Ishan’s pulse pounded as Shreyas flipped through the medical report that Shubman had presented. His lawyer’s face remained unreadable, but Ishan knew him well enough to sense the tension in his posture.

The judge cleared his throat. “Mr. Ishan, do you deny the claims that you are suffering from memory loss?”

Ishan straightened in his seat. “Yes, Your Honor. I have no history of trauma or memory loss. I know who I am, and I know that I have never been married to this man.”

A murmur rippled through the courtroom, but Shubman remained infuriatingly calm. He leaned toward the microphone. “I understand how this must look, Your Honor. But I would like to present evidence that my husband and I have shared a life together.”

At his signal, his lawyer handed a thick folder to the bailiff, who passed it to the judge. Ishan’s stomach twisted as the judge examined its contents.

The judge frowned. “These are photographs.”

A screen was wheeled into the courtroom. One by one, images flickered onto the display.

Ishan inhaled sharply.

There he was—standing beside Shubman, smiling. In some photos, they were in what looked like a lavish home, seated close together on a couch. In another, Shubman’s arm was draped around Ishan’s waist as they stood in front of an unfamiliar building.

Ishan’s vision swam. These were real pictures. No signs of manipulation, no obvious edits.

But he had never lived this life.

He turned to Abhishek, who looked equally stunned. Mayank, seated a few rows back, had his laptop open, his fingers moving furiously over the keyboard.

“This is ridiculous,” Ishan forced out, gripping the table. “These photos are fake.”

Shubman let out a soft chuckle, the sound sending a shiver down Ishan’s spine. “Oh, my love, I know it’s hard to believe, but everything you’re seeing is the truth.”

Ishan’s nails dug into his palms. His love?

Shreyas finally spoke, his tone sharp. “Your Honor, we request a forensic analysis of these photographs. My client insists that they are fabricated, and we intend to prove it.”

The judge nodded. “Very well. An independent expert will examine the evidence.” He turned to Ishan. “Do you have any proof that contradicts these claims?”

Ishan’s heart clenched. Proof? How could he prove a negative?

Shreyas stood. “We will gather additional evidence, Your Honor. For now, we ask that my client be granted the presumption of innocence until a thorough investigation is conducted.”

The judge considered the request before nodding. “For now, Ishan Verma will remain out on bail, pending further review.”

Relief flooded Ishan, but it was short-lived.

As they left the courtroom, Shubman brushed past him, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You can fight it all you want, but you belong to me.”

Ishan felt his entire body go cold.

Shubman wasn’t just lying.

He was certain he would win.

And that terrified Ishan more than anything.

---

Ishan barely made it three steps out of the courtroom before Abhishek grabbed his wrist and pulled him aside. His best friend’s face was a storm of emotions—disbelief, anger, and a sharp edge of worry.

“This is insane,” Abhishek hissed. “Those photos looked real, Ishan. But I know for a fact that you’ve never even dated anyone, let alone been married!”

Ishan swallowed, his hands still trembling. “I don’t know him, Abhi.” His voice was raw. “I swear to you, I’ve never met him before yesterday.”

Mayank caught up to them, his hoodie pulled low over his face as he held up his laptop. “I ran a preliminary check while we were in court,” he said, his voice clipped. “Those photos? They’re legit. No digital manipulation, no signs of forgery. As far as the metadata is concerned, they were taken years ago.”

Ishan’s stomach turned. “But… that’s impossible.”

Abhishek ran a hand through his hair. “Okay. Maybe they weren’t edited, but what if they were planted? What if someone staged these photos with a lookalike?”

Mayank tapped his fingers against the laptop. “I thought of that, but here’s the problem—some of those images date back five years. Others show locations that aren’t easily accessible to the public. If this is a fake, it’s a damn good one.”

Ishan’s breathing turned shallow. Five years ago, he was still working in that tiny café, living paycheck to paycheck. How could he have been married to a billionaire without knowing?

And why would someone go through so much trouble to fabricate an entire history?

Before he could spiral further, Abhishek squeezed his shoulder. “Hey. We’re going to figure this out, okay? You’re not alone in this.”

Ishan nodded numbly, but his mind was a mess.

Just then, Shreyas stepped out of the building, his expression unreadable. The lawyer adjusted his tie as he approached. “The judge approved the forensic analysis, but I have to be honest—this case is looking bad. If we don’t find solid proof soon, the court may rule in his favor.”

Ishan’s breath hitched. “You mean… they could force me to accept this marriage?”

Shreyas’s jaw tightened. “If the evidence supports his claims and you can’t disprove it… legally, yes.”

The world spun around Ishan.

Shubman had planned this. He had anticipated everything.

Abhishek gritted his teeth. “Then we need to work fast.”

Mayank’s eyes gleamed with determination. “Give me one night. If there’s any digital footprint, I’ll find it.”

Ishan looked at his friends—his only lifeline in this nightmare.

Because if they didn’t find the truth soon…

He might lose his own identity forever.

---

That night, Ishan sat in Abhishek’s apartment, his hands curled around a steaming cup of coffee. The room was dimly lit, the soft hum of Mayank’s laptop keys the only sound breaking the silence.

Abhishek sat beside him, scrolling through old social media posts on his phone, looking for anything that might help. But there was nothing. Ishan had barely used social media, and his life had always been routine—work, home, sleep, repeat.

So where was this version of himself that Shubman claimed to know?

Mayank suddenly let out a low whistle. “Found something.”

Ishan and Abhishek rushed to his side as he spun the laptop around. On the screen was an archived newspaper article from five years ago.

"Business Tycoon Shubman Gill Marries Longtime Partner in Private Ceremony."

Below the headline was a blurry image of a wedding. A couple stood at the altar, and though the details weren’t clear, Ishan’s breath caught.

The groom on the left was unmistakably Shubman.

And the man standing beside him…

Looked exactly like Ishan.

Ishan’s stomach clenched. “That can’t be me.”

Abhishek frowned. “This paper isn’t even mainstream. It’s some business insider site. If this marriage was real, wouldn’t there be bigger news coverage?”

Mayank’s fingers flew across the keyboard, hacking into the site’s archives. His expression darkened. “Because it was wiped from every major news source.” He turned to Ishan. “Someone didn’t want this wedding to be widely known.”

Ishan felt the walls closing in. “But why?”

Abhishek leaned closer, scrutinizing the image. “The resolution is terrible. Do we have access to the original?”

Mayank shook his head. “No, but if I can trace the source, we might be able to find a higher-quality version.”

Ishan ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing. If this was all fake, why was there an effort to hide it instead of spread it?

And if it was real…

Then where had he been for the past five years?

His fingers tightened around his mug as an eerie thought surfaced.

What if he wasn’t missing memories?

What if someone had taken them?

His blood ran cold.

There was only one person who could answer that.

And Ishan wasn’t going to wait for the court to decide his fate.

He was going to confront Shubman Gill—and get the truth himself.

---

Ishan stood outside the towering glass building of Gill Enterprises, his pulse hammering in his ears. The city lights reflected off the mirrored windows, making the place feel even more intimidating. Shubman was in there—waiting, expecting him to accept the lie he had created.

But Ishan wasn’t here to surrender. He was here to fight.

Abhishek had protested when he said he would come alone, but Ishan needed answers, and he needed them now. His fingers curled into fists as he stepped inside, pushing past the sleek reception desk and heading straight for the elevators.

The moment he reached the top floor, a pair of security guards blocked his path.

“Mr. Gill is expecting you,” one of them said, gesturing toward an office with floor-to-ceiling windows.

Ishan swallowed hard and stepped inside.

Shubman was seated behind a massive desk, dressed in a crisp suit, looking as composed as ever. His expression was unreadable, but something about his gaze sent a shiver down Ishan’s spine.

“Ishan.” His voice was smooth, confident. “I was wondering when you’d come.”

Ishan clenched his fists. “Cut the act, Shubman. Who are you? And why are you doing this?”

Shubman sighed, as if he had been expecting the outburst. “I know this is difficult for you to accept, but everything I said is the truth. We were married. We were happy.” He leaned forward. “And I still love you.”

Ishan’s stomach twisted. “You love me?” He let out a bitter laugh. “Then why don’t I remember anything? Why do I feel like I’ve never met you before in my life?”

Shubman studied him for a long moment, then gestured toward the couch. “Sit down, Ishan.”

“I don’t want to sit.”

“I think you do.” His voice was calm, controlled, like he knew something Ishan didn’t. “Because once you hear the truth, you might not be able to stand.”

Ishan hesitated, his heart pounding. Against his better judgment, he sat.

Shubman exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Five years ago, you did love me. We were married in secret, away from the public eye. But then… something happened.”

Ishan gritted his teeth. “What?”

Shubman’s eyes darkened. “You were in an accident. A severe one. And when you woke up, you didn’t remember me. You didn’t remember us.”

The world tilted beneath Ishan’s feet. “You’re lying.”

Shubman shook his head. “I’m not. Your memories—our life together—were erased. I tried to bring you back, but you left. You disappeared. And now, I’ve finally found you again.”

Ishan’s breath came in short gasps. This wasn’t possible. He had no scars, no medical history of an accident.

And yet…

Why did his entire body feel like it had just been thrown into a void?

Shubman leaned closer. “Ishan… I never stopped looking for you. I never stopped loving you.”

Ishan’s mind screamed at him to run, to fight, but his body refused to move.

Because if what Shubman was saying was true…

Then the life Ishan had been living wasn’t just stolen.

It was manufactured.

---

(Coming next…)