The rain poured like the heavens had cracked open, drenching the crowded streets of Mumbai. Umbrellas collided, rickshaws honked, and somewhere in the chaos, Anaya Verma clutched her tattered satchel like it was the last thread holding her life together.
She ducked under a bus stop shelter, soaked to the bone, her cotton kurta clinging to her skin. Her phone buzzed again—another call from the loan sharks. The fifth that day.
Her hands trembled as she hit "ignore." She knew what the voicemail would say. More threats. More deadlines. And less time.
"Miss Verma, this is your final warning. Pay the ₹5 lakhs by the 15th. Or your house won't be yours anymore."
Her vision blurred. Whether it was the rain or tears, she couldn't tell.
Her father had left them with nothing but debts and dignity. And now even the dignity was cracking.
She turned her head toward the street—and that's when she saw him.
A sleek, black Maybach glided to a stop across the road, cutting through the puddles like royalty through a crowd. The door opened with smooth precision, and out stepped a man dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, his presence silencing even the chaos around him.
He wasn't just rich. He was power.
Aarav Raichand.
The name itself was enough to make headlines. Billionaire. Business tycoon. CEO of Raichand Enterprises. Known for being brilliant in the boardroom and ice-cold everywhere else.
What was a man like him doing here—in this old part of the city?
She watched him stride through the puddles, unaffected by the rain. He entered a temple. One she had known since she was a child. The old Shakti Mandir, a place untouched by time or ambition.
Compelled by something she couldn't explain, Anaya followed, her sandals squelching with every step.
Inside, the scent of incense filled her senses, and for a moment, she felt like she had stepped out of reality.
At the altar stood Aarav, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
And next to him was Priest Vishwanath, the temple's head priest and a father figure to her since childhood.
"…so you agree?" the priest was saying. "You'll marry the girl I choose. No name, no background. Just trust that the goddess has chosen her."
Anaya's mouth parted in shock.
"I agree," Aarav said, voice clipped and emotionless. "As long as it's done today."
"Why the urgency, beta?" the priest asked gently.
"My grandfather's will," Aarav said, jaw tightening. "To claim my inheritance and retain the CEO position, I must be legally married by midnight tonight. Or everything goes to my cousin."
Vishwanath nodded solemnly. "Then you'll marry a girl the goddess leads to us today."
"She must not know who I am," Aarav said again. "This marriage is a formality. Nothing more."
Anaya stood frozen in the shadows.
A marriage? A real one?
Something flickered in the priest's eyes. He turned, and his gaze landed directly on her.
"Anaya," he said.
She took a step back. "Baba… I didn't mean to eavesdrop—"
"Come forward, child."
She approached slowly, her heart in her throat.
"Anaya, would you… accept a sacred request? One that could save your family?"
She blinked. "What are you asking me?"
"A marriage. A contract. Just one year. With him."
She stared at Aarav. His eyes met hers for the briefest second. Sharp. Unfeeling. He didn't even recognize her as a person—just a means to an end.
"You'll be taken care of," the priest said softly. "Your debts erased. Your mother's treatment covered. A new life."
Anaya's head spun. She could walk away now, go back to unpaid bills and broken hope.
Or… marry a billionaire stranger and change everything.
She took a deep breath. "One year?"
The priest nodded. "Just one."
"And he agrees?"
"I do," Aarav said.
She turned to him fully. "No questions about my past?"
"No interest," he said flatly.
"And after one year, you'll disappear from my life?"
"That's the plan."
Anaya looked down at her soaked sandals, her bruised palms from earlier today's fall, her trembling fingers.
Then she whispered, "Okay. I'll do it."
---
An hour later, the sacred fire flickered between them. The sound of chanting filled the temple as she sat beside a man she barely knew. The man who would be her husband for the next 365 days.
Garlands were exchanged.
The vermillion pressed to her forehead.
Aarav tied the mangalsutra around her neck without meeting her eyes.
"To have and to hold, until one year from today," Priest Vishwanath intoned.
Anaya swallowed the lump in her throat.
When it ended, Aarav rose, already reaching for his phone.
"Send the car to the back entrance," he muttered to someone on the line. "Yes. She's with me now."
Anaya stood slowly. The mangalsutra felt like a chain of diamonds and steel around her neck.
He turned to her for the first time, those cold eyes scanning her like a spreadsheet.
"I don't want questions. I don't want drama. You'll live at my estate. You'll follow my rules. And you'll keep your distance."
Anaya straightened. "Fine. I just want my family safe."
"Then we understand each other."
He turned to leave, but she called after him, "What should I call you?"
He paused. "Mr. Raichand. That's all."
She watched him disappear into the misty night, leaving her standing alone at the temple steps.
---
Outside, the rain had stopped. But a storm had just begun in her life.
She was no longer Anaya Verma, struggling florist from the slums.
She was Mrs. Aarav Raichand—the billionaire's accidental bride.
And tomorrow, she would wake up in a palace with a stranger.