Married to the Billionaire Strange

### Chapter 8: The Hidden Letter

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Sleep didn’t come that night.

Anjali lay on the edge of the bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, her thoughts louder than the ticking clock.

Each truth Aaryan had revealed felt like a stone pressing against her chest.

And yet… something still didn’t feel complete.

Rhea’s death — ruled an accident.

Aaryan’s guilt — heavy but vague.

Kiara — distant and dangerous.

But Anjali knew one thing for certain:

**Rhea had tried to say something before she died.**

And maybe, just maybe, she had succeeded.

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The next morning, while Aaryan was away on a business meeting, Anjali returned to the forbidden piano room.

This time, she wasn’t just curious — she was searching for answers.

She moved slowly, her fingers brushing against every book, drawer, and shelf.

Everything felt untouched since Rhea’s death — a museum of memories that no one dared to clean.

Then she noticed something odd.

The photo frame on the wall — slightly tilted. When she adjusted it, a soft clink echoed from behind the frame.

Hidden behind it was a small wooden compartment built into the wall.

With shaking hands, Anjali pulled it open.

Inside was a sealed envelope.

On it, a name written in delicate cursive:

**"To whoever finds this — I couldn’t stay silent anymore."**

Her heartbeat pounded.

She opened the letter slowly.

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**“If you are reading this, then something has already gone terribly wrong.

My name is Rhea Mehra Malhotra.

I was Aaryan’s wife.

And I am afraid for my life.”**

Anjali gasped, her eyes wide.

**“For the past few months, I have suspected that someone close to me has been watching my every move. Kiara pretends to be my friend, but I’ve seen her with Aaryan — laughing in ways I haven’t seen him laugh with me in months.

Last night, I found her bracelet in his car.

This morning, she warned me — if I love Aaryan, I should leave quietly.

She said I wasn’t the ‘right kind’ of wife for a man like him.”**

Tears slipped down Anjali’s cheeks as she read.

**“If anything happens to me, I want people to know — I didn’t give up on life.

I didn’t overdose. I was pushed.

Not physically… but emotionally, mentally, spiritually.

And if I disappear…

Please, someone — uncover the truth.”**

Anjali’s hands trembled as she folded the letter back.

This wasn’t just a note.

**It was a cry for justice.**

She sat still for a long moment, the weight of the letter sinking in.

Suddenly, a voice broke the silence.

“Looking for something, Mrs. Malhotra?”

Anjali turned, startled.

It was Kiara. Standing in the doorway.

Dressed perfectly. Smiling faintly.

But there was something in her eyes — cold, calculating.

And she was holding something small in her hand.

Anjali’s heart dropped.

**The diary.**

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