Karna's Heir - Chapter 12

Chapter 12: The Deal and The Friend

Aryan felt like he’d been hit by a metaphorical truck, one driven by a stunningly beautiful woman with a penchant for dropping life-altering bombshells as casually as one might order a coffee.

“Temporary husband?” He echoed the words, tasting their absurdity. “Lady, I think the fumes from whatever high-octane fuel your luxury vehicle runs on have finally permeated your brain. Or mine. Possibly both.”

Ananya, however, looked completely unfazed by his incredulity. Her honey-colored eyes remained fixed on him, serious and unwavering. The streetlights cast complex shadows on her face, highlighting the aristocratic planes of her cheekbones and the determined set of her jaw. The earlier vulnerability he’d glimpsed was now carefully shielded, replaced by a pragmatic, almost impatient resolve.

“It is not a jest, nor am I insane,” she stated, her voice cool and precise, each word carefully enunciated as if explaining a complex theorem to a particularly slow student. “My situation is… delicate. And desperate.”

“Delicate and desperate,” Aryan repeated, a humorless laugh bubbling in his chest. “Join the club. We don’t have jackets, but we do have a pervasive sense of impending doom. So, what makes your brand of ‘delicate and desperate’ require a… a stand-in spouse who looks like he’s been sleeping in a skip?”

She took a small step closer, lowering her voice slightly, though her regal posture remained undiminished. “My family,” she began, “is… traditional. Extremely so. Think centuries of unbending customs, iron-clad expectations, and a belief that a daughter’s purpose is to forge alliances and perpetuate the lineage.”

“Fixed marriage at birth?” Aryan interjected.

“Wow, that’s some impressively old-school commitment. Did they also pick out your favorite color and your first pet while they were at it? My parents just settled for being vaguely disappointed in my career choices before, you know…” He trailed off, the reminder of his own death a familiar, unwelcome chill.

Ananya’s lips thinned at his flippancy, but she pressed on. “My marriage was arranged, yes. Decided upon when I was an infant, to unite two prominent families. A dynastic imperative, they call it.” She said the words with a quiet, bitter disdain that resonated with Aryan’s own aversion to being controlled. “The… gentleman in question is someone I find entirely unsuitable. Repugnant, in fact.” She didn’t elaborate on why he was repugnant, but her tone left no doubt as to the strength of her feeling. “And the time for this union is fast approaching. My parents are unyielding. My protests are dismissed as childish rebellion.”

“So, I’m the wrench you want to throw in these well-oiled dynastic gears?” Aryan asked, starting to piece together the audacious, almost theatrical, outline of her plan. “You present me, Mr. Unsuitable-in-Every-Possible-Way, as your… what? Your lawfully wedded act of defiance? Hoping they’ll be so appalled they’ll call off the original horror show?”

“Precisely,” Ananya confirmed, a flicker of something – perhaps grudging respect for his quick grasp – in her eyes. “A temporary husband. Someone so clearly outside their sphere of influence, so… unexpected, that it creates a scandal, a delay. Buys me time to find another solution, or for them to reconsider.”

Aryan leaned against the cool brick wall of the building behind him, the rough surface a contrast to Ananya’s silken presence. The small, carved wooden chest Ajay had hidden, still tucked in his waistband, felt like a hard, uncomfortable secret. He thought of Shetty, of the Collectors, of the unkillable nature of his new body. His life was already a maelstrom of deadly secrets and impossible powers. What was one more layer of insanity?

But his engineer’s mind, always looking for the catch, the flaw in the design, kicked in. “And what’s in it for me?” he asked, his voice laced with a healthy dose of skepticism. “Besides the dubious honor of being your temporary arm candy for angry, powerful relatives, and presumably getting disowned, dismembered, or both, when they find out it’s a sham?” He rubbed his chin, the stubble rough under Ajay’s calloused fingers. “This smells suspiciously like fraud, lady. Are we talking property? Inheritance? Am I supposed to sign away my non-existent kidneys at some point? Is there a hefty life insurance policy on this ‘temporary husband’ that conveniently pays out after an ‘unfortunate accident’?”

Ananya’s expression tightened. “This is not about common thievery or insurance scams,” she said, her voice laced with a familiar aristocratic disdain. “There will be compensation for your… services. Generous compensation. And a guarantee of your safety, at least from my family, for the duration of our… arrangement.”

“Generous compensation,” Aryan repeated. “Define ‘generous’. And ‘duration’. And while we’re at it, ‘guarantee of safety’ from people you yourself describe as unyielding and probably quite miffed sounds like a rather optimistic promise.” He pushed himself off the wall. “Look, as unbelievably tempting as it is to dive headfirst into what sounds like a spectacularly ill-conceived family drama with potentially lethal consequences, I’m going to need a few more details. And possibly a psychiatric evaluation. For both of us.”

Ananya seemed to consider his words. “You are… surprisingly pragmatic, for someone who looks like they make decisions based on the flip of a dirty coin.” She pulled out a sleek, impossibly thin mobile phone. “My associate is nearby. She handles the… practicalities. The details you require. We should speak somewhere more private.”

“Ah, the ‘associate for practicalities’,” Aryan said, his dark humor flickering. “Is that a euphemism for ‘legal eagle who drafts the ‘ensure the temporary husband gets absolutely nothing and disappears quietly’ clause’? Good to know. Lead the way. My social calendar is remarkably open, what with being on the run for my life and all.”

Ananya ignored his sarcasm, already speaking quickly and quietly into her phone in a language Aryan didn’t recognize – perhaps Marwari, given her Rajputana grace. She ended the call and gestured curtly down the street. “This way. There’s a parking structure nearby where we can talk without an audience.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes, Ananya gliding effortlessly, Aryan acutely aware of his own disheveled appearance beside her, feeling like a particularly scruffy mutt trotting alongside a prize-winning Afghan hound.

The parking structure was a multi-story concrete monolith, dimly lit and smelling of exhaust fumes and stale city air. As they entered the relative gloom of the first level, another figure detached itself from the shadows near a ridiculously expensive-looking sedan.

This newcomer was also a woman, though a stark contrast to Ananya. Where Ananya was all regal curves and flowing silk, this woman was sharper, more angular, dressed in a practical, dark trouser suit that nonetheless looked tailored and expensive. Her dark hair was cut in a severe but stylish bob, and her eyes, behind smart, modern glasses, were keen, intelligent, and currently raking over Aryan with an expression of undisguised disapproval and profound skepticism. She had an air of no-nonsense efficiency, a lawyer or a high-powered PA. This had to be Maya.

“Ananya,” Maya said, her voice crisp and professional, though her gaze on Aryan was anything but. “You found… him.” The way she said ‘him’ made it sound like Ananya had fished Aryan out of a particularly unhygienic drain.

“Maya, this is…” Ananya hesitated, clearly not knowing Aryan’s name, or rather, Ajay’s.

“Ajay,” Aryan supplied, using the name of his current meat-suit. Might as well lean into the role. “And you must be Maya, the purveyor of practicalities. A pleasure, I’m sure. Though you look like you’re about to recommend I be immediately sanitized and then possibly shot into space for the good of public health.”

Maya’s expression didn’t soften. “Ananya, can we speak privately for a moment?” she asked, her eyes still fixed on Aryan as if he might suddenly sprout tentacles or try to steal the hubcaps off her employer’s car.

Ananya nodded. “Wait here, Ajay,” she instructed, not unkindly, but with the clear expectation of obedience. She and Maya then walked a short distance away, towards the back of a gleaming black Mercedes, their figures partially obscured by a concrete pillar.

Aryan leaned against another pillar, folding his arms, feeling like an exhibit in a particularly strange zoo. “And now I wait,” he muttered to himself, “while the high-priestess and her chief vizier discuss the finer points of hiring temporary, disposable royalty. Hope they’re currently debating the dental plan. Or at least my hazard pay. I’m thinking seven figures. Per day. Retroactive to when she had me thrown out of the bar.”

Their voices were low, urgent murmurs, but the acoustics of the parking garage, combined with Aryan’s heightened senses (or perhaps just his desperate curiosity), allowed him to catch snippets of Maya’s concerned, slightly raised tone.

“…completely insane, Ananya! This… man?” Maya’s voice was incredulous. “You know nothing about him! He looks like he crawled out from under a rock!”

Ananya’s reply was softer, but firm. “…suitable for the purpose, Maya. He’s… unconventional. Clearly not from our world. No one will connect him to us. And he looks… I don’t know… desperate enough to agree to stringent terms. And he wasn’t afraid, not really. There’s something about him…”

“Something about him?” Maya sounded aghast. “He looks like a common criminal! What if he tries to take advantage of you? What if he’s dangerous himself? He could be anyone!”

Aryan smirked faintly. If only you knew, lady. ‘Dangerous’ is practically my middle name these days.

“And what other choice do I have?” Ananya’s voice rose slightly, a hint of her own desperation seeping through her control. “Marry that… that brute Vikramaditya? Spend my life as a broodmare for his ridiculous, overblown lineage, counting down the days until my spirit shrivels and dies?” Her disdain for her intended was palpable even from a distance.

“But your family…” Maya pressed, her voice dropping again, laced with genuine fear. “If they find out this is a sham, Ananya… you know what they’re like. They can be… ruthless. This could destroy everything. It could put you in real danger.”

“My family’s ruthlessness is precisely why this plan needs to be audacious,” Ananya retorted, her voice steely. “And why whoever I choose must be someone completely outside their sphere of influence, someone they can’t easily investigate or intimidate into revealing the truth. This ‘Ajay’… he fits that description perfectly, wouldn’t you say?”

There was a pause. Aryan could imagine Maya struggling with her friend’s reckless logic.

“And what if he tries to claim your wealth?” Maya argued, her voice practical again. “What if he refuses to agree to a divorce later? You’re talking about inviting a viper into your home, Ananya!”

“That,” Ananya said, and Aryan could almost hear the faint, regal smile in her voice now, “is where you come in, my dear Maya. Contracts. Iron-clad. Watertight. You will draft an agreement that ensures Mr. Ajay has no claims, no leverage, no possibility of exploiting this situation beyond the agreed-upon compensation. He will be a temporary fixture, easily removed when his purpose is served.”

Aryan listened, a grim smile of his own playing on his lips. So, he was to be a “temporary fixture,” easily removed. Charming. But also… potentially survivable. And the “generous compensation” part still held a certain appeal for a man whose current net worth was mostly measured in lint and existential dread.

“I will not be traded like a prize mare, Maya,” Ananya continued, her voice hardening with a will of iron that Aryan was beginning to recognize as a core part of her. “This is my life. And this, as insane as it may seem, is my only way to retain some semblance of control over it. I need your help. Your skills. Not your judgment.”

There was another long silence. Aryan pictured Maya, torn between her loyalty to her friend and her profound misgivings about the plan, and about him. Finally, he heard Maya let out a long, weary sigh.

“Alright, Ananya,” Maya said, her voice heavy with resignation.

“Alright. I’ll draft the agreement. But if this goes spectacularly wrong, I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’ at your politically disastrous, socially humiliating, and quite possibly very dangerous trial.”

Ananya’s low, musical laugh echoed faintly in the parking garage. “Noted, my dear. Now, let’s go and present our… temporary solution… with the terms of his employment.”

The two women turned and began to walk back towards Aryan, their expressions now composed, professional. Ananya, the desperate aristocrat. Maya, the reluctant but efficient architect of what was shaping up to be the most bizarre contract in legal history.

Aryan pushed himself off the pillar, a sardonic smile on his face. The deal, it seemed, was about to be tabled. And he, the unkillable, tireless, sarcastic engineer in a gangster’s body, was about to consider becoming a temporary husband. His life just kept getting weirder.