Page 112 of Drunk On Love

“So run along, Vihaan Singhania,” I added. “You’ve embarrassed yourself enough for one night.”

I took another step forward. Calm. Intentional.

One that said:test me again, and see what happens.

“She’s not your past. Not your mistake. And sure as hell not your punchline. She’s my present. My everything. And the next time you eventhinkabout using her pain for your entertainment, I’ll make sure you’re not welcome at a single table again. Got it?”

Vihaan opened his mouth. He scoffed—a weak, guttural sound—and turned, retreating with whatever shred of ego he had left. No parting jab. No clever exit. Just silence.

Behind me, I caught the faintest smile tugging at Dadi’s lips.

I turned back and walked slowly to my seat. Kiara was staring at me, wide-eyed, lips parted slightly like she couldn’t decide whether to thank me or throttle me.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she whispered, voice thick with something she didn’t want to name.

I leaned in, letting my hand find hers under the table.

“Yeah,” I murmured, brushing my thumb over her knuckles, “I did.”

Because someone had to remind her she wasn’t alone.

Not anymore.

____________

The party had thinned out. Guests were scattered in the garden under strings of warm lights, sipping their drinks and murmuring over dessert. Kiara was with Dadi and Roy, laughing softly, though I could see the tightness still lingering around her eyes.

And I knew exactly where he’d be.

Apart from the family. Shoulders stiff. Spine straight. Staring into his drink like it held the answers to everything he’d refused to face.

Jay Randhawa.

A man who had mastered the art of detachment. But not tonight. Not after everything he’d said.

Not after everything she still carried.

I walked over—slow, deliberate steps, hands tucked in my pockets.

“Mr. Randhawa.”

He looked up, eyes narrowing slightly. “Oberoi.”

No small talk. No forced civility. Just silence stretching between us like a line drawn in the sand.

“You really hate her, don’t you?” I said quietly.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. But he said nothing.

“Did you ever stop to askwhyshe left? Why she build a life miles away from here?” I took a step closer. “Because this house stopped being home the moment you made her feel like a burden. A mistake.”

His eyes hardened. “She wasn’t supposed to live,” he said, the words escaping like venom. “She lived. And her mother died.”

There it was. The wound he’d never cleaned. Never closed. Just… let it rot.

I didn’t flinch.

“You think punishing her fixes that?” I asked, my voice low, razor-sharp. “You think blaming her will bring your wife back?”