My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. The sheer absurdity and terror of the situation left me speechless. Paralyzed? Resentful invalid? The man hovering over me was a predator in a tailored wedding achkan.
“I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I gasped, tears of genuine terror welling up in my eyes. “My father… his debts… my stepmother forced me! I don’t know any cartel!“
Arnav kept the weapon pressed against my skin for three agonizing seconds. He was looking for a tell—a twitch of the eye, a tremor in the jaw, the calculated panic of an assassin. But all he found was a terrified 24-year-old girl who had just realized she had married a ghost.
Slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased, though the cold alertness in his eyes never faded. He engaged the safety of the pistol with a sharp click and slid it back into his holster. In one smooth movement, he stood up. He didn’t stumble. He didn’t sway. He stood tall, well over six feet, possessing a commanding physical presence that filled the entire room.
He walked over to the heavy oak windows, peering through a small gap in the velvet curtains out into the dark, sprawling courtyards of the Mexican estate.
“Get up,” he ordered quietly, without looking back. “And smooth out your dress. If anyone looks through that keyhole, we need to look like we are experiencing a marriage, not an interrogation.“
I scrambled to my feet, my hands shaking so violently I could barely smooth down the rumpled silk of my bridal sari. My mind was spinning at a million miles an hour. Jaipur. Mexico. A car accident. A five-year lie.
