MARRY ME
I instructed my driver to head straight to our family lawyer’s office. This hospital problem was finally over.
Now all that remained was the far more irritating one—my grandfather’s legal statement, written just before his death.
That man.
Even after leaving this world, that sick old man still knew how to get on my nerves.
I could claim my share of the property only if I got married.
He knew—he knew—that marriage was the last thing I would ever choose. I would rather end my life as a monk than share it with someone. And yet, he had planned this beautifully twisted masterpiece.
He also knew something else.
That I would do anything for money.
I leaned back against the seat, exhaling sharply.
Where was I supposed to find a groom now?
And not just any man—but someone who could tolerate my attitude… and survive my beauty.
The car came to a halt, and I stepped out, signaling my secretary and bodyguards to stay back. This was confidential—too confidential.
I walked into his office and knocked once.
“Come in,” his voice called.
As I entered, the old man—our family lawyer and my grandfather’s dear friend—looked up and smiled.
“Come in, Vivi,” he said warmly.
I took the chair across from him, settling in with crossed arms.
“I need to know the details of my grandfather’s statement,” I said bluntly.
He nodded. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Can we just do what I came here for?” I snapped, irritation seeping through.
Knowing my personality all too well, he simply nodded. “Alright.”
He raised an eyebrow, pulled out a file, and flipped through it leisurely.
“To claim your share of the properties,” he said, adjusting his glasses, “you must get married.”
I sighed. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”
“You must live with your husband for at least one year after the marriage,” he continued.
My eyes widened.
“What the fuck?” I shot up from my seat.
I had planned it perfectly—marry, transfer the property to my name, then divorce. Clean. Efficient.
But this?
Living with a man for an entire year.
A man.
I couldn’t. I would never.
They say not all men are the same—but somehow, every man proves they are.
“Calm down, Vivi,” he said, far too amused for my liking.
I clenched my jaw. He was enjoying this.
“Proceed,” I said through gritted teeth.
He nodded and continued reading.
“You will have no rights to the family properties—or even your personal funds—until one year of marriage is completed.”
I dropped back into the chair.
“Don’t joke,” I said with a hollow chuckle.
He shook his head. “I’m not joking, Vivi.”
I wanted to punch his smug face.
“How am I supposed to live without a single penny for an entire year?” I snapped. “I can’t imagine depending on anyone.”
“Not anyone,” he corrected calmly. “Your husband.”
I scoffed. “I’m not like your wife—tolerating your toxicity and dominance.”
He merely shrugged. “She likes being a housewife.”
“Say whatever helps you sleep at night,” I rolled my eyes.
“You should live with him… I mean, in his house,” he added. “For a whole year.”
A whole year.
In a man’s house.
“And,” he continued, flipping a page, “the groom you choose must not have an annual income exceeding five lakhs.”
“Eh?” I blurted out. “Even my watch costs two crores.” I lifted my wrist, shoving it in his face.
He barely looked at it. Instead, he adjusted his glasses and glanced back at the file.
“My watch costs three hundred and fifty,” he said calmly. “It shows the same time.”
I scoffed, leaning back in my chair.
“That’s all? Nothing more?” I asked.
He placed the file back on the table and shook his head.
Nothing more.
Living with a man for an entire year.
I couldn’t even choose a rich groom—someone I could later bribe into a quiet divorce with a business partnership. No. It had to be a poor man, with an annual income not exceeding five lakhs.
I dragged a hand down my face. I was genuinely losing my sanity.
“This is meant to be a life lesson for you, Vivi,” he said gently.
“Your grandfather was worried about you—even while he was dying.”
I laughed bitterly. “If he truly cared about me, he wouldn’t have written all this nonsense.”
My voice sharpened. “Vihaan has no restrictions when it comes to claiming his property. So why only me? Just because I’m a girl?”
He shook his head slowly. “He did this because he cares about you.”
“You believe money is everything,” he continued. “And that belief can lead you down the wrong path. Try to understand that.”
He leaned back slightly. “When you die, your money won’t mourn you. The people who love you will.”
I met his gaze without flinching.
“A coffin to bury me can be bought with the money I have,” I said coldly. “Not with the tears people shed.”
“Talking to you feels like talking to a wall,” he said, exasperated.
“Even that wall wouldn’t listen to your advice,” I shot back as I stood up.
Now I had to choose a groom.
And live with him for an entire year—under the same roof. In his house.
I walked to the door, then paused and turned back to look at him.
“What happens if I don’t do any of this?” I asked flatly.
“Then no property,” he replied. “No money will be yours.”
I clicked my tongue in irritation, yanked the door open, and walked out.
Where was I supposed to find a poor man—fragile enough to obey me and foolish enough to agree to marry me?
I slid into the back seat of the car, staring out the window as the door shut.
This wasn’t marriage.
It was a punishment.
.....
ADITHYA MENON
It’s been hours since she left the house, yet terror still clings to every corner of it.
My grandparents returned from the temple not long ago. The moment they heard what had happened, their faces drained of color. Faith hadn’t prepared them for this.
My mother broke down—not with tears at first, but with anger. She scolded me relentlessly, asking why I had done something so foolish. Why I thought it was my responsibility to seek justice for people I didn’t even know.
I had no answers for her.
I leaned my head against the wall, exhaustion weighing me down like a curse. My sister clung to me, sobbing into my chest, her arms wrapped around me as if letting go would make everything fall apart.
I held her tightly, staring at nothing.
I didn’t regret what I did.
But for the first time, I was terrified of what it might cost the people I loved.
So this was the price of being humane—of standing against injustice.
Pain.
Tears streamed down my face before I could stop them.
My father came closer and patted my shoulder gently, then sat down in front of me so I couldn’t look away.
“Take this as a life lesson, Adithya,” he said softly.
I let out a broken laugh, my eyes burning.
“What kind of lesson, pa?”
My voice cracked as the words spilled out.
“A lesson to never think good for innocent people?” I said, tears welling up again.
“They killed seven people, pa,” I said, my voice breaking halfway through. “Seven people. Seven families lost the ones they loved.”
The words felt too heavy to exist in the same room as us.
My grandmother wiped her tears with the edge of her saree and shook her head slowly.
“Is she really a woman?” she asked, her voice trembling with disbelief. “Such a heartless person…”
I looked at her, my chest aching.
“I thought only her brother was like that,” I said bitterly. “But no. Their whole family is the same.”
My hands clenched into fists.
“I don’t understand how they can eat their food peacefully,” I continued, my voice low and shaking, “knowing they’ve destroyed so many lives.”
The phone rang suddenly.
I flinched, my heart jolting at the sharp sound.
My grandfather picked it up first, glanced at the screen, then handed it to me.
I wiped my sweaty palms against my shirt, brushing away the tears clinging to my lashes as I looked at the caller ID.
Unknown number.
I let out a shaky breath and answered, pressing the phone to my ear.
“Hello, Mr. Justice Saviour.”
The voice slid through me like poison—smooth, mocking. Disgust and an inexplicable chill ran down my spine.
My family turned to look at me instantly, their faces tight with worry.
I stood up at once.
“Nothing, ma. Just a normal call,” I lied, forcing steadiness into my voice.
I walked away before they could question me, my steps carrying me to the terrace. The night air hit my face, but it didn’t calm the storm inside me.
“You have to do me a favour,” that woman said again—cold, entitled.
My fingers tightened around the phone. They were trembling now.
“W-what?” I asked, my voice barely holding.
There was a pause. Deliberate. Cruel.
“Marry me.”
My breath caught. My eyes widened as if they could no longer comprehend what I was hearing. The city lights blurred, my heartbeat thundering so loudly it drowned out everything else.
Marry her.
The woman who had broken me.
The woman who had threatened my family.
The woman who had turned justice into a joke.
I stood frozen under the open sky, the phone burning against my ear.
“No. Never,” I said, the word tearing out of my chest before I could stop it.
She laughed softly on the other end.
“Oh, my dear fiancé,” she replied, her tone almost amused. “I’m not asking for your permission. I’m simply informing you.”
I dragged a hand down my face, my breath uneven, my mind spiraling.
“I won’t,” I said again, weaker this time. “Why are you even marrying me?”
The question stumbled out, broken, confused. “Why me?”
There was a pause.
Long. Heavy. Intentional.
“Because you fit all the boxes,” she said coolly. “You’re poor. And hopefully, your annual income doesn’t exceed five lakhs.”
Her words barely registered.
A woman like her—rich beyond limits—wanted a man who had nothing?
I let out a shaky breath. “This isn’t some joke,” I said, my voice trembling despite myself.
“You should find someone who would lick your feet for your goddamn money.”
I was about to end the call. My thumb hovered over the screen.
Then she spoke again.
“You have a sister… a mother… and an old father.”
Her tone changed—mockingly gentle, falsely sympathetic.
My heart stopped.
The air felt too thin to breathe. My fingers went numb, the phone slipping slightly in my grip. Images of my family flashed through my mind—my sister’s tear-streaked face, my mother’s shaking hands, my father’s tired eyes.
“You don’t have to worry,” she continued softly. “As long as you behave.”
My throat closed.
This wasn’t a proposal.
It was a threat wrapped in silk.
“My family has nothing to do with this,” I said, my voice shaking but firm. “Nothing.”
I swallowed hard, forcing the words out before fear could choke them again.
“What do you actually want from me?” I asked. “You wanted the case withdrawn—and I did that. Isn’t that enough?”
My chest tightened.
“Now this?” I continued, almost pleading despite myself. “Just… leave me alone. I won’t interfere in your path again. I swear.”
There was silence on the other end.
Then she laughed. Not loud—soft. Controlled. Dangerous.
My heart sank.
"Just one year. Then you can go back to your insignificant life."
Anger flared through the fear.
“You can’t force someone into marriage,” I said hoarsely. “That’s not power. That’s illegal.”
She hummed thoughtfully.
“Power decides what illegal is,” she said. “And right now, I have all of it.”
My throat burned.
“You have two choices,” she went on. “Marry me—or keep fighting a war you can’t win, while praying your family doesn’t pay the price.”
I closed my eyes, the weight of her words crushing my chest.
“One year?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
“Of course,” she replied calmly. “One year.”
I looked up at the sky, the dark clouds hanging heavy above me.
Was this some goddamn dream?
I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping—praying—that when I opened them, everything would be normal again. That I’d be back to a world where doing the right thing didn’t come with a price this cruel.
Why did I do it?
Why did I decide to help those seven families?
Seven families who deserved justice.
Seven lives that mattered.
And yet… it was my fault now.
My fault that my own family was living in fear.
She was threatening me—with them.
My chest tightened, pain spreading like poison.
Is she even human? I wondered. Or just something hollow, dressed in wealth and power, walking around without a conscience?
I pressed my forehead against the cold railing, my breath coming out uneven.
If I say no, my family suffers.
If I say yes, I lose myself.
Either way, I was already paying for a crime I never committed.
The sky didn’t answer.
God didn’t answer.
And for the first time in my life, I understood something terrifying—
Doing the right thing doesn’t always save you.
Sometimes, it just breaks you.
“I will kill your family if you refuse,” she said, her voice steady—as if she were discussing the weather.
My world stopped.
Tears spilled down my face before I could stop them, blurring everything. My chest constricted so tightly it felt like I couldn’t breathe.
“Are you out of your mind?” I shouted into the phone, my voice breaking, raw with panic and rage. “Don’t you dare lay a finger on my family.”
My hands shook violently.
“You think you’re powerful? You fucking bitch” I screamed. “You think this makes you strong?”
My words came out tangled, furious, desperate.
“If anything happens to them,” I said, my voice cracking under the weight of terror, “I swear—you will pay.”
There was silence on the other end.
Not fear.
Not hesitation.
Just calm.
“Get a grip, mister,” she chuckled lightly.
“I’m not compelling you. If you say no, I won’t do anything.”
She paused—just long enough for hope to flicker.
“You’ll be the reason your family suffers,” she finished calmly.
My breath hitched.
That single sentence crushed whatever was left of me.
I shut my eyes tight, forcing myself to breathe—to think. Anger wouldn’t save them. Pride wouldn’t save them. Only restraint might.
My voice broke when I spoke again.
“Please,” I whispered. “Don’t do this.”
The word tasted bitter on my tongue.
“I beg you… don’t hurt my family.”
My legs gave up. I slid down onto the cold terrace floor, my back against the wall, the phone shaking in my hand.
“I’m middle class,” I said, my voice trembling, tears spilling freely now. “I have nothing powerful like you. No money. No influence.”
I swallowed hard, my chest aching.
“But my family… they are my strength. They’re all I have.”
A sob tore out of me.
“Please,” I cried. “Do anything to me. I’ll accept it. I’ll bear it.”
“But don’t harm them. Please… not them.”
The night air carried my broken pleas into the silence.
And somewhere deep inside, I felt it—
the last piece of my dignity slipping away,
as love for my family finally defeated everything else.
“Just marry me,” she said calmly. “And I won’t even think about your family.”
I wiped my tears with the back of my hand, my chest still heaving.
One year.
Just one year.
My mind replayed her words again and again, clinging to them like a lifeline.
“Are you… are you saying the truth?” I asked, my voice small, afraid to hope.
She hummed softly. A sound so casual it made my stomach twist.
“Of course.”
Silence stretched between us.
I looked up at the sky once more—the same sky that had watched me fight, beg, and finally fall apart. Maybe this was my punishment. Or maybe this was the only way left to protect them.
My grip on the phone tightened.
“O-okay,” I said at last, my voice barely holding together.
“I will marry you.”
The words tasted like surrender.
“Good,” she replied, satisfaction lacing her tone. “I’ll have my people contact you with the details. Don’t worry—I take care of what’s mine.”
The call ended.
I stayed there on the terrace floor, the phone resting limply in my hand, tears silently streaming down my face.
I hadn’t chosen this marriage.
I hadn’t chosen this life.
I had chosen my family.
And somewhere deep inside, I knew—
this one year was going to change me in ways I might never recover from.