As Vanya reached for a glass of juice on the table beside her, her gaze wandered almost unconsciously, drawn by a pull she couldn’t explain. And then she saw him.

Veeraj.

He stood across the room, half in shadow, half bathed in the soft amber glow of the chandelier. Alone. Drink untouched. Arms folded, rigid yet effortless, like he owned not just the space he occupied but the entire room...Watching her.

Not casually. Not the fleeting glance of someone noticing a stranger. But watching. Every line of his body and every inch of his posture screamed focus, intent, and unapologetic precision. Their eyes locked for a heartbeat—or maybe an eternity—and Vanya’s breath caught, stuttering in her chest. A spark shot down her spine, sudden, electric, and impossible to ignore. She stiffened, immediately forcing herself to look away, cheeks blooming hot with heat and sudden awareness.

She busied herself with the rim of her glass, twisting it between her fingers, pretending not to have seen him. Maybe he’s just looking through me, she told herself. Maybe he’s bored. Maybe it’s nothing.

But the lie felt hollow.

When she dared to glance back—just once—Veeraj was still there. Still watching. Unmoved. Unblinking. His gaze held no warmth, no humor, and no pretense of charm. Only a quiet, still intensity that felt more dangerous than any smile or flirtation could ever be. It wasn’t just looking—it was claiming.

She looked away again, harder this time, wrapping her arms around herself like a shield. Breathe, she ordered silently. Calm your heart. Aariv, she reminded herself. Aariv is the one you love. The one you’ve always loved. That’s reality. That’s safety. That makes sense.

But even as her rational mind clung to that thought, the imprint of Veeraj’s gaze lingered. Too long. Too sharp. Like a secret she hadn’t meant to reveal, like a flame that had ignited quietly in a corner of her chest.

She couldn’t breathe.

His eyes felt like they had stripped her bare, burning through the careful masks she’d built: her forced smiles, her polite laughter, her secret fantasies, and her fragile illusions of control. With a single look, he had unraveled her. And in the silent, amber-lit room, she realized just how dangerous that unraveling could be.

Vanya clutched her glass too tightly, the cool rim biting into her palm as if it were the only anchor in a suddenly spinning world. She rose too quickly, determined to vanish, to slip away into a corner, a quiet hallway, anywhere that might shield her from his eyes—and from the furious, trembling rhythm of her own heart.

She didn’t look where she was going....A bad idea.

She collided—crashed—straight into someone.

“Oh my God! Watch where you’re going!” The shrill, cutting voice was all sharp nails and thin perfume. The woman teetered on her impossibly high heels, more concerned about the pristine sweep of her gown than her balance.

Vanya recoiled, mortified, and the contents of her glass sloshed over the edge, splattering across the woman’s glittering clutch.

“I—I’m so sorry.” Vanya stammered, small and flustered, her voice barely audible over the sudden hush that seemed to have fallen in that corner of the room.

The woman’s eyes narrowed, lips curling into a sneer that cut deeper than any insult Vanya had ever known. “Do you even know how much this bag costs? People like you shouldn’t be invited to parties like these.”

The words landed like ice-cold knives. A sharp, sudden pain shot through her chest—sharper than the time she had stepped barefoot on broken glass as a child. But worse than the sting was the quiet confirmation: he was right there.

Aariv.

Standing beside the woman, hands shoved carelessly into his pockets, expression unreadable. Vanya’s eyes darted to his face, searching—pleading—for a word, a gesture, anything. A smile. A shield. A single syllable of defense.

But he said nothing.....Not a word.

Not even a flicker of discomfort at her humiliation. Just the cold, unreadable mask of polite indifference. It was as if her embarrassment was… expected. Just another scene, another moment where she overstepped, and the world made sure she knew her place.

Then Mrs. Khurana swept over, eyes sharp and voice dripping disapproval. “Vanya, really? Must you always make everything about you? Can you not behave with a little dignity at least once?”

The words stung, but not like the woman’s cruelty. This—Mrs. Khurana’s calm, measured scorn—felt heavier, like judgment etched into stone. Vanya’s stomach twisted, heat rushing to her face, as if the entire room could see the shame she was desperate to bury.

She opened her mouth to apologize again, to defend herself, but no words came. She felt suddenly small, exposed, ridiculous, and utterly out of place.

Vanya flinched, throat tight, vision blurring. She felt herself shrink several inches in her heels, her body curling inward like she could disappear completely. And then—a voice. Smooth, quiet, but with an authority that froze the room in place.

“Enough.”

Heads turned. Conversations stalled mid-laugh. Crystal glasses paused mid-air...Veeraj.

He stepped forward, a calm storm in his eyes, each measured motion exuding power. Towering over the woman who had sneered at Vanya, he then shifted his gaze toward his mother, sharp and unflinching.

The music continued around them, but in her mind, it dulled to a distant hum. The harsh, shrill tone of the woman’s voice rang loud, echoing in her ears.

“Do you even know how much this costs?” The woman snapped, clutching her glittering bag as though it were sacred. A few droplets of wine sparkled on the sequins. “Careless little—”

“I said I was sorry,” Vanya whispered, retreating into herself. Her fingers gripped the edge of her dupatta until her knuckles whitened. Heat flared across her cheeks as dozens of eyes—too many eyes—fell on her.

Mrs. Khurana’s lips curved into that thin, unyielding line. “Perhaps, Vanya beta, you should learn to—”

“She said she was sorry.”

The words cut through the room like a blade. Silence fell. Every head turned. All movement froze...Veeraj.

A single step brought him closer, broad shoulders squared, a dangerous calm radiating off him. His hand flexed at his side as though itching for action, yet his voice—low, measured, deliberate—was louder than any shout.

“And it was an accident.” His eyes softened minutely as they flicked to Vanya, offering a flicker of reassurance, before snapping hard back to the woman. “If anyone here needs to behave with dignity, it’s not her.”

The woman’s gasp was scandalized. “You—how dare you—”

Veeraj leaned in slightly, towering over her, a smirk curling on lips that held more threat than humor. “And you,” he said, slow and deliberate, “if a few drops on your overpriced clutch are enough to make you act like a spoiled brat, maybe you’re the one who doesn’t belong at this party.”

Her mouth opened and closed. No words.

Aariv shifted beside her, jaw tightening, lips parting as though he might intervene—but he didn’t. His silence was deafening, louder than the music, louder than the woman’s sputtering indignation.

Veeraj’s voice dripped over the room like molten silk over steel. “Accidents happen. Wine spills. Glass breaks. Dignity? Either you have it or you don’t. And tonight, sweetheart”—his gaze swept her like a verdict, sharp and deliberate—“you don’t.”

The woman clutched her bag, crimson spreading across her cheeks as she fled into the crowd, humiliated. A ripple of murmurs spread through the party. Eyes shifted, conversations cautiously resumed, the tension easing like a tide retreating. But Vanya remained frozen, chest tight, pulse hammering.

And then—he turned to her.

The shift was almost violent, instantaneous. The arrogance, the teasing, the predatory confidence—all melted the instant his eyes found hers. Shoulders relaxed. The voice dropped low and soft, meant only for her.

“Are you okay?”

Three simple words, gentle, almost intimate. A question that seemed to reach past the glitter, past the murmurs, straight to her.

Vanya’s lips parted, but no sound came. No one had ever asked her that—not like this, with such raw intensity, such unspoken expectation, as if he had been holding his breath for her answer.

“I—I’m fine,” she whispered, though every beat of her heart contradicted her.

Veeraj studied her, weighing the truth in her trembling words. And then, just a subtle nod—small, unreadable, yet steady. In that instant, she felt seen in a way that polite smiles and gentle words from Aariv had never managed. Protected. Validated.

She turned her face away before tears could betray her, but it was too late. Something inside her had shifted irrevocably. Veeraj Khurana might be reckless, arrogant, and the family’s prodigal bad son. But when he looked at her—only her—none of that mattered. He was entirely, terrifyingly present.

And for the first time in her life, Vanya knew she mattered to someone—truly, undeniably mattered.