The imperial press leaked the news on a Wednesday.
A confidential dossier-marked "classified"-was anonymously released to a foreign political outlet. The contents? Financial irregularities tied to the Sharma Foundation.
Within hours, Meher's name was everywhere.
Royal consort under scrutiny.
Public funds misallocated.
Charity scandal.
Fraud.
Anaya read the headlines with trembling hands.
She hadn't done this.
But she could have.
She *wanted* to.
Her name had been dragged through the mud after the broken engagement, her family's honor questioned in parlors and behind closed doors. She had every reason-*every right*-to let this scandal burn Meher's carefully-constructed fairytale to the ground.
But something stopped her.
No. *Someone.*
---
That night, Aryan found her in the palace's west veranda, staring out over the lake, wind tugging at her black silk saree. Her hair was pinned with emeralds. Her fingers clenched the carved stone rail.
She didn't turn when he joined her.
"The report was real," she said. "But not meant for the public."
"I know."
She turned her head. "You think I leaked it?"
"I don't know," he said honestly. "That's the problem."
Her heart cracked a little. "Would it change how you look at me?"
He paused. "No. But it would confirm what you believe about yourself."
She looked away. The wind howled through the marble archways.
Then, quietly: "She ruined me."
Aryan didn't answer. He let the silence settle.
Then he said, "You could destroy her right now."
She looked at him. "And?"
"And no one would stop you."
"Not even you?"
His gaze held hers. "Not even me."
Her breath hitched.
Because that wasn't consent.
It was *trust*.
---
The next morning, the palace press office released a surprise statement.
Anaya Mehra-Rathore-daughter of the Prime Minister, royal consort, and public figure-announced that her own private investigation had exonerated Meher Sharma of the claims. She declared that the leak was an act of political sabotage, not personal wrongdoing.
It shocked the nation.
She was called gracious. Dignified. Classy.
The *perfect villainess turned queen.*
But she didn't do it for them.
She did it because Aryan had given her the one thing no man ever had.
A choice.
---
That night, when he returned to their suite, she was already in bed.
He didn't speak.
He simply pulled back the sheets and slid in beside her, one hand curling possessively around her waist.
And for the first time since their marriage...
She let herself fall asleep in his arms.