"Pista, move," she said softly, stepping around him.
The puppy sat immediately, tail thumping against the floor, looking up at her with pure adoration.
Despite everything, the walls, the distance, the numbness she'd wrapped around herself like armor, a small smile pulled at her lips. She crouched down, scratching behind his soft ears.
"Good boy."
Pista licked her hand once, then bounded off toward the kitchen, probably hoping for dropped food.
When she straightened, Vikram was standing there.
The sight of him stole her breath.
The black tuxedo fit him like it had been sewn onto his body. His shoulders looked broader. His hair fell just right, styled but not stiff. He looked every inch the movie star he was, polished, perfect, untouchable.
For just a moment, her walls cracked.
He was beautiful. Not magazine-beautiful. Not camera-beautiful. The kind of beautiful that made something hurt deep in her chest, something she didn't want to name.
"How do I look?" he asked.
He already knew. But he was asking anyway.
"Perfect," she whispered. "You'll win tonight."
He moved closer. She caught his scent, the cologne that lived on his pillow, that she sometimes breathed in when she thought he wasn't watching.
"Watch it on TV," he said, his voice dropping low. Intimate. "I'll feel like you're there with me."
His hand came up slowly, like he was afraid she'd pull away. It settled against her cheek, warm and solid. His thumb brushed across her cheekbone so gently it almost hurt.
"Watch all of it," he said. "Promise me."
There was something in his voice. Something urgent. Something that made her look up and actually see him.
Behind the tuxedo, behind the camera-ready smile, his eyes were intense. Almost desperate.
"Okay, Boss," she heard herself say.
The old name. The safe name. The barrier between them.
But tonight, he didn't flinch. Didn't correct her. Didn't step back. His eyes held hers for one more heartbeat. Then he leaned down.
His lips pressed against her forehead in a deliberate, slow kiss. Like he was trying to say something he couldn't put into words.
His hand slid to the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair. She felt him breathe in, felt the moment stretch and pull and almost break.
Then he let go.
"Good," he said quietly.
He stepped back. The connection snapped.
The family gathered in the foyer. Harshit in his formal suit. Kavita resplendent in deep blue silk. Raghav and Ishani standing close, watching.
Divya followed them to the door. "The car is waiting. Forty minutes before the red carpet."
Vikram turned at the threshold. "Remember your promise."
