The ticking of the antique grandfather clock in the corner was the only sound in the room.

It was nearly 9:00 a.m., and the headquarters of Rana Global Industries was already alive with hushed whispers and the hurried shuffle of high heels against polished marble.

Everyone knew—when she was in the building, even the air felt colder.

Anaya Rana, thirty years old, CEO, heir to one of the country’s most influential families, and the woman who had made grown men stutter during board meetings, sat behind a glass desk in her corner office. Her posture was perfect, her black hair swept into a sleek bun, her crisp white blouse paired with a charcoal blazer.

There was no smile on her face. There never was.

Her sharp almond eyes scanned the financial reports in front of her as though she were dissecting a prey. A thin gold pen tapped rhythmically against the glass table—a subtle warning to the junior executive trembling in the seat across from her.

“Your projections are wrong,” Anaya said flatly, her voice cool as ice. “You’ve overestimated by twelve percent. You think investors won’t notice? They will. And they will eat you alive.”

“I-I’ll redo them, ma’am,” the man stammered, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously.

“Not redo. Perfect,” she corrected, her gaze slicing through him. “You have two hours.”

The man scrambled out of the office as if his life depended on it.

Anaya exhaled slowly, turning her chair toward the massive floor-to-ceiling window. The city stretched below, tiny cars moving like ants. Everything about her life was controlled, precise, powerful. She had spent years building walls around herself—walls so high no one dared to climb.

Love?

She didn’t believe in it.

Not after what she’d seen growing up.

Her father, a respected businessman, had married for love, only for her mother to leave when she was eight—choosing a younger man and a different life over her husband and child. Her father had never recovered. He drowned himself in work, leaving Anaya to raise herself emotionally.

From then on, she had sworn: Never depend on anyone emotionally. Never let feelings control you.

And yet—despite her resistance—her family had been pressuring her into marriage. For years, she had refused every suitor, every proposal. But now, her father was sick, his voice weak when he spoke to her a week ago.

“Anaya… before I go, I want to see you settled,” he had whispered from his hospital bed. “Your elder brother, Arnav… he’s the right choice. You two… you’ll make a good pair.”

It wasn’t romantic—it was arranged. Arnav was her cousin, a sensible and responsible man. He was someone she could trust to manage family matters without drama. It was a merger, not a love story.

So, for her father’s sake, she had agreed.

The wedding was set. The media buzzed about “The Cold CEO’s Marriage.” Luxury designers sent dresses, jewelers offered priceless diamonds. The guest list read like the who’s who of politics and business.

It was to be the perfect, emotionless union she could live with.

---

Three days later – Wedding Day

The private family estate was transformed into a dream. Crystal chandeliers hung from white canopies, orchids lined the aisle, and gold lanterns cast a warm glow over the marble floors.

Anaya sat in the bridal room, her makeup flawless, her lehenga a deep crimson embroidered with gold thread. She looked like royalty—and she felt nothing.

Her maid, Ritu, fussed with the veil. “Ma’am, you look stunning. Every girl would kill to be in your place.”

Anaya’s lips curved in the ghost of a smirk. “Then they’re welcome to take my seat.”

Ritu laughed nervously, thinking it was a joke.

A knock came at the door. Her younger cousin, Priya, poked her head in, looking flustered.

“Uh… Di…” she began hesitantly.

“What is it?” Anaya’s tone was calm, but her eyes sharpened instantly.

“It’s… um… Arnav Bhai… he’s… uh…”

Anaya rose to her full height. “Spit it out.”

Priya gulped. “He’s gone.”

For the first time in years, Anaya’s heartbeat skipped. “Gone?”

“He… left. I don’t know where. He took his car and just… left. No one knows why.”

The bridal room felt colder than usual. Outside, the sounds of the guests mingling became a distant hum in her ears.

Anaya’s mind ran like clockwork—anger, calculation, damage control. Scandal was not an option. The family name could not be humiliated in front of hundreds of guests and the press.

“Where is my uncle?” she demanded.

“In the main hall. Everyone’s panicking.”

---

Anaya walked out, her heels clicking like gunshots against the marble. In the main hall, her uncle—Arnav’s father—looked pale and frantic.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice low but dangerous.

“I… I don’t know,” he stammered. “He said he couldn’t do it. He said he needed to… find himself.”

Anaya’s jaw tightened. “Find himself? On my wedding day?”

Her uncle wrung his hands. “Anaya, the guests… the media… if this gets out—”

“It won’t,” she cut him off sharply. “Do you have another son?”

The words left her mouth without hesitation—pure strategic instinct.

Her uncle blinked. “Well… yes, but… Aarav is…”

Before he could finish, a tall young man entered the hall. He was dressed casually in jeans and a cartoon-print t-shirt, holding a balloon in one hand and a juice box in the other.

“Papa!” he grinned, walking over. “Why is everyone so serious? Is it a game?”

This was Aarav—her uncle’s younger son. Twenty-seven years old in body, but mentally like a seven-year-old child. His eyes were bright, his smile wide, his innocence almost disarming.

“Aarav,” his father said nervously, “how about… you wear something nice today? Like… a sherwani?”

“Sherwani?” Aarav tilted his head. “Will I get ice cream if I wear it?”

“Yes,” his father promised immediately.

“Okay!” Aarav said cheerfully.

Anaya watched the scene in silence. In any other situation, she would have dismissed the absurdity. But now—this was the only way to save the family from humiliation. The guests wouldn’t know. The media wouldn’t guess.

“Aarav,” she said, stepping forward.

He looked at her with wide eyes. “Hi! You look like a princess. Are you the birthday girl?”

Anaya’s lips almost twitched. “Something like that. How would you like to play a game with me?”

“A game?” His face lit up.

“Yes. You just have to stand next to me, wear nice clothes, and smile. Can you do that?”

“Yes! Will I win a prize?”

“You’ll get all the ice cream you want,” she said.

“Yay!” he clapped.

Her uncle looked at her, torn between relief and worry. “Anaya… are you sure?”

“I am,” she said firmly. “Get him ready. We’re getting married.”

And just like that, the course of her life shifted—not with love, but with an act of cold calculation

.

What she didn’t know… was that this innocent, childlike man would slowly melt the ice around her heart, one clumsy smile at a time.