Mihir's POV

I looked at her, burning with frustration and something deeper: urgency, desperation. The city was watching. The media was ready to devour us alive. Elections were just months away. If this scandal dragged on, if the rumors took hold, my career and the future of the government would crumble.

I had no choice.

"Shaadi kr lijiye humse," I said firmly.

She snorted, eyes flashing with disbelief. "Chiiiii...gaanja phoonk rakha hai tumne? Shaadi wo bhi tumse. Such a terrible thing."

I didn't flinch. "If I lose this election, the opposition will tear everything apart: your company, my state. If people start believing the Chief Minister and Noble Estate's CEO are caught in some scandal, it won't just be political drama. It'll destroy the whole state."

Her jaw tightened. "And if this rumor spreads, it's not just you who will suffer. My investors will blame me. They back my company, and if they think I'm tied to a scandal, they'll pull out."

I stepped closer, voice low and serious. "This isn't just about us, Aayat. It's about the state, your business, everything. We have to handle this together."

She glared, sharp as ever. "And you think marriage is the answer? I think you've completely lost it."

"This isn't insanity. It's necessity," I said firmly. "If this rumor spreads more, both your business and my election are finished."

She was silent for a long moment, weighing the truth.

Finally, she spat, "Fine. But don't expect me to like it."

I nodded. "Just say yes."

She crossed her arms, eyes blazing. "Fine. But this isn't some fairy tale. We'll do a contract marriage. Seven months. After that, we get divorced."

I raised an eyebrow. "Divorced?"

"Yeah," she said, voice cold. "We'll tell the press we no longer believe each other. That it's all business, nothing personal. That way, the scandal dies down, your election stays safe, and my investors don't run."

I studied her for a moment. It was cold, but it made sense.

"Seven months," I repeated. "After that, we're done."

She gave a small, bitter smile. "Exactly."

I looked her straight in the eyes, my voice firm. "Tomorrow. 17th November. We get married."

She blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before she masked it with a cold smirk. "Tomorrow? That's... fast."

"Fast and necessary," I said. "The media's already running wild. If we don't control the story, someone else will. And by marrying you, I'm telling everyone this scandal isn't real. We're united, and nothing can break us."

She stared at me, lips pressed tight. "And after the seven months, we just walk away."

"Exactly. But for now, we're husband and wife. Publicly. That's what the people need to see."

I glanced at the clock in the court waiting room, just minutes until everything would change.

Aayat sat beside me, calm but fierce, draped in a deep red silk saree that caught the light just right. The color suited her: bold, unapologetic, untouchable. I caught myself stealing a glance, admiring how effortlessly she commanded the room. But I quickly pushed the thought away. This wasn't about attraction or feelings, not now. This was about survival.

The court clerk called our names.

We stood and walked side by side into the courtroom, eyes forward, words measured.

The judge looked up, eyebrows raised as if surprised by the unconventional couple before him.

I felt Aayat's steady presence beside me, her hand brushing lightly against mine, a silent reminder that we were in this together, at least for now.

When the question came, "Do you take each other as husband and wife?" her voice was steady, clear.

"I do," she said.

"I do," I echoed.

The judge nodded, signing the papers.

We were married.

Outside, the media buzzed, but inside, it was just the two of us bound by necessity, wary of the path ahead.

I glanced at Aayat once more. That red saree, the determined set of her jaw... no matter what came next, this alliance was real. At least for now.

The moment we stepped out of the courthouse, flashing cameras and shouting reporters swarmed us like a tidal wave.

I raised a hand, motioning for silence as the crowd clamored louder.

Clearing my throat, I announced, "This is Aayat Mihir Raghuvanshi, my wife."

The words felt heavy but necessary.

Reporters immediately bombarded us with questions, their voices overlapping.

"Is this a political stunt?"

"Are you really married, or just playing along for the election?"

"What does this mean for Noble Estate's investors?"

I was about to step forward to answer when Aayat cut in sharply, her voice cold and precise.

"Those are personal matters," she said firmly, locking eyes with the reporters.

A murmur rippled through the crowd as the reporters hesitated.

She didn't wait.

"Please respect our privacy," she said.

The room fell silent. Even I was caught off guard by how completely she shut them down.

I caught her glance, fierce, in control.

For once, the media had met their match.

The questions came like bullets.

"Mr. Raghuvanshi, is this marriage just to save your campaign?"

I met their eyes, unflinching. "No. This marriage isn't strategy. It isn't about politics. It's because we love each other."

A wave of murmurs swept through the crowd. The words sounded bold, rehearsed, and yet, as I said them, something inside me tightened, as if the line carried more weight than I intended.

Reporters swiveled instantly to Aayat. "Ma'am, is that true? You love him?"

She hesitated only a fraction of a second, then tilted her head, her expression composed but confident. "Yes. We do. That's the reason behind this marriage. Nothing else."

The crowd exploded with flashes, their pens scribbling, their mics shoved closer.

Another reporter shouted, "But why so sudden? Just yesterday there were rumors, and today you're husband and wife. Isn't the timing suspicious?"

Her lips curved into the faintest of smiles, deliberate and poised. "When you're sure about someone, you don't measure time. You just take the step. That's what we did."

The answer was clean, perfect, too perfect. But as she said it, her eyes brushed mine, and for the briefest moment we made an eye contact.

I slipped my hand into hers. She didn't pull away. Together, we turned toward the cameras, smiling as one.

The questions kept firing, but the images would matter more than the words. Husband and wife. CM and CEO. Bound not by scandal, but by love, or at least, the appearance of it.

As we pulled up to the bungalow after the chaos of the press conference, I could feel the weight of the day pressing down harder than ever. The city lights flickered around us, but all I could think about was what lay ahead, seven months of walking this tightrope with Aayat.

When we reached the front door, I spotted Zyran my best friend, ready with the traditional Aarti. His face was serious, the ritual meant to bring blessings, but right now, it felt almost absurd.

Before anyone could start, I raised my hand. "There's no need for this," I said firmly. "It's just a contract. Nothing more."

I glanced at Aayat, who stood beside me, expression unreadable. She didn't say a word, but I caught that faint flicker of amusement in her eyes.

Then Zyran, never one to hold back, cut in with a smirk. "You're dumb, Mihir. I don't know how people chose you as CM."

I shot him a sharp look, irritation flaring, but he just shrugged and turned to Aayat with a wink. "At least she's smart enough to put up with this idiot."

Aayat chuckled softly, shaking her head.

I sighed, the weight settling heavier on my shoulders. "Seven months," I muttered. "Seven months of pretending. And hoping this doesn't tear everything apart."

But deep down, I knew this contract was only the beginning of something far more complicated.

Zyran's grin faded a little as he lit the diya for the Aarti, but he kept up the teasing tone. "Look, Mihir, you might be dumb, but you're our dumb CM. And right now, you need every blessing you can get."

I forced a half-smile, knowing he was right. The path ahead wasn't just political, it was personal, tangled and unpredictable. Aayat standing beside me made that clear, more than any scandal or press conference ever could.

She stepped forward then, her voice steady but soft. "We're in this together, Mihir. For seven months, and whatever comes after."

Her words hit me harder than I expected. "Together," I echoed, feeling the weight and the strange comfort in that single word.

Zyran gave a low whistle. "Look at you two, getting all sentimental already. The election's not even over."

I shook my head, chuckling despite myself. "Maybe this contract will be the toughest campaign of all."

Aayat smirked. "And the most unpredictable."

As the Aarti ritual began, the flickering flames reflected in her eyes, and I realized, no matter how messy or complicated this was, I wasn't going to face it alone.

Not anymore.

The evening air was thick with quiet tension as Zyran finished the Aarti and playfully nudged me. "Careful, Mihir," he said with a sly grin, "you might actually love her someday."

I laughed, took a sip of water, and immediately choked, sputtering it all over his smug face. "Fall for her? Bruhhh, this is mere contract!" I managed between coughs, wiping my mouth and glaring at him.

Zyran just wiped his face, still grinning like he'd won some private bet. "Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that."

Meanwhile, Aayat had quietly slipped upstairs to rest. I stayed behind, watching her as she moved with effortless grace, slowly removing her jewelry one piece at a time. The way the bangles slid off her wrists, the soft clink as she set them down, it was mesmerizing.

For a moment, all the chaos faded away. I was just a man admiring the woman who, despite everything, had somehow become the center of this impossible storm.

And yet, I reminded myself again, seven months. Just seven months of pretending. This marriage means nothing, Mihir.

I was still standing there, caught off guard by the quiet moment, when my phone buzzed sharply in my pocket. I pulled it out, a call from someone in the cabinet.

"Hello, Mihir," the voice said warmly. "Happy life with your wife."

The word hit me like a jolt. Wife. Not partner, not colleague, wife. My cheeks instantly warmed, and I cleared my throat, trying to steady myself. "Thanks," I managed, feeling awkward.

I ended the call and looked up, only to find Aayat standing in the doorway, watching me with an amused but sharp expression.

"What was that?" she asked, stepping into the room.

I fumbled for words, suddenly self-conscious.

Without missing a beat, she slapped me lightly on the shoulder. "I thought you were possessed or something, or maybe lost your mind," she said, eyes narrowing playfully.

I winced, rubbing my shoulder, but I couldn't stop the grin spreading across my face. "Maybe I'm possessed... by how weird this all feels."

She rolled her eyes, but the faint smile she gave told me she knew exactly how weird, and real, this was going to get.

The morning sun spilled gently through the living room as I sat scrolling through some documents, lost in the endless swirl of politics and strategy.

Footsteps approached softly, and then Aayat appeared in the doorway.

She stood there for a moment, wearing a delicate light pink saree that hugged her figure gracefully. The soft fabric caught the light just right, and the subtle shimmer of her jewelry added a quiet elegance.

I looked up, caught off guard by how effortlessly she owned the room.

She gave a small, knowing smile. "Thought I should let you know, I'm wearing the saree. For the cameras, for the story."

I nodded, swallowing the surprise. "You don't have to, you know. If it's uncomfortable..."

She shook her head, stepping closer. "It's not about comfort. It's about the message. The CM's wife has to look the part. The media won't give us any breaks."

I leaned back, studying her. "Seven months of playing the perfect couple."

Her smile softened. "Seven months. Then we decide what's next."

For a brief moment, the weight of the contract lifted, replaced by something quietly hopeful.

She stepped into the room, the soft pink saree flowing effortlessly around her. Her eyes met mine, calm but fierce.

"I'm heading to the office now," she said firmly. "The investors can't wait, they need answers. I can't let Noble Estate's reputation go down just because of a mere mistake."

Her voice carried the weight of responsibility, unshaken.

I nodded slowly, feeling the gravity of it all settling between us. "You always carry the weight well."

She gave a small, resolute smile. "Someone has to."

Without another word, she turned and walked out, ready to face whatever came next.

I was still sitting there when my phone buzzed. Samarth's name flashed on the screen.

"Sir, the man taking care of Anirudh Raghuvanshi was found dead last night," he said quietly.

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