Mihir's POV

"Aayat."

Her name slipped out softer than I intended, almost hesitant. She turned her head toward me, her expression calm but guarded, as if she was already bracing herself for whatever I was about to say.

I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. "Everything happened so fast."

Her brows furrowed slightly, but she didn't interrupt.

"I mean," I continued, my voice low, steady, "one minute I'm buried in campaign strategies and political pressure, and the next, I'm here. Married. To you." I paused, searching her face for a flicker of something. Anything.

She stayed silent, watching me carefully, her body still as stone.

"I don't even think either of us had time to realize it," I admitted. "The cameras, the ceremony, the weight of it all. It feels like we signed a deal, not vows."

At that, her lips twitched ever so slightly. Not quite a smile, more like an acknowledgment.

"Because that's what it is, isn't it?" she said finally, her voice soft but razor-sharp. "A contract. Seven months of performance."

"Performance," I repeated, nodding. "Maybe. But it's still real, Aayat. The signatures are real. The headlines are real. And we are real. Whether we like it or not."

She looked away then, her eyes fixed on the faint glow of the bedside lamp. "Real doesn't mean permanent," she murmured.

I studied her for a long moment, the way she sat poised even now, like a queen in exile, every gesture controlled. It struck me how easy she made it look, this calmness, this strength. And yet, beneath it all, I could feel the storm she was hiding.

"You're good at this," I said quietly.

Her eyes flicked back to mine, sharp. "At what?"

"At wearing that armor. At making people believe you're unshaken."

She tilted her head, a faint smirk on her lips. "Funny. I could say the same about you."

I chuckled softly, but it didn't quite reach my eyes. "Maybe that's why this works. Two people who are experts at pretending."

For a moment, silence settled between us again, but it wasn't empty. It was thick, charged, like the air before a storm.

I leaned back against the headboard, exhaling slowly. "Do you regret it?"

Her gaze sharpened, locking onto mine.

"Regret what?" she asked cautiously.

"This." I gestured between us, between the rings on our fingers that still felt foreign. "Us. The marriage. The headlines. The deal."

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she looked at me like she was measuring every word I'd said, every angle of my expression. Then, with a quiet sigh, she said, "No. I don't regret it. Because regret is for choices. This wasn't really a choice."

Her honesty hit harder than I expected.

I nodded slowly. "Fair enough."

Her eyes softened for a brief second, like a crack in her armor, before she turned away, pulling the blanket higher around herself.

"Mihir," she said after a beat, her voice calmer now, "we have seven months to survive this. That's all. Let's not make it more complicated than it already is."

I studied her profile, the way the lamplight caught in her hair, the way her shoulders stayed tense even when she tried to look relaxed.

"Seven months," I echoed. "Right."

And I had a feeling seven months would be a very long time.

⸻

The room was quiet, and yet my mind refused to shut off.

Everything had moved too fast, our wedding, the cameras, the headlines, but what I couldn't stop thinking about was that night.

The night I'd found her.

She had been ridiculous. Absolutely insufferable. Talking, cracking jokes that weren't funny, trying to act like she wasn't scared out of her mind.

A terrible human, I thought.

The way she had flailed words at me, trying to sound casual, trying to make light of a situation that was anything but. It was infuriating. And somehow entirely her.

I remembered her voice, clipped and sharp even when it cracked. She'd been talking nonsense, making absurd quips, as if the world would believe her bravery. She hadn't needed saving. She didn't even want saving, probably.

Terrible.

Yet I hadn't been able to stop looking at her.

I glanced toward her now, cocooned under the blanket, the lamplight catching her profile. Aayat Mihir Raghuvanshi. The name felt strange on my tongue. Not Kapoor. Not the fearless, chaotic woman from that night. Her. Mine, for seven months at least.

And somehow, that made her even more unbearable.

I shook my head, letting out a quiet, amused exhale. "Terrible human," I muttered under my breath.

No pity. No softness. Just the undeniable truth: she was infuriating, impossible, and somehow utterly unforgettable.

I leaned back, staring at the ceiling, thinking that if surviving her during the day was hard, then these seven months weren't going to be long enough to figure her out.

Because that night had shown me one thing: behind the jokes, behind the perfectly poised exterior, she was entirely, maddeningly herself.

And I had no idea how I was going to handle it.

I watched her shift under the blanket, finally letting herself relax a little. She glanced at me, eyes half-lidded, exasperation hiding behind fatigue.

"Stop running your brain," she said softly, almost a whisper. "Just sleep."

Her words should have been simple, but they carried that calm authority she always had. I tilted my head, smirk tugging at my lips. "Can you hear my thoughts?"

She gave me a small, knowing smile. "Yes. Witches do know what other people think."

"Oh, really?" I said, leaning back slightly, amused.

"Yeah," she replied, voice light but teasing.

I smirked, letting the challenge linger in the air. "So, my witch," I said, lowering my voice just enough to make her pause, "what did I think just now?"

Her eyes flicked up to mine, sharp and calculating even in the dim light. "Hmm," she murmured, drawing it out. "Let me see. You were thinking that you, you are terrible."

I raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Terrible? Bold, but accurate."

I watched her shift under the blanket, exhaustion tugging at her eyes, though that familiar spark of mischief was still there.

"So, Mrs. Raghuvanshi," I said slowly, letting the title hang in the air, "I mean my witch," I corrected, leaning back slightly, "you should sleep now."

"As if I'm going to listen to you," she replied.

I raised an eyebrow, smirk tugging at the corners of my lips. "Not going to listen? Dangerous. My witch, you really should."

"As if I care about your warnings," she interrupted, voice sharp but teasing, eyes glinting with mischief. "You can try all you want, Mihir Raghuvanshi, but I answer to no one."

I leaned back slightly, letting a quiet laugh escape me. "Of course, you answer to no one. That's why surviving seven months with you is going to be interesting."

Her lips twitched, resisting a smile. "Interesting? I call it terrifying."

"Terrifying, impossible, infuriating," I listed off, letting each word hang between us, "and entirely unforgettable."

Her eyes flicked toward me, that familiar smirk finally breaking through her exhaustion. "Terrible human," she muttered, mock-scolding, "don't get used to compliments. They're dangerous."

I chuckled softly, shaking my head. "Dangerous? Maybe. But you should sleep anyway. Even witches need rest."

She rolled her eyes, letting out a soft sigh. "Fine. But you, you sleep too, terrible human."

I let out a quiet laugh, letting the tension in the room soften. "Alright, my witch. I'll sleep."

She tucked herself deeper under the blanket, eyes closing, a faint, satisfied smile lingering on her lips. I watched her settle, feeling the warmth of her presence, the playful fight fading into a comfortable silence.

For the first time that night, I let myself relax, though I knew, deep down, that surviving seven months with Aayat Mihir Raghuvanshi was going to be anything but simple.

Morning light filtered in through the curtains. Aayat was getting ready, draping a light blue saree over her shoulders.

I froze for a moment, my mind betraying me. Gorgeous. Breathe, Mihir, or you're going to die, terrible human.

She caught my stare, eyebrow raised. "Again? You're possessed or something?"

"Possessed?" I echoed, leaning against the doorway, voice calm. "Maybe."

She rolled her eyes, smirk tugging at her lips. "Impossible."

I let my gaze linger for a beat longer, my mind refusing to form words, just repeating that one thought: gorgeous.

"You okay?" she asked, tilting her head, noticing my silence.

"Yeah," I said finally, trying to sound normal, though my chest still felt tight.

Her eyes narrowed, smirk returning. "You're possessed, I swear."

"Maybe I am," I admitted quietly, letting her smirk linger, and stayed there, watching her in that light blue saree, utterly unbothered by the chaos she caused in me.

She adjusted the pleats of her saree, glanced at me briefly, and said, "I'm leaving now."

I frowned slightly. "Breakfast?"

She shook her head, a small, unapologetic smirk on her lips. "No. I'll have it at the office."

I raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. "Skipping breakfast? Dangerous, Mrs. Raghuvanshi."

She shrugged casually. "I can handle danger. You should focus on yourself instead of worrying about me."

I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. "Impossible."

Her smirk deepened. "Sure, terrible human. Now go eat something yourself before you keel over."

She picked up her bag and, without another word, walked out. The door clicked softly behind her, leaving me alone in the quiet of the apartment.

I leaned back against the wall, running a hand over my face, and my mind betrayed me again: gorgeous.

Breakfast could wait. Work could wait. My thoughts, for a few long seconds, belonged entirely to her.

She picked up her bag and, without another word, walked out. The door clicked softly behind her, leaving me alone in the quiet of the apartment.

I leaned back against the wall, my gaze still lingering where she had been. My mind refused to calm down, repeating the word I couldn't stop thinking: gorgeous.

Shut up. Just shut up, Mihir. It's just a contract.

Seven months. Nothing more. Nothing more, I scolded myself internally, gripping the edge of the table for control.

I exhaled slowly, letting my shoulders drop. Seven months. Nothing more.

I told myself it over and over.

⸻

As I had an unfinished task, I went to complete it.

The mansion loomed before me, massive and eerily quiet, looking as if it had been abandoned for years. But I knew better. The faint hum of life, subtle enough to be missed, told me someone was inside.

I stepped cautiously through the grand entrance. The air was thick, heavy with dust and tension. And then I saw him.

Anirudh Raghuvanshi.

He was tied to a chair, eyes wide, but defiance still burning in them.

I stepped closer, the sound of my boots echoing through the empty hall. "Mr. Raghuvanshi, how are you feeling here? A little relaxed, I imagine, right after killing my man?"

He laughed, first a short chuckle, then it broke into a loud, unrestrained laugh that bounced off the walls.

My jaw clenched. Every muscle in my body tensed.

"Mr. Raghuvanshi," I said slowly, each syllable deliberate and deadly. "End of playing games."

The laughter faltered slightly at the edge of my tone, but he quickly recovered, trying to mask the flicker of fear.

I took another step closer, my shadow stretching over him, cold and unyielding. "This isn't a joke. Not anymore. And you, you are going to regret every choice that brought you here."

The mansion seemed to shrink around us, the silence heavy now, broken only by the shallow, ragged breaths of a man who realized for the first time that the game had ended, and I was holding the rules.

Mr. Raghuvanshi sneered, eyes cold, a twisted smile on his face. "Just like your mother's son, just like her. You know how I killed her? Aww, you don't want to know. Again, I stabbed her forty-nine times. But she survived because of her shitty brother. Then one day, I pushed her into the river. I knew she had a phobia of water. She couldn't survive it."

A rush of anger ran through me, hot and blinding. My voice trembled, but only with controlled fury. "Stop calling me your son. You've lost every right that day you hit my mother."

I stepped closer, letting my presence loom over him, cold and deliberate. "You know, I could kill you in a second. Make it look like suicide. Clean. Quick. But that wouldn't even be a fraction of what you did to her. No, I won't. I'll give you the most brutal death imaginable. Every second deliberate. Every moment pain. That's what you deserve."

I clenched my fists, the air between us thick with tension.

⸻

The air in the mansion still thrummed with tension from our confrontation when Mr. Raghuvanshi , the same man, turned toward me, a sickly smile plastered on his face.

"Shaadi Mubarak, Mihir," he said, voice smooth, almost mocking. "Won't you take blessings from your father?"

I froze for a fraction of a second, the words crawling through me like poison. Disgusted. Utterly disgusted, my mind hissed.

The same man who had terrorized my mother, who had crossed every line, now dared to act like family? My jaw clenched, my chest tight with fury and revulsion.

"Blessings?" I repeated, my voice cold and flat, stripped of any warmth. My eyes bore into him, sharp and unyielding. The bile of contempt rose, and I didn't even try to hide it.

Everything about him, every syllable he spoke, screamed of betrayal, cruelty, and arrogance. And I felt nothing but disgust.

I didn't move toward him. I didn't speak further. My silence alone was a blade, cutting through the pretense he wore so comfortably.

Because no words could capture my loathing, and no blessing would ever come from me.

I took a step back, my eyes fixed on him. Disgust and anger ran through me, but my voice stayed calm and cold.

"You have very few days left," I said quietly, each word sharp, carrying all the fury I felt.

His smirk faltered, just for a moment, but I didn't wait for him to react.

I turned and walked toward the door, my steps steady, every movement full of control. My boots echoed against the floor as I left him tied to the chair, powerless.

"Remember this," I said over my shoulder, voice low but full of warning, "I never forget."

The door closed behind me. Silence fell in the room, heavy and final. Outside, the cool air hit me. Calm. Cold. Certain.

The warning was given. The countdown had begun. And Anirudh Raghuvanshi would soon pay for everything he had done.

⸻

I entered the CM's office, still feeling the cold weight of the confrontation at the mansion. My mind was sharp, focused, but the world outside had not stopped.

My secretary looked up, a calm smile on his face. "Sir, things are settling down," he said. "The citizens are reacting positively. Many are giving their blessings to you and Mrs. Aayat Mihir Raghuvanshi."

I raised an eyebrow, listening.

"Of course," he continued, "some are still skeptical, questioning the sudden marriage, the headlines, but overall, the response is leaning in your favor. People are curious, yes, but there is also respect and a lot of goodwill coming your way."

I let the words sink in, nodding slowly. "Good. Keep monitoring everything closely. I want to know the exact tone, every message, every reaction."

He nodded, efficient as ever. "Already on it, sir. The press releases, social media, public statements, they are all being managed. The city is watching, and for now, it is mostly positive."

I leaned back slightly in my chair, letting out a quiet breath. "Mostly," I repeated, eyes narrowing. "But I don't forget the ones who aren't."

My secretary gave a small, knowing smile. "Understood, sir. You'll have a full report by the hour."

I nodded, already thinking ahead. The world might be reacting well for now, but nothing escaped my attention.

As I was working, my phone buzzed. A message from Kabir Kashyap, the opposition leader and my biggest rival in politics, appeared on the screen.

He started with a line that made me pause: "Congratulations, Mihir."

I smirked slightly, expecting the usual political sarcasm, until I read the next sentence.

It stopped me cold.

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AND YES TELL ME HOW WAS THE CHAPTER??????

To be continued

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