The air in the executive suite didn't just feel cold; it felt thin, as if Asher had sucked all the oxygen out of the room the moment the marriage license was stamped. Rowon remained rooted to the spot, his hands still shoved deep in his pockets, his gaze vibrating with a silent, jagged fury as he stared at his brother.
Asher finally turned away from the door, his expression unbothered, almost serene. He caught Rowon's burning glare and met it with a slow, devastatingly casual smirk.
"Dramatic, wasn't it?" Asher mused, his voice smooth as polished glass. "I almost expected you to throw rose petals, Rowon. You really missed your calling in the theater."
Rowon didn't laugh. His jaw tightened until the bone looked ready to snap. He took a step toward the desk, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low vibrato.
"You think this is a performance?" Rowon hissed, gesturing sharply toward Kaya, who still stood like a ghost in white silk.
"Look at her, Asher. Look at her face. All the expensive makeup in the world can't hide the fact that you've hollowed her out. Look at her eyes—there's nothing left but salt and silence. And you, the sole architect of this wreckage, have the audacity to call me dramatic? You're not a groom, brother. You're a monster in a custom-tailored suit."
Asher didn't flinch. Instead, he threw his head back and laughed—a rich, melodic sound that felt like a physical insult to the misery in the room. It was a laugh of pure, mocking derision.
"Good God," Asher said, wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye.
"The two of you truly are soulmates in sentimentality. Your shared flair for the tragic perfectly justifies why you're best friends. It's almost poetic."
Rowon shot him a look of pure loathing. "Is destroying her life just a punchline to you?"
Asher stopped laughing, his eyes turning into chips of ice. "What is wrong with everyone today? I make a joke, and suddenly I'm the villain of a Victorian novel. I've destroyed nothing, Rowon. I've simply made... arrangements."
He walked behind his desk, leaning forward on his palms, his shadow stretching across the documents. "I was facing a lifetime of domestic imprisonment—a cage built by the board and the press. Marrying her wasn't a crime; it was a strategic exit. I chose the only path that kept me sane. You know that better than anyone."
"But why her?" Rowon's voice cracked with frustration. "Why Kaya?"
"Why not Kaya?" Asher countered, his voice snapping like a whip.
"She knows my coffee, my schedule, and my darkest secrets. She is the only person on this planet who can navigate the minefield of my life without detonating. She isn't just the perfect assistant anymore; she is the only logical choice for a wife."
Rowon opened his mouth to roar back, his face flushing with anger, but he felt a cold, trembling hand slip into his.
He looked down. Kaya was holding his hand, her grip weak but firm enough to pull him back. She didn't speak, but her expression told the whole story: Don't. It's useless. You're shouting at a stone wall.
Asher's eyes dropped to their joined hands, and his expression darkened instantly. A flicker of something primal and jealous crossed his face before he masked it with a sneer.
"Oh? So you've found your 'Kaya Kapoor energy' for him, have you?" Asher stepped around the desk, his presence looming over them.
"For Rowon, you're a supportive friend. But for me—for your husband—you've been playing the part of a corpse since the sun came up. Which is it, Kaya? Are you a woman or a statue?"
Kaya finally looked at him, her voice sounding like it was being dragged over gravel.
"You did this, Asher," she whispered, her eyes finally meeting his with a chilling, dead intensity. "You didn't ask for a wife; you asked for a shadow. You wanted someone you could own, someone who wouldn't breathe unless you gave the order. So, congratulations. You got exactly what you paid for. I am dead because you killed the person I used to be the moment you handed me that pen. Don't complain about the silence when you're the one who cut out my tongue."
"Enough of this nonsense!" Asher barked, his patience finally snapping. He looked from Kaya's pale face to Rowon's disgusted glare and sighed, smoothing his tie with a sharp, dismissive motion.
"Both of you, stop the theatrics. I haven't 'trapped' anyone in a dungeon."
He paused, a cold, calculated smile returning to his lips as he dropped the final, devastating truth.
"This isn't some eternal tragedy. It's a Contract Marriage."
The silence that followed was absolute. Rowon froze, his hand still in Kaya's, as they both stared at Asher in paralyzed shock. The word 'contract' hung in the air like a guillotine blade, changing everything they thought they knew about the nightmare they had just entered
The silence in the office shifted from a burial shroud to a cold, clinical boardroom atmosphere as the word "Contract" hung in the air.
Rowon was the first to find his voice, though it was hollow with disbelief. "What the hell do you mean by that, Asher? You just signed legal documents in front of state officers. What 'contract' could possibly override a marriage license?"
Asher leaned back against the edge of his mahogany desk, crossing his ankles with a maddeningly relaxed posture. He looked at Rowon as if he were explaining basic arithmetic to a slow child.
"Good God, Rowon, do I need to buy you a dictionary? Or did you skip every English lecture to go clubbing? I mean exactly what the word implies,"
Asher drawled, his voice dripping with condescending sarcasm. "A mutual arrangement. A strategic alliance. A piece of paper that satisfies the board's hunger for a 'stable family man' while keeping my actual life exactly as it was before this morning."
He turned his gaze toward Kaya, then back to Rowon, his smirk sharpening. "Don't look at me like I've just grown a second head, brother. And you, 'Wifey'—stop staring at me with those wide, tragic eyes. It's bad for your complexion."
"Let me simplify this for your fragile sensibilities," Asher continued, pacing the length of the rug.
"This is a marriage on paper, not in practice. For my family, she is the new Mrs. Sinclair. But behind these doors? She is still exactly who she was five days ago. She is free to live her life exactly as she wants, without a single ounce of interference from me. I don't want a domestic life, Rowon, and I certainly don't want a traditional bride. In a few years—once the family is satisfied and the pressure is off—I might even be generous enough to set her free."
The tension in Rowon's shoulders snapped. A massive, shuddering breath of relief escaped him. If it was just a contract—if there was an expiration date on this nightmare—then Kaya wasn't buried alive. She was just in waiting.
"You absolute bastard," Rowon breathed, but this time, the venom was gone, replaced by a rough, shaky laugh of relief.
"I always knew you were a cold-hearted monster, Asher, but I should have known you wouldn't actually destroy her—or my peace of mind—that permanently. You nearly gave me a heart attack!"
In a rare burst of emotion, Rowon stepped forward and threw his arms around his brother in a brief, bone-crushing hug.
Asher stood rigid for exactly one second before peeling Rowon's arms off him with a look of profound physical disgust.
"Enough. You're wrinkling the suit, and I have a merger to oversee. Go back to your office before I decide to make your salary a 'contract' arrangement too."
He then turned his attention to Kaya, who was still reeling, her mind a chaotic blur of the trauma of the last four days and the sudden, confusing pivot Asher had just made.
"As for you, Kaya," Asher said, his voice dropping into that familiar, teasing silk. "Go home. Take the rest of the day to mourn your 'lost freedom' or whatever drama you've got planned. But don't get too comfortable. You've already had quite the vacation, haven't you? Four days of 'personal leave' is more than enough for a lifetime. I expect you back at your desk tomorrow morning, sharp at 8:00 AM."
He stepped closer, a predatory glint returning to his eyes.
"And don't even think about asking for another day off. You're officially banned from taking leave for the next year. Consider it your first 'marital duty' to be at my beck and call."
Kaya didn't answer. She couldn't. Her brain felt like it was short-circuiting. She needed air. She needed to be away from the scent of his cologne and the suffocating weight of his presence. She turned toward the door, her movements robotic, and Rowon followed closely behind, eager to get her out of there.
She reached for the heavy brass handle, her fingers trembling as she prepared to finally breathe outside that glass cage.
"Kaya?"
Asher's voice stopped her cold. It wasn't loud, but it held a strange, indirect weight that made her spine stiffen. She didn't turn around.
"I told you I wouldn't involve myself in your life," he said, his voice echoing softly against the glass walls. "And I meant it. But as you walk out that door, do not—for one single second—forget that you are leaving as a Sinclair. You may be free, but you are mine on paper. Act accordingly."
Kaya didn't wait for another word. She pushed the door open and vanished into the hallway, the sound of her heels clicking frantically against the marble floor as Rowon hurried after her.