the glass, I watched the toy-like cars crawl along Jaipur’s streets ten floors below.

“Yes, Ms. Anika?”

Vikrant Volkov — early thirties, newly married, and one of the most formidable lawyers in the country.

“Have you found any evidence?” My tone was hopeful, though a part of me braced for disappointment.

“Ms. Anika, you’re being impatient. I’ve got detectives working on it, but after four years… there’s barely anything left to find. Without proof it was murder, I can’t keep insisting it was.”

My jaw tightened. “Fine. Close the case. I’ll hire someone else.”

Silence. Then a weary sigh. “It’s not that I haven’t tried. But the scraps of evidence we do have would mean nothing against the case files in the police station. Please try to understand.”

“I do,” I murmured, staring at my shoes even though he couldn’t see me. “You know how important this is to me, or I wouldn’t cling to it like a leech.”

“I know. I’ll try harder. I’ll call you if there’s any update.”

I hummed in acknowledgement and ended the call.

My gaze lifted to the pristine white ceiling. I blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears escape. My throat tightened, my heart thumped painfully, and I massaged my neck, willing the sensations to pass.

I staggered to the sofa in the corner, collapsing into its cushions. Tilting my head back, I tried to breathe, but the air felt thick, as though it refused to reach my lungs. The room wavered. My vision narrowed. And then — darkness.

•

A groan escaped me as I blinked back into consciousness. My head throbbed. I was still on the black leather sofa, the room quiet, shadows lengthening across the floor.

Glancing at my watch, my eyes widened. 4:05 p.m. Four hours?

Of course no one had come. I’d dismissed the employees at 1 p.m. and told Ryle not to disturb me after hours. Perfect.

I pushed myself upright, body aching, but this wasn’t new. I’d been here before — blackouts, panic attacks. It used to be worse, until I found a therapist last year. I was healing, but some scars never fade.

I gathered my bag and headed out. In the lift, I tapped my foot impatiently, reminding myself I still had to go home and prepare for this ridiculous date.

The car was already waiting outside. My driver opened the door and I slid inside, exhaling deeply.

A few missed calls flashed across my screen — Yuvraj Bhai. Frowning, I called him back.

“Hello, Anika. How are you?” His warm concern brought a faint smile to my lips.

“I’m fine, Bhai. What about you?”

“I’m well. You’re not overworking yourself, are you?”

I hesitated. “I’m just busy. Some projects are near completion.”

“Are you keeping up with your therapy sessions?” His tone was gentle, but probing. Yuvraj was one of the few who knew the truth. He’d once found me unconscious in my room; after that, hiding it from him was impossible.

“I am. Don’t worry. How’s Bhabhi?” I teased, knowing he’d blush even if I couldn’t see it.

“She’s good. She wants to meet you.”

“Wasn’t she in Canada?”

“She came back yesterday. She says she wants you to design her wedding lehenga.”

I chuckled. Drishti was a sweetheart — elegant, talented, a successful architect. And Yuvraj had been in love with her forever. Their wedding was in a month, ten days after mine.

“Alright. Ask her to meet me at The Lotus Café tomorrow at 4:30.”

“Thik hai, meri behna. Ab so jana samay se, warna…” His mock-threat earned another laugh from me before we hung up.

(Ok my sister. I'll hang up now and will call you later. Sleep on time or else I'll slice you up)

Tucking my phone away, I checked the time: 4:20 p.m.

I’d take a quick bath and get ready.

Wait. Why was I even planning to be on time? He had chosen to marry me. Let him wait. I’d stroll out after 5:15 and see how much patience he really had.