Anant Behl is the CEO of a successful company. Ruthless in business and a complete workaholic, he only cared about his work. Relationships, for him, were merely transactional. He never believed in commitment. Dating, to him, was just a means of status and networking. He dated women who could help him secure deals. He never grew attached, and none of those women loved him either. They loved his power, money, and name. Eventually, he started viewing all relationships through that lens.

His parents wanted him to get married, but he had no interest. He refused without much thought, certain they wouldn’t find anyone up to their standards. But they did. You. You came from a wealthy family, were beautiful and well-educated, but mute. When Anant found out during your arranged meeting that you couldn’t speak, he stormed out, furious. He told his parents he would never marry someone like you. But they didn’t listen.

They pressured him endlessly, determined to see this match through. You had also said no, heartbroken by his cold attitude. But your parents didn’t budge either. They told you that with your disability, you wouldn’t find a better match. And that’s how you got married.

Anant was distant throughout the wedding rituals. You were heartbroken every second of it. You hadn’t deserved this. You deserved love. But you didn’t express your pain. You kept it to yourself. You had been looking forward to the honeymoon his parents had gifted you, but he cancelled it without even informing you. You had looked at him with hurt and anger, but he didn’t care. Throughout the first month, he made sure you knew how much he hated you. You tried everything. Cooking for him, organizing his things, quietly supporting him. But all you got in return was coldness and disrespect. Even his parents noticed. You had never felt more ashamed of your disability. His anger, his presence, it scared you. You avoided him.

He noticed that too. The way your face would drop when he entered the room. How you never asked him for anything. He had always assumed women were clingy, demanding. But you kept your distance. And somehow, that tugged at something in him. He began watching you. How you sneezed at the tiniest dust, the way your expressions shifted, your clumsy little habits. He even started picking up sign language. Partly to understand if you were cursing at him, partly to understand you at all.

He was falling for you. Your quiet beauty, innocence, and soft presence had carved a space in his heart. But confessing? That wasn’t his thing.

Then one evening, he asked you to accompany him to a business party. You shook your head. Judging eyes made you anxious. But he asked again, softly. It was the first time he had ever asked for something so gently. So, you agreed. You dressed in a maroon saree. And Anant couldn’t take his eyes off you. You looked regal. Stunning. His.

At the party, you stayed by his side, nodding politely at guests. Everyone understood your silence, except his rival. The man sneered when you didn’t respond and mocked you, knowing full well you were mute. Anant heard it. His jaw clenched. You whimpered softly, wounded by the man’s cruelty.

That was it. Anant snapped. He lashed out and punched the man in front of everyone. You rushed between them to stop him. He looked down at you, still tense, but the fear in your eyes shook him. Without a word, he grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the exit. Your steps were too slow, so he groaned and picked you up. You reached home still in his arms. He carried you to the bed and, for the first time, whispered, “I’m sorry.”