The lights suddenly went off the moment I entered.
A single spotlight fell on me.
Aryan stood there, frozen, gazing at me with wide eyes. I was draped in a stunning red saree paired with a bold black blouse—perfectly on point with the red and black theme of the evening.
The lights flickered back on. Guests sighed in relief, the atmosphere returning to normal.
Prince was about to walk over to greet me, but his father called him away.
Aryan quickly seized the opportunity and approached me.
Aryan:"I told you, I don't need your help."
Me:"Who said I came here for you? I was invited too, you know."
Aryan:"You never attend parties without some business motive. And as far as I know, you'd never accept anything from the Malhotra Group."
Me:"So what? I was bored at home. Thought I'd grace the evening with my presence."
Just then, Prince returned.
Prince:"Sorry I couldn't welcome you earlier."
Me:"I'm sorry too. I haven't handed over your gift yet."
Prince:"That's okay. You being here is the best gift I could've asked for."
Me (smiling):"Still, I did bring something special."
Prince:"Well, I owe you another apology. You might get bored here."
Me:"Not at all. In fact, someone here is keeping things quite... interesting."
Prince (raising a brow):"Really? Who?"
Me (glancing toward Aryan):"Someone I know very well."
Prince:"Wait, you know him?"
Me:"Yes. We share a very... special connection."
Prince (curious):"Sounds intriguing. I'd love to hear about it—on the dance floor?"
(He offered his hand.)
Me:"Sure."
(I accepted, and we stepped onto the floor.)
From the corner of my eye, I saw Aryan fuming, trying to mask his jealousy.
After a few songs, as Prince laughed at something I said, Aryan—perhaps unknowingly—spilled juice on Prince's shirt.
Aryan (immediately):"I'm so sorry!"
Prince (angrily):"Do you even know the price of this shirt? Your entire net worth probably doesn't match it!"
Aryan (calmly):"Then maybe don't wear clothes worth a fortune to parties where accidents happen. It still works as a shirt, doesn't it?"
Prince (mocking):"You'll never understand the value. Either pay for it, or clean it with your own shirt. Or else, I won't let you leave."
Aryan:"Relax, bro. You're overreacting. It's just a shirt."
Prince:"A shirt you can't even afford on rent."
Aryan (gritting his teeth):"Fine. If that'll satisfy your ego, tell me the price—I'll pay."
Prince:"You can't afford it. And I don't want your filthy money. I want you to clean the floor—with your shirt."
Aryan, jaw clenched, looked down and slowly began unbuttoning his shirt.
Before he could go further—I stepped in.
SLAP.
The sound echoed across the room.
Prince staggered back, holding his cheek in disbelief.
Me (furious):"How dare you?"
Everyone turned. Silence.
Me:"Do you even realize what you were about to force someone to do? If he had gone through with it—you would have been ruined. Ruined, Prince Malhotra."
Prince (nervous):"W-Why are you so worked up? Who even is he to you?"
Me (calm but firm):"If he had cleaned your floor—I would've destroyed you. Completely."
Prince:"Why would you go that far for... some guy?"
Me (eyes blazing):"Because he's not just 'some guy'. He's my husband."
Gasps rippled through the room.
Prince (laughing nervously):"Is this some kind of joke? You? An industrialist, married to him? You love power, business, and your image more than anything. You expect me to believe this?"
Me:"You don't need to believe it. Just remember it."
Prince:"When did this even happen?"
Me:"That's none of your concern. What is your concern, is this—if anyone here, ever insults Aryan again, directly or indirectly—you will face consequences. The kind that no money or surname can save you from."
I walked over to Aryan, grabbed his hand, and led him out of the party, leaving behind a stunned and silent crowd.