Candles flickered on every surface. A four-poster bed draped in crimson silk dominated the center.
Arnav remained in his wheelchair near the window. Moonlight carved sharp shadows across his sharp jawline.
I stood awkwardly by the door. “I… I can help you to the bed if you want.”
He turned his head slowly. “No need. I can manage.”
His voice was low, controlled, edged with something I couldn’t name. I nodded and looked away.
But then I saw it—his shoulders tensed, his hands gripped the armrests too tightly. A small tremor ran through his frame.
Instinct took over. I stepped forward.
“Let me just—” I reached under his arms to lift him.
He stiffened. “Aarohi, don’t—”
Too late. My grip slipped on the silk of his sherwani.
We toppled together. He landed on his back on the thick carpet. I fell across his chest.
My palms pressed against his solid shoulders. My face hovered inches from his.
Time stopped. The room was utterly silent except for our breathing.
And that was when I felt it. Strong, rhythmic thumps beneath my right hand.
A heartbeat. Fast. Powerful. Alive.
My eyes widened. I shifted slightly—and felt the unmistakable flex of muscle under my palm.
Legs that were supposed to be useless shifted beneath me. Not much. Just enough.
Just enough to prove everything I had been told was a lie.
I froze. He froze.
For several long seconds neither of us moved. Then Arnav’s hand came up—slowly—and wrapped around my wrist.
Not hard. Not threatening. Just firm.
His voice came out quieter than before. “You weren’t supposed to find out like this.”
I stared into his eyes. They were no longer cold. They were guarded. Almost… vulnerable.
“You can walk?” I whispered. A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“I’ve been able to walk for almost two years.” His thumb brushed the inside of my wrist—barely a touch.
“The paralysis was real at first. Then physical therapy worked better than the doctors predicted.”
“But my family…” He exhaled sharply.
“They decided a ‘helpless’ heir was easier to control. A tragic figure draws sympathy. A recovered man draws scrutiny.”
“They wanted me married off quickly—before anyone discovered the truth.” His gaze searched mine.
“And you… you were supposed to be the perfect cover. Quiet. Obedient. Unlikely to ask questions.”
I felt heat rise in my cheeks. “So I was just… a prop?”
“At first.” He didn’t look away.
“But then I saw your eyes during the pheras. You weren’t afraid of me. You were afraid for your father.”
“You were sacrificing yourself.” His voice softened.
“I’ve spent five years surrounded by people who want something from me. You were the first person who looked like you were giving something up.”
I swallowed hard. My heart hammered against my ribs.
Slowly—carefully—I pushed myself up. He let me go.
I sat back on my heels. He sat up too, legs bending naturally.
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