Karna's Heir - Chapter 13

Chapter 13: The Iron-Clad Contract

The concrete chill of the parking garage seemed to amplify the tension as Ananya and Maya returned, their earlier private discussion concluded. Ananya, with a regal nod that somehow managed to convey both command and a hint of weariness, gestured towards her associate. “Maya will explain the terms of the proposed arrangement, Mr. Ajay.” Her use of “Mr. Ajay” was new, a subtle shift from the earlier, more dismissive “Ajay” or the even more insulting “eyesore.” Progress, perhaps. Or maybe just the prelude to a very formal fleecing.

Maya stepped forward, with the expression of all business. She held a slim, expensive-looking tablet, its screen glowing faintly in the dim light. Her expression was that of a surgeon about to perform a complex, slightly distasteful, but necessary operation. “Mr. Ajay,” she began, her voice crisp, devoid of any warmth, “if you would be so kind as to give this your full attention. This is a matter of considerable importance and requires your unequivocal understanding and agreement.”

“By all means, lay on, Macduff,” Aryan quipped, leaning back against the concrete pillar again, affecting an air of nonchalance he was far from feeling. “My attention is as full as it’s likely to get, considering my brain is still trying to reboot from the ‘temporary husband’ bombshell. I’m practically agog with anticipation for the fine print.”

Maya ignored him, her gaze fixed on the tablet. “This is a proposed marital contract, outlining the terms and conditions of a temporary union between yourself and Ms. Ananya,” she paused, then corrected herself, “between yourself and my client.” Client. Formal. Distant. Aryan noted it.

“Firstly,” Maya continued, her tone leaving no room for interruption, “the duration of this arrangement will be exactly two years from the date of the official ceremony. Not a day more, not a day less. Unless my client dissolve this marriage herself. Upon the conclusion of this period, the marriage will be declared null and void through processes we will manage.”

Aryan nodded slowly. “Two years. An expiry date. Like a carton of milk, but hopefully less prone to curdling into a biohazard before its time. Got it.”

“Secondly, financial compensation.” Maya’s eyes flicked up to his, as if expecting this to be his primary point of interest. “You will receive a monthly salary of one lakh rupees, payable on the first of each month, for the entire two-year duration.”

Aryan whistled internally. “One lakh a month? To basically just exist, look vaguely presentable when required, and act as a human shield against unwanted matrimony? That’s more than I made as an engineer, pre-death and subsequent unscheduled reincarnation. The benefits package in this new life is… surprisingly competitive, albeit with a significantly higher risk of dismemberment or social ostracization.” Outwardly, he just gave a noncommittal grunt.

“Thirdly,” Maya pressed on, “there are to be no sexual relations between yourself and my client at any point during this two-year period. This clause is non-negotiable and absolute.”

“No conjugal duties,” Aryan said, a small, sarcastic smile playing on his lips. “Well, that’s a relief. My current body probably has more mileage than a Mumbai taxi after a monsoon, and I’m not sure I’m up for explaining the concept of ‘platonic temporary marriage’ to any lingering STDs its previous owner might have collected. Besides,” he added, mostly to himself, “my libido has been through a traumatic death, a body snatch, and a near-death-by-gangsters experience. It’s currently in a self-induced coma, enjoying a well-deserved rest. So, no problem there. Consider that clause pre-approved.”

Ananya, standing slightly behind Maya, allowed herself a tiny, almost invisible smirk at that. Maya, however, remained impassive.

“Fourthly, any and all property, assets, or gifts received by you, from my client or any member of her family or associates, during this two-year period, are to be considered the sole property of my client and must be returned to her upon the dissolution of this arrangement, or at her request.”

“Return all gifts?” Aryan mused. “So, no diamond tiaras for me then? No deeds to ancestral house accidentally signed over in a fit of pique? Shame. I think I could rock a tiara. Or at least a tastefully understated coronet.”

“Fifthly,” Maya continued, her patience clearly wearing thin at his running commentary, “you will have no involvement, make no decisions, nor attempt to influence any matters pertaining to my client’s family, their estates, or their business interests.”

“No say in family business,” Aryan echoed. “What family business? Professional judgment of the poor from upscale lounges? Or something more… lucrative, given the Mercedes and the armed entourage?” He tapped his chin. “Understood. I’m just the ornamental, temporary husband, not a board member. Keep my nose out of the big-people stuff.”

“Sixthly, you will make no claim, now or at any point in the future, upon any property, assets, financial or otherwise, belonging to my client or her family, beyond the stipulated monthly compensation.”

“Expected,” Aryan nodded. “Wouldn’t want the temporary riff-raff making off with the family silver, or trying to claim squatters’ rights in the west wing, would we? My aspirations for a life of luxurious alimony from my fake, two-year marriage to a mystery woman are officially shattered. Quelle tragédie.”

“And finally, seventhly,” Maya said, her voice taking on an even sterner tone, “for the entire two-year duration of this contract, you are to have no romantic or sexual relationships with any other woman. Your role requires the appearance of a committed marriage. Any deviation from this will be considered a breach of contract, resulting in immediate termination of the arrangement and forfeiture of any outstanding compensation.”

Aryan listened to this last clause with a thoughtful expression. “Monogamy for the fake husband,” he said quietly. “Makes sense from your perspective. Wouldn’t want to complicate the carefully constructed sham with actual emotions, or, God forbid, a messy affair that could unravel the whole charade.”

Maya finished, her gaze sharp and expectant. She clearly anticipated arguments, perhaps a demand for more money, or an outright refusal given the restrictive, almost demeaning, nature of the terms. Ananya watched him too, her expression unreadable, her regal composure firmly in place.

Aryan let the silence stretch for a moment, pretending to mull over the conditions. In truth, most of it was either expected or, in his current desperate state, surprisingly acceptable. The money was a lifeline. The two-year limit was an escape hatch. The lack of actual marital obligations was, frankly, a bonus.

“That all sounds…” he said slowly, “remarkably one-sided, as expected from a contract designed to protect the interests of the person holding all the cards. But, for the most part, it’s… surprisingly agreeable, given my current lack of viable career alternatives.” He met Maya’s gaze. “Just one small amendment, if you please.”

Ananya and Maya exchanged a quick, almost imperceptible glance. This was it. The negotiation.

“And what amendment would that be, Mr. Ajay?” Maya asked, her tone wary.

Aryan straightened up from the pillar, a faint, unreadable smile on his face. “The seventh clause,” he said. “The one about… extracurricular activities. Or rather, the lack thereof.”

“You have an issue with the fidelity clause?” Ananya interjected, her voice cool, a hint of warning in it.

“Not with its existence, no,” Aryan replied calmly. “Just with its application.” He looked directly at Ananya. “That stipulation – ‘no romantic or sexual relationships with any other person’ – I’d like that to be binding for both parties in this… temporary union.”

Silence. Utter, stunned silence.

Maya’s perfectly shaped eyebrows shot up towards her hairline. Ananya stared at him, her lips parting slightly in disbelief.

Then, it started. A small, choked sound from Maya. Ananya pressed her lips together, but her eyes were wide, not with anger, but with something akin to incredulous mirth.

And then they both burst into laughter.

It wasn’t a polite, social titter. It was full-blown, unrestrained, slightly hysterical laughter. Maya leaned against the Mercedes for support, her professional composure dissolving. Ananya, the regal ice-queen, actually had tears forming in her honey-colored eyes as she laughed, a rich, melodious sound that echoed strangely in the concrete emptiness of the parking garage.

Aryan watched them, his own faint smile fading, replaced by a mixture of confusion and a growing, familiar annoyance. He knew, instinctively, that the joke was on him, even if he didn’t understand its premise.

“Am I… missing something?” he asked, his voice dry. “Is mutual fidelity in a sham marriage suddenly a headline act in the comedy clubs these days? Or have I accidentally stumbled upon the secret handshake for the ‘laugh uncontrollably at the poor, presumptuous guy’ club?”

“Oh, Mr. Ajay,” Ananya finally gasped, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye with a delicate finger, struggling to regain her composure. “You are… you are truly… unexpectedly amusing.”

Maya, still chuckling, shook her head, looking at Ananya with an expression that said, ‘Can you believe this guy?’. “He thinks… he actually thinks…” she managed, before another wave of laughter overtook her. “That you, Ananya… that you would ever… or that he would have any say…”

Aryan felt a flush creep up his neck. Their laughter wasn’t just amused; it was deeply, profoundly condescending. It was the laughter of people looking down from a very great height at something small and absurdly out of place. They knew something he didn’t, something that made his request not just bold, but preposterously, laughably unthinkable.

Ananya finally managed to compose herself, though a lingering smirk played on her lips, her eyes still dancing with mirth. She looked at him, and for a moment, he saw not just amusement, but something else – a spark of intrigue, perhaps, at his sheer, uncomprehending audacity. She, this “Princess of Suryagarh” as she knew herself to be, though he remained ignorant of that specific, lofty title, was clearly so far removed from his perceived social stratum that the idea of her being romantically constrained by, or even tempted by, him was the height of absurdity in her world.

“Your… concern… for my fidelity, Mr. Ajay,” she said, her voice still laced with laughter, “is… touching. Truly. But perhaps, just perhaps, entirely unnecessary.” She exchanged another amused glance with Maya. “The idea that I would… or that you would need to stipulate such a thing for me…”

“It’s a matter of principle,” Aryan said, his voice cooler now, the humor in his own tone taking on a sharper, more defensive edge. He didn’t like being laughed at, especially when he didn’t understand the joke. “And aesthetic consistency. If I’m to play the part of the devoted, albeit temporary, husband, it would be rather jarring to the performance, and frankly, a bit much for my currently very delicate sensibilities, to witness my ‘wife’ dallying elsewhere while I’m expected to maintain a monk-like celibacy. Call it professional pride. Or,” he added, a glint in his eye, “call it my one non-negotiable term.”

The laughter died down, though the amusement still danced in their eyes. Ananya studied him again, that sharp, analytical gaze returning. He had surprised them. He hadn’t groveled. He hadn’t just haggled over money. He’d pushed back, on a point of bizarre, unexpected principle.

“You find this amusing,” Aryan stated, rather than asked. “But to me, it seems a perfectly reasonable request for a mutual obligation in a mutual, if fabricated, commitment. Or is ‘fairness’ also a comedic concept in your circles?”

The silence stretched again, but this time it was different. Less filled with their mirth, more with a recalculation. He had, in his own strange way, asserted a tiny sliver of agency. He might be the disposable prop, the temporary fixture, but he wasn’t going to be an entirely passive one. The iron-clad contract, it seemed, might yet require one small, unexpected amendment, courtesy of the unkillable, tireless, and surprisingly principled temporary husband-to-be.