The rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of Akaay Rathore's lavish office, creating a rhythmic drumming that filled the vast, modern space. The city of Mumbai stretched beyond the glass, blurry lights shimmering through the relentless downpour. Normally, Akaay found the view calming — a stark contrast to the chaos of his dual life as a powerful CEO and a covert FBI agent. But tonight, calm was far out of reach.

He stood there, hands shoved into his pockets, his broad shoulders tense. His tailored suit clung to his frame, still pristine despite the long day he'd had. The cold chill of the air-conditioning kissed his skin, but the storm brewing inside him was hotter than a furnace.

His phone vibrated on the sleek black desk behind him. Without turning, he pulled it out of his pocket and answered.

"Rathore,Here" he said sharply, his tone as crisp as the cut of his suit.

The voice on the other end was cold and authoritative. "Agent Rathore, your next assignment is confirmed."

"Let's hear it," Akaay said, already bracing himself.

"You are to marry Anvika Singhania, daughter of Minister Rajesh Singhania."

Akaay froze, his eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. It's the best way to infiltrate Singhania’s inner circle and gather evidence of his illegal dealings. This is non-negotiable."

Akaay's grip on the phone tightened. "Marriage? There must be another way."

"There isn't. Consider this your top priority."

Before Akaay could argue further, the line went dead.

He stared at the phone in disbelief. Marriage. To a politician's daughter. For a mission. As if his life wasn't complicated enough.

"Fantastic," he muttered under his breath, sarcasm dripping from his tone. "Just what I needed."

The door to his office creaked open, and in strolled Dhruv Malhotra, his best friend and business partner. Dhruv was dressed in his usual laid-back attire — a hoodie and jeans that probably cost as much as a small car. His messy hair and lopsided grin completed the picture of a man who lived life without a care.

"Why do you look like you're ready to murder someone?" Dhruv asked, flopping onto the leather couch like he owned the place.

"Because I might just do that," Akaay said darkly.

Dhruv's brows shot up. "Wow, who's the unlucky victim?"

"The agency just ordered me to marry a politician's daughter."

Dhruv's jaw dropped. Then, as if on cue, he burst out laughing. "Oh, this is gold. Please tell me it's not —"

"It is," Akaay cut him off, his voice tight.

Dhruv practically cackled. "Anvika Singhania? The same girl who called you a heartless robot at that charity gala?"

Akaay's eyes narrowed. "Yes."

Dhruv clutched his stomach, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "Oh man, this is priceless. She roasted you so bad that night. Said you probably have spreadsheets for romantic moves."

"If you're done being useless, you can leave," Akaay snapped.

Dhruv wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning. "Not a chance. This is too good. So, what's the plan? Woo the girl with your charming personality?"

"I don't have time for this," Akaay muttered, turning back to the window.

"Come on, man. You've faced international criminals and corporate sharks. How hard can one politician's daughter be?"

Akaay shot him a withering glare. "Go away, Dhruv."

"Fine, fine. But this is going to be fun to watch," Dhruv said, still chuckling as he made his way to the door. "Let me know when the wedding invites go out."

As the door closed behind him, Akaay let out a long breath. Fun, huh? There was nothing fun about this situation.

Later that evening, the rain showed no signs of letting up. Akaay drove home in his sleek black SUV, the rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers doing little to calm his stormy thoughts. The city lights blurred past as he navigated through the drenched streets, his mind racing with possibilities.

Marriage. The word tasted bitter on his tongue. He had spent years building an impenetrable fortress around his heart, focusing solely on his missions and his company. And now he was supposed to play the role of a doting husband?

By the time he reached his villa, the rain had soaked through his mood entirely. The modern, minimalist house stood tall and imposing, its glass walls gleaming even in the dim light. He parked the car and stepped inside, the warmth of the house doing little to thaw his icy mood.

The place was immaculate, every surface gleaming, every piece of furniture perfectly placed. But tonight, it felt suffocating.

He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling in the crystal tumbler. Leaning against the kitchen counter, he stared into space.

There had to be another way. He went over every possible scenario in his head, trying to find a loophole. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized the agency was right.

This was the quickest, most efficient route.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath.

A marriage of convenience. With Anvika Singhania, of all people. The fiery woman who had publicly called him heartless and accused him of being incapable of love.

The irony was almost laughable.

Akaay Rathore, ruthless CEO and secret agent, reduced to playing the role of a desperate suitor.

He drained the whiskey in one go, the burn doing nothing to ease the knot in his chest.

If this was his mission, he would see it through.

Even if it meant sending a marriage proposal to her house.

. ................... .