Mehra mansion had begun to settle into a gentle, almost peaceful rhythm.

Mr. and Mrs. Mehra had fully accepted Aanya as their daughter-in-law.
No more hesitation.
No more distance.

And slowly—very slowly—Aanya had begun accepting her place too.
Not as a maid.
Not as an outsider.
But as a daughter-in-law of the house.

Yet, even in this warmth, something kept circling Aanya's mind every night.

"They all accept me now... but when the truth comes out? When this whole revenge game ends... what then?
Will Ishaan let me stay?
Would I even want to stay?"

Then another worry:

"What about his girlfriend? Aunty said he was supposed to marry her. What if she comes back? Does he still love her?"

These thoughts kept her awake.

But still—some unexpected changes had softened the atmosphere.

Ishaan hadn't done anything to hurt her these days.
Yes, he still returned home late at night...
But now, he didn't ask her to cook for him anymore.

Sometimes he ate outside.
And when he didn't, he simply asked the maids to reheat the food.

At first, Aanya thought:

"He's angry with me her."

But when she finally gathered courage and asked him why he wasn't taking dinner from her anymore, he simply replied:

"It's not your job."

Aanya had rolled her eyes and mocked him:

"It was never my job from the start. But you made me do it. Why not now?"

He didn't respond.
Instead he smirked:

"If you like giving me dinner so much, Mrs. Mehra... then fine. Tomorrow you can reheat it."

Aanya's cheeks turned warm instantly.
She had quickly looked away.

But the next night, when Ishaan walked into the bedroom after coming home late, she quietly got up and went downstairs.

He watched her leave, then ignored his own thoughts and freshened up.

When he went downstairs, he found her arranging dinner on the table.

She didn't look at him.
Just moved silently.

He smirked and sat down.

While serving himself, he teased:

"I didn't know girls from America also do these things for their husbands."

Aanya, sitting opposite him with coffee in her hand, raised her brows.

"Oh really? And what exactly do you think girls from America are like, Mr. Mehra?"

Ishaan shrugged with playful arrogance:

"I thought they prefer making their husbands work rather than doing it themselves."

Aanya didn't miss a beat.

"Well, that's not wrong. But for that, the husband should be someone who cares about his wife too."

Her voice was calm. Coldly honest.

"In our case there's no love, no care. I'm here because I was forced.
And now I'm just doing what I was told in the beginning."

Her words hit him straight in the chest.

Something inside Ishaan tightened—guilt, confusion, and something he couldn't name.

He sighed and looked down.

"Aanya... you don't have to do this anymore.
I told you to do these things in the beginning because I was angry.
I wasn't thinking straight."

Aanya took a slow sip of her coffee and replied:

"I'm doing it because I don't want aunty to think I don't care.
I've seen how she serves uncle dinner even when he's late.
She told me that as long as the husband asks, the wife should try to keep things right between them.
So... I'm doing that.
Because until the real truth comes out, we have to pretend everything is fine."

Ishaan had no answer.

They finished their meal quietly and returned to their room.
It was late.
They went straight to their beds.

But Ishaan couldn't sleep.

Something kept poking his mind—the way Aanya spoke, the things she said... and Aransh's voice echoing again and again:

"I didn't cheat on her, Ishaan."

Suddenly, Ishaan sat up on his mattress and called softly:

"Aanya."

She hummed sleepily.
"Hmm?"

"Are you asleep?"

"Trying to," she mumbled.

Ishaan exhaled heavily.

"Aanya... let's do it."

Her eyes flew open.
She shot up in alarm, staring at him.

"W-what!? No! I'm not that kind of girl—yes we are married but still—there is nothing like that between us—why would you—"

He cut her blabbering sharply.

 Let's find out the truth."

She froze.

"What?"

Ishaan looked at her seriously.

"You're right. Maybe something slipped from my eyes.
Maybe I believed things too quickly because everything pointed to Aransh.
But...
Dii wasn't weak. She would never kill herself like that." youre right she is not that week type women.

His eyes lowered, voice softer.

"Your words got stuck in my mind.
So... let's find the truth. From the beginning.
I want to know everything.
Will you help me?"

Aanya slowly nodded.

"Yes, Ishaan. I will."

He continued:

"Good. But if it turns out Aransh is the culprit...
I won't spare him.
I will destroy him.
And you...
You won't stop me."

His voice was firm.
Demanding.
A test.

Aanya's heart raced.
She hesitated—fear flickering inside her.

But this was her only chance to prove her brother innocent.

She breathed deeply and said:

"Okay. I'll stand with you.
But if he is proven innocent...
You will do exactly what I tell you."

Ishaan didn't even blink.

"Deal."

She got down from her bed and walked toward him.
The room was dim—only the small bedside lamp glowing.
Soft golden light fell on her face, on her eyes, making the moment unexpectedly intimate.

She stretched out her hand.

Ishaan looked at her delicate fingers... then slowly placed his hand in hers.

Their palms touched—warm, hesitant, charged.

"Deal" she said.

For a second neither moved.

Her breath hitched.
His pulse kicked.

Something unspoken passed between them—
a spark neither expected.

Aanya quickly withdrew her hand, cheeks warming, and climbed back onto the bed.
She pulled the comforter up to hide her blush.

Ishaan watched her silently for a long moment, then lay down.

"Good night, Mrs. Mehra."

Her face turned even redder under the blanket.

"Good night... Mr. Mehra."

And in the quiet darkness of the room, two hearts that were never supposed to meet...
moved one small step closer.

The morning had begun smoothly. Ishaan had reached the office early, handled a few meetings, and for a moment it felt like a normal day.
But the peace didn't last.

Within an hour, the entire front of Mehra Corporation was in chaos.

From his office window on the 6th floor, Ishaan watched as reporters swarmed the main gate, their cameras flashing, their microphones thrust forward like weapons.
Security guards were struggling to control the crowd, but the journalists refused to leave.

Ishaan exhaled sharply, jaw tightening.
"What the hell do they want now?" he muttered to himself.

Just then, the door burst open.
Sunny rushed in, panting.

"Sir—sir, you have to come downstairs. They won't leave unless you address them."

Ishaan closed his eyes briefly, swallowing his anger.
When he opened them, they were cold, sharp—dangerous.

He stood, grabbed his blazer, and straightened it with a single swift motion.

"Fine," he said. "Let's go."

--

Ishaan walked out of the elevator like a storm in human form.
Bodyguards immediately surrounded him as he stepped outside, but his presence alone silenced half the noise.

Reporters surged forward.

"Sir! Sir! Over here!"

One shouted loud enough to cut through the air.

"Is it true that Mehra Corporation is working on a new project?
Are you planning to launch Mehra Tech Co?" When your company is still under drug accusations.

Ishaan froze for a split second.

His blood boiled.

How the hell do they know about Mehra Tech? That project was strictly confidential.
He didn't answer. His jaw clenched hard.

Another reporter shouted:

"Sir, is the scandal about Mehra Corporation exporting drugs true?"

This time, Ishaan snapped.

His voice thundered across the entire crowd:

"Didn't my legal team address this already?!
Where the hell are you all getting this nonsense from?!"

The entire line of reporters fell silent.
Even the clicking cameras paused for a moment.

He continued, voice harsh and commanding:

"And about Mehra Tech—
it's confidential. When the time is right, you will know. Not before."

A female reporter stepped forward.

"Sir... we've heard that after Miss Nisha Mehra's suicide... your mother is in a coma.
Is that true?"

That hit him like a knife.

Ishaan's expression changed instantly—rage, disbelief, and shock flashed across his face.

How do they know? Only a few trusted people were aware.
Who is leaking information?

His fists tightened at his sides.

Before he could say anything, another voice shouted:

"Sir! One more question!
There are reports that you were set to marry your long-term girlfriend, but she ran away—and yet you still married on the same day.
Sir, who did you marry?"

That was it.

The last thread of his patience snapped.

His eyes darkened, his body went still—too still.

But he forced control over himself. Out here, in front of the cameras, he couldn't explode.

His voice came out low, icy, and dangerously calm:

"I will not appreciate my family being dragged into baseless gossip.
Whatever happens in my home is my personal matter.

And whoever I married—
that is also my personal life.
I am not obliged to answer any of your invasive questions."

His eyes swept over them—cold, sharp, unblinking.

"Respect our privacy.
If you don't—
we will take strict legal action."

Without waiting for another word, Ishaan turned and walked back inside the building.

Before he disappeared through the doors, he signaled to the bodyguards.

The guards immediately understood.

They pushed the entire group of reporters away from the gate, blocking all access to the company entrance.

Inside, Ishaan didn't look back even once.

But his anger burned hotter than ever.

Someone was leaking secrets.
Someone wanted to destroy the Mehra name.

And Ishaan Mehra was not going to forgive them.

Mr. and Mrs. Mehra sat on the living room sofa, both facing the large television mounted on the wall.
Aanya stood beside Mrs. Mehra, her hands clasped together nervously.

The news channel flashed bold red headlines:
"BREAKING NEWS: QUESTIONS SURROUNDING MEHRA CORPORATION AND ISHAAN MEHRA."

On the screen, reporters swarmed outside Mehra Corporation while Ishaan was seen answering their rapid-fire questions, his anger barely controlled.

The living room felt colder as each new headline appeared.

Mr. Mehra exhaled deeply, rubbing his forehead with frustration.

"How do they know this much?" he said, voice heavy with anger.
"All these confidential details... someone is leaking everything. Someone wants to destroy the Mehra family."

Sikha expression darkened immediately.

Her voice rose sharply, filled with accusation:

"Who else? It has to be the Vermas!"

Mr. Mehra looked at her, tired and worried.

"It's possible..." he said quietly.

"Possible? Dinesh, it's obvious!" she snapped.
"Think about it—these things were known only to a handful of people. And the Vermas were one of those few. Who else could it be?"

Mr. Mehra didn't argue.
He sighed again, heavily, as if the weight of the entire situation was pressing on his chest.

Aanya stood silently, absorbing every word.

Here I want to prove Bhai innocent... but everything is getting more complicated, she thought.
Who is doing all this? And why?

Her eyes moved back to the TV.

Ishaan was shown again, reporters shouting questions at him. One particular question replayed in her mind—
the one that had caught her attention instantly:

"There are reports that you were set to marry your long-term girlfriend,
but she ran away—and yet you still married on the same day.
Sir, who did you marry?"

Aanya's eyebrows knitted together.

"What... what does he mean by the same day?" she whispered, not expecting anyone to answer.

A strange uneasiness settled in her chest.

Something wasn't adding up.
Something was being hidden.

And Aanya suddenly felt she was standing in the middle of secrets she wasn't supposed to know.

The day moved in a dull, heavy silence throughout the Mehra Mansion.
a strange tension still lingered in the air.

Aanya was in her room, trying to distract herself by cleaning.
she still hadn't placed her clothes in the wardrobe.
Everything still felt temporary... uncertain.

After cleaning the room, she arranged her bag neatly in one corner.
Then she moved to study table, fixing the scattered books. She began placing her novels next to Ishaan's books, aligning them carefully.

That's when something caught her eye.

A small piece of paper—folded, half peeking out from between the pages of one of Ishaan's books.

Aanya frowned.

Curiosity pulled her closer.
She slid the paper out gently and unfolded it.

Her eyes moved across the bold handwriting.

"You were never meant to be his bride.
Run before it's too late."

Aanya froze.

Her brow tightened, confusion washing over her face.

What... what does this even mean?
I-I know, I was never meant to be his bride—but why is someone reminding me? And this warning... run before it's too late? Too late for what?

A cold shiver crawled up her spine.

She looked around the room instinctively—as if expecting someone to be hiding there.

Did... did Ishaan put this here? she wondered.
No... why would he? Why would he write something like this? Unless... unless he—

Her eyes suddenly fell on a notebook lying on the table—one of Ishaan's work notebooks.

Aanya picked it up quickly and flipped it open.

Inside were Ishaan's notes—important work details, meeting times, project reminders...
And his handwriting.

Her heartbeat picked up.

She stared at the letters, the curves, the strokes—every detail.

Then she looked back at the mysterious note.

Her eyes widened.

It wasn't the same handwriting. Not even close.

Meaning—
Ishaan didn't write that message.

Someone else had put it there.

Someone who had access to his books.
Someone who knew she is here.
Someone who wanted her to find it.

Her breath hitched.

But why? What does "run before it's too late" even mean? What's going to happen? What am I not seeing?

The room felt colder.

Aanya clutched the paper tightly, her heart pounding in her ears, a wave of dread settling deep inside her chest.

Something was terribly wrong.
And someone—someone inside this house—wanted her gone.

--

Aanya was still staring at the note, her fingers trembling slightly.
Her mind was racing, replaying the words over and over:

Run before it's too late.

She quickly folded the paper and slipped it into her novel just as she heard footsteps approaching the room.

Before she could compose herself, the door opened.

Ishaan walked in.

He stopped the moment he saw her.

His eyes narrowed—not in anger, but in observation.
Ishaan Mehra never missed details. And right now, something about Aanya was different.

Her posture stiff.
Her breaths uneven.
Her eyes... startled.

"Aanya?" he asked, his voice low.

She flinched slightly.
He noticed that too.

He walked closer, slow and cautious, as if approaching something fragile.

"What happened?" he asked again, softer this time.

"N-nothing," she said quickly, not meeting his eyes.
She shifted her gaze to the table, trying to appear normal, but her hands gave her away.

They were shaking.

Ishaan's eyes dropped to them.

A flicker of concern—real concern—crossed his face, breaking through his usual coldness.

He stepped closer.
"Aanya," he said firmly, "look at me."

She hesitated but finally lifted her eyes to his.

The moment their gazes met, Ishaan felt it—
Aanya's fear wasn't small.
It was deep.
Almost like she had seen something dangerous.

His jaw tightened, and his usual arrogance disappeared.

"What scared you?" he asked, voice rough but steady. "Tell me."

Aanya swallowed hard.

Should she tell him?
Should she show the note?
Would he even believe her?
Or would this create more problems?

She opened her mouth, struggling for words

"I... nothing happened. I just—"

"Aanya," Ishaan cut in sharply but not unkindly, "don't lie."

Her breath caught.

He stepped closer again—close enough that she could feel his presence surrounding her.

"You're pale... your hands are cold... and your voice is shaking."
His tone dropped, serious.
"Something scared you. And I want to know what."

Aanya's eyes softened, confusion and fear battling inside her.

Why was he noticing so much?
Why did his voice sound like he actually cared?

She looked down, clutching the hidden note in her novel tighter.

It's nothing "Ishaan... I just... I remembered something," she whispered, trying to dodge.

He didn't buy it.

He bent a little, trying to catch her gaze.
"You're lying," he said quietly. "And you're terrible at it."

Aanya's heartbeat thudded painfully in her chest.

He stepped even closer, barely a foot between them now.

"If something or someone is bothering you..." he said, eyes locked on hers,
"...I need to know. Because it's only me who can bother you, mrs mehra." no one else."

Aanya's breath hitched.

This was the last thing she expected—
a hint of protectiveness yet cold in his voice.

Her fear didn't disappear... but it shifted.
Now mixed with confusion... and something warmer.

She looked away quickly, breaking the moment.

"I... I'm fine," she whispered.
"I just need some time alone."

Ishaan studied her for a long, silent moment.

Then he nodded slowly—but his eyes were still sharp, still searching.

"Okay," he said quietly.
"But I'm not done asking."

He turned to leave, but before he stepped out, he added in a low voice:

"If someone scared you, Aanya... I will find out."

And then he walked out.

Leaving Aanya standing there...
with the note hidden in her book...
and her heart pounding even harder.
Thank you for reading 
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Bye bye take care. ❤️