The Billionaire's Forgotten Wife

Chapter 7: The Lies Begin

The sterile hospital room, once a fragile sanctuary of hope for Aarya, now felt like a battlefield lined with invisible daggers. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like judgmental whispers, casting sharp shadows across Rishaan’s pale face. He lay propped against pillows, his hazel eyes clouded with confusion and pain, while the monitors continued their steady, indifferent beeping. Aarya remained on her knees beside the bed, her hands still clutching his limp fingers, tears carving fresh paths down her cheeks. Mrs. Malhotra’s words—“She’s nobody important”—hung in the air like poison gas, suffocating every ounce of oxygen.

“Ma’am… yeh kya keh rahi hain aap?” (Ma’am… what are you saying?) Aarya’s voice trembled as she rose slowly, turning to face Rishaan’s mother. The elegant woman stood tall in her cream silk saree, diamonds glittering coldly at her throat, her expression a mask of aristocratic disdain. Behind her, Rishaan’s father and a stern uncle had entered quietly, their presence filling the small room with the heavy weight of the Malhotra empire.

Mrs. Malhotra didn’t even glance at Aarya. Instead, she moved gracefully to her son’s bedside, placing a manicured hand on his shoulder. “Beta, relax karo. Tumhare liye doctors best care de rahe hain. Yeh ladki… bas ek misunderstanding hai.” (Son, relax. The doctors are giving you the best care. This girl… it’s just a misunderstanding.)

Rishaan rubbed his bandaged temple, wincing. “Maa, yeh kaun hai? Woh keh rahi hai ki hum pati-patni hain. Shaadi ki certificate dikha rahi hai. Mujhe kuchh yaad nahi… par yeh sab kya hai?” (Mom, who is she? She says we are husband and wife. She’s showing a marriage certificate. I don’t remember anything… but what is all this?)

The family exchanged quick, calculated glances. Mr. Malhotra stepped forward, his voice deep and authoritative, the same tone he used in boardrooms to crush opponents. “Rishaan, beta, yeh sab uska drama hai. Tumhe accident ke pehle bhi yeh ladki pareshan kar rahi thi. Gold digger hai yeh. Sirf tumhare paison ke peeche padi hai.” (Rishaan, son, this is all her drama. Even before the accident, this girl was troubling you. She is a gold digger. She’s only after your money.)

Aarya’s heart clenched. She shook her head violently, pulling out the crumpled marriage certificate and her phone with trembling hands. “Nahi! Jhooth hai yeh sab! Rishaan, dekho na. Humne Aravalli Hills ke ancient temple mein shaadi ki thi. Sunrise tha… marigold garlands, incense, temple bells. Tumne mujhe mangalsutra pehnaya tha. Sindoor lagaya tha. Yaad karo, please!” (No! This is all a lie! Rishaan, look. We got married in the ancient temple in the Aravalli Hills. It was sunrise… marigold garlands, incense, temple bells. You put the mangalsutra on me. Applied sindoor. Remember, please!)

She unlocked her phone, scrolling desperately to the secret photos from their villa days—Rishaan lifting her onto the kitchen counter, flour on both their faces, laughing; them by the lake, skipping stones under the golden sun; a stolen selfie during their cooking session where he had smeared chocolate on her nose. “Yeh dekho! Hum villa mein the. Tumhare saath teen din bitaye the. Tumne kaha tha, ‘Tum meri duniya ho, Aarya.’” (Look at this! We were in the villa. Spent three days together. You said, ‘You are my world, Aarya.’)

Rishaan stared at the phone screen for a moment, his brow furrowed in deep struggle. A flicker of something—recognition? pain?—crossed his face, but it vanished as quickly as it came. He turned his head away, refusing to look further. “Bas karo. Yeh photos… kisi ne bhi banaaye ho sakte hain. Mujhe kuchh feel nahi ho raha. Tum kaun ho jo itna insist kar rahi ho?” (Stop it. These photos… anyone could have made them. I don’t feel anything. Who are you to insist so much?)

Mrs. Malhotra seized the moment, her voice smooth as silk but sharp as a blade. She gently took the phone from Aarya’s hands and handed it to a nurse standing nearby. “Beta, doctors ne kaha hai stress mat lo. Yeh ladki tumhe pehle bhi blackmail karne ki koshish kar chuki thi. Humne investigators lagaye the. Woh ek simple student hai Delhi se, jo tumhare jaise ameer gharane ke ladke ko fasane ke liye yeh natak kar rahi hai.” (Son, the doctors said not to take stress. This girl had tried to blackmail you before. We had investigators on it. She is a simple student from Delhi, doing this drama to trap a rich heir like you.)

The uncle nodded, leaning closer to Rishaan. “Haan, Rishaan. Yaad hai na, woh business trip se pehle tumne humein bataya tha ki ek ladki tumhe pareshan kar rahi hai? Claims kar rahi thi shaadi ki. Sab jhooth tha. Paisa maangne ke liye.” (Yes, Rishaan. Remember, before that business trip you told us a girl was troubling you? Claiming marriage. It was all a lie. To demand money.)

Rishaan’s confusion deepened. He looked at Aarya with new eyes—eyes filled with suspicion rather than the love she once knew. “Lekin… woh itna detail mein bata rahi hai. Temple, saree, vows… kaise?” (But… she is telling so many details. Temple, saree, vows… how?)

Mr. Malhotra placed a firm hand on his son’s arm. “Log aise hi karte hain, beta. Social media se information nikaalte hain, paparazzi follow karte hain. Tum Malhotra ho. Har koi tumhare peeche pada hai. Yeh sirf ek desperate gold digger hai jo accident ka faayda utha rahi hai.” (People do exactly this, son. They dig information from social media, follow with paparazzi. You are a Malhotra. Everyone is after you. She is just a desperate gold digger taking advantage of the accident.)

Aarya felt the walls closing in. The manipulation was seamless, woven with half-truths and outright lies, exploiting Rishaan’s vulnerable, blank mind. She stepped forward again, her voice breaking with raw desperation. “Rishaan, please mujhe suno. Unki family ne humein alag karne ki bohot koshish ki thi. Isliye humne secret shaadi ki. Main gareeb hoon, yeh sach hai, par maine kabhi paisa nahi maanga. Sirf tum chahiye tha mujhe. Tumhari hasi, tumhari chhoti-chhoti baatein, tumhara soft side jo sirf mere saamne aata tha.” (Rishaan, please listen to me. Their family tried hard to separate us. That’s why we had a secret marriage. I am poor, that’s true, but I never asked for money. I only wanted you. Your laughter, your small talks, your soft side that only came out in front of me.)

Tears streamed down her face as she pulled out the mangalsutra from beneath her dupatta, holding it up like a sacred proof. “Yeh dekho! Tumne khud pehnaya tha. ‘Ab tum meri ho, poori tarah,’ kaha tha.” (Look at this! You put it on me yourself. You said, ‘Now you are mine, completely.’)

But Rishaan turned his face away, refusing to look at the necklace or the photos again. His jaw tightened, the cold billionaire mask slowly creeping back despite his amnesia. “Jhooth bol rahi ho tum. Sab jhooth. Maa-papa kabhi jhooth nahi bolenge. Tum ek badi liar aur gold digger ho. Hospital se bahar jao. Mujhe pareshan mat karo.” (You are lying. Everything is a lie. Mom and dad would never lie. You are a big liar and gold digger. Get out of the hospital. Don’t trouble me.)

The words pierced Aarya’s heart like shards of glass. She staggered back, clutching her chest as if physically wounded. “Nahi, Rishaan… yeh tum nahi bol rahe. Yeh unka asar hai. Humne villa mein kitne sapne dekhe the—bachchon ke, future ke. Tumne kaha tha ki ek din duniya ko bataayenge hamari shaadi.” (No, Rishaan… this is not you speaking. This is their influence. We dreamed so many dreams in the villa—of children, of the future. You said one day we would tell the world about our marriage.)

Mrs. Malhotra signaled the security outside the door. Two burly guards entered, hovering threateningly. Tension thickened the air. The family continued their private whispers while Aarya was momentarily pushed toward the corner.

In a hushed corner of the room, away from Aarya’s hearing, Mrs. Malhotra leaned close to Rishaan. “Beta, hum tumhara bhala chahte hain. Yeh ladki dangerous hai. Accident ke time bhi woh tumhare saath thi, shayad usne hi sabotage kiya ho. Trust us. Hum tumhe protect kar rahe hain.” (Son, we want your well-being. This girl is dangerous. She was with you at the time of the accident, maybe she sabotaged it. Trust us. We are protecting you.)

Rishaan nodded slowly, his mind—already fractured—grasping at the familiar voices of family over the desperate claims of a stranger. “Theek hai, Maa. Mujhe yeh sab samajh nahi aa raha… par agar yeh gold digger hai toh door rakho isse.” (Okay, Mom. I don’t understand all this… but if she is a gold digger, keep her away.)

Aarya overheard fragments and rushed forward again, falling at the foot of the bed. “Rishaan, main jhoothi nahi! Call the pandit ji from the temple. Villa staff ko pucho. Woh sab jaante hain. Humara pyaar sach tha!” (Rishaan, I am not lying! Call the pandit ji from the temple. Ask the villa staff. They all know. Our love was true!)

But Rishaan’s eyes hardened. The manipulation had taken root. “Bahut ho gaya. Tumhe paisa chahiye toh maang lo aur chali jao. Main tumhe nahi jaanta. Aur jaanna bhi nahi chahta. Liar… gold digger.” (Enough. If you want money, ask for it and leave. I don’t know you. And I don’t want to know. Liar… gold digger.)

Each word was a hammer blow. Aarya’s world crumbled. The man who had fought the world for her now saw her as the enemy. She stood there, shaking, the marriage certificate slipping from her fingers onto the cold floor. The family watched with satisfied silence, their lies weaving a new reality around Rishaan’s broken memory.

Security gently but firmly escorted her toward the door. As she was pushed out into the corridor, Aarya turned one last time, her voice a broken whisper. “Main wait karungi, Rishaan. Jab bhi yaad aayega… main yahan hoongi. Tumhara pyaar bhool nahi sakta.” (I will wait, Rishaan. Whenever you remember… I will be here. Your love cannot be forgotten.)

The door clicked shut behind her. Inside, the Malhotra family closed ranks, continuing to plant more doubts, more lies, ensuring the gaps in Rishaan’s memory stayed filled with their version of truth.

Aarya collapsed against the hospital wall, sobs wracking her body. The corridor felt endless, the rain outside starting anew. But deep in her shattered heart, a small flame of defiance still burned. She would not give up. Not yet.

To be continued...