“Just thinking,” she replied, taking a small step back.
He followed. “About what? How you’re the luckiest woman in this room?”
His smile revealed perfect teeth, but his eyes held something less pleasant, assessment, curiosity.
“I don’t believe in luck,” she said.
“Ah, there it is.” Ayaansh leaned closer. “That charming simplicity. So refreshing.” His eyes swept over her, lingering in places that made her skin crawl. “You’re different.”
She shifted, looking for an escape route. “I should probably...”
“Why rush?” He stepped closer. “I’m shooting an independent film next month. Very artistic. You should visit the set. I could give you a private tour.”
His emphasis on “private” left little doubt about his intentions.
“I appreciate the offer, but...”
“I insist.” His hand found her shoulder. “Someone with your unique insight would find it fascinating. And Vikram doesn’t need to know. What happens between colleagues stays between colleagues, right?”
The implication hung in the air, ugly and unmistakable.
Across the room, something shifted.
Vikram’s conversation stopped mid-sentence. His head turned sharply, eyes locking onto Ayaansh’s hand on Divya’s shoulder. The change that came over his face was subtle but absolute, the smile vanishing, replaced by something cold.
He excused himself from the producer without pleasantries. Then he moved.
Not hurried. But inevitable. The crowd sensed something and parted instinctively, conversations faltering as he passed.
Divya saw him coming. The expression on his face made her breath catch. She’d never seen him look like that. Not angry. Dangerous.
Ayaansh didn’t notice, still leaning close.
“Think about it. My driver could pick you up anytime...”
A hand slid across Divya’s lower back. Possessive. Vikram appeared beside her, his body angled forward, deliberately inserting himself between her and Ayaansh with enough force that the younger actor had to step back.
“Ayaansh.” The greeting was arctic. “Remove your hand from my wife. Now.”
Ayaansh’s hand dropped immediately, but his smile stayed in place, nervous now. “Vikram! I was just telling your lovely wife about my new project...”
“I don’t care.” Vikram’s voice dropped lower, quieter, infinitely more threatening. “You touched her. That was your first mistake. Propositioning her was your second. Would you like to make a third?”
The ballroom had gone quiet around them. People were watching now, not even pretending otherwise.
Ayaansh’s face drained of color. “I wasn’t… I didn’t mean…”
“Yes, you did.” Vikram stepped closer. “Let me be very clear. My wife is not available for your ‘private tours’ or whatever pathetic euphemism you’re using.”
He pulled Divya closer to his side. “If I ever see you near her again, if you so much as look in her direction, I will make it my personal mission to ensure every producer, every director, every casting agent in this industry knows exactly what kind of man you are. Do you understand me?”
Ayaansh’s throat worked visibly. “Yes. I’m sorry. I apologize, Mrs. Khanna. It won’t happen again.”
“No,” Vikram agreed, his smile appearing, cold and sharp. “It won’t.”
Ayaansh fled, nearly colliding with a waiter in his haste.
The surrounding guests pretended they hadn’t witnessed the exchange, conversations resuming with forced casualness. But Divya could feel eyes on them, could sense the shift in the room’s energy.
