Aakriti's POV

Dhruv looked like he'd walked straight out of a magazine cover, all crisp black suit, open collar, and that quiet confidence that somehow made every woman in the room turn for a second look.

"Stop glaring at me," he said, smirking as he fixed his cufflinks in the mirror.

"I'm not glaring, I'm regretting it." I muttered, putting on my earring.

"Regretting what?"

"Agreeing to end my house arrest and come to a room full of business sharks who measure your worth in how fake your smile looks."

Dhruv chuckled softly. "You'll survive. Besides, you are a pro."

"Oh, really?" I arched a brow. "Why did you even insist I come?"

He stepped closer, his breath brushing against my ear.

"Because you, Mrs. Rathore, don't just walk into a room, you own it. I want people to envy me."

I rolled my eyes, but my heart decided to skip two beats anyway. Typical

"Flattery before a party? What's the matter?"

"Nothing." he murmured, eyes glinting with mischief. "Just be aware that when you walk in, half the room forgets why they came."

I shot him a look. "And the other half?"

"They stare at me and wonder what deal I made with the universe to marry you."

I snorted. "Flirt."

"It isn't a crime to flirt with you, baby." He said in a seductive tone and caressed my cheek with his thumb.

I sighed. "Let's go before you start writing poetry." He grinned. Idiot.

The ballroom shimmered with chandeliers and ambition. Waiters glided around carrying trays of champagne, while clusters of executives exchanged fake smiles and practiced laughter.

As we entered, a few heads turned—some in admiration, some in curiosity. Dhruv's hand rested lightly at the small of my back, grounding but unobtrusive, and for a moment, I almost forgot how much I hated these events.

Almost. Because no matter how much I tried to forget the mocking that I received when I attended these events when I just entered the company, it resurfaced in my mind. The glances that told me how unworthy I was of the position that I received because of my legacy. Their eyes were waiting in anticipation to watch the empire burn in the hand of a silly girl who knew nothing about business.

"Mr. and Mrs. Rathore!" The host greeted us warmly, breaking my trance. "So glad you could join us."

We greeted back, and Dhruv introduced me to a few of his business partners. I saw the face that I never wish to see in my entire life. Why? Why is he here?

"Why do we hate him?" Dhruv asked me leaning closer to my ear. I didn't even realize I was glaring at him.

"We..." I asked with doubt.

"Yes, if you hate him, so do I." He said nonchalantly as if it was the most obvious thing and I was dumb to even doubt it.

"He is Meera's ex-husband. Mehul." I said with venom dripping from my words. I was doing my best to ignore Mehul's presence when, of course, he came towards us and stood right in front of us, smug as ever.

"Well, if it isn't Miss Nanda," he said with a mocking smile. Control Aaku. Can't punch him.

"It's Mrs. Rathore," I corrected sharply, my tone cutting like glass. "And if I were still Miss Nanda, this glass in my hand would've been smashed over your head by now." I said, gritting my teeth. I don't have the patience to talk with an abuser. He is lucky that I am trying to control my temper.

A few people nearby froze, their conversations halting as the tension between us thickened.

Mehul only chuckled, tilting his head as if amused.

"Ah... so the person who always was known for her boldness is finally tamed. Looks like that's what marriage means. Look, even you turned into a docile wife, who wouldn't do anything that her husband wouldn't allow. So glad that somebody ripped your wings. Was it chopping your wing at one slash, painless, or plucking your feathers one by one?" He asked with a look of immense satisfaction. Nothing infuriates me more than a worthless man who thinks he is great just because he has a dick. But I need to tolerate him, as I don't wish to be in the news again. Especially not with a headline that says I am a bad-tempered, ill-mannered, violent woman.

Dhruv stepped forward. He plucked the glass right out of my hand with a calmness that was more dangerous than rage. He is angry. No.. Not just angry. My husband is furious.

Without warning, slam!

He smashed it against his head, the shards scattering, the sharp sound making everyone nearby flinch. Blood flowing down Mehul's forehead. My goodness! Did he...???

Dhruv's voice was low, steady, and lethal. "She didn't do it because her husband doesn't want her hands to get dirty. I'll do everything she asks for. Every. Single. Thing." He said and circled his hand on my waist and pulled me closer to him.

Mehul's smirk faltered, just for a second, before he quickly masked it with false bravado. But Dhruv's piercing gaze didn't waver, his protective stance making it very clear: one wrong word, and it wouldn't just be glass breaking tonight.

How should I react? My goodness. He looked so hot. But this recklessness is going to cause so much trouble.

"Now, if you'll excuse us," Dhruv added smoothly, leading me away without sparing Mehul another glance.

The hush left behind was louder than the music.

Third Person's POV

The moment they stepped into the quiet corridor outside the hall, Aakriti yanked her hand out of Dhruv's grip. Her eyes were wide, her chest rising and falling fast.

"Dhruv Rathore!" she hissed, glaring at him. "Are you out of your mind? You just smashed a glass on his head in the middle of a party!"

Dhruv looked completely unfazed, brushing a shard of glass dust off his sleeve. "He deserved worse. You held back because you're too gracious. I don't have that problem."

Her jaw dropped. "Gracious? Dhruv, people were watching! Do you even realize the scene you just created?"

He turned toward her, eyes dark, voice low. "I don't care who was watching. He mocked you. He tried to belittle you. And the moment I saw your face—saw how much you hated him—I knew one thing. No one gets to talk to my wife like that and walk away smiling."

Aakriti's anger faltered, replaced by a flicker of something warmer in her chest. But she crossed her arms anyway, scowling to hide it. "That's not an excuse to act like... like some filmy gangster."

Dhruv smirked, stepping closer, his tone dripping with mischief. "You liked it, admit it."

She narrowed her eyes. "I most certainly did not."

"Really?" He leaned in, close enough that she could feel the heat of his words against her ear. "Because right now, you're looking at me like you're two seconds away from kissing me senseless."

Her cheeks burned. She shoved at his chest, muttering, "You're insufferable."

But Dhruv only grinned, catching her hand before she could pull away. "Say what you want, Mrs. Rathore, but deep down—you love it when I fight your battles. And you know I'd do it again. For you. Always."

Aakriti looked up at him, torn between rolling her eyes and melting completely. Finally, she sighed, shaking her head with the tiniest smile tugging at her lips.

"You're impossible."

"And yours," Dhruv replied instantly, lacing his fingers with hers as if that settled everything.

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