Vikram paled, stumbling back. "Sidharth! I was just—"
"Touching my wife." Sidharth moved between them, his body a wall of controlled fury. His hand settled on Advika's waist, pulling her against his side with unmistakable possession. "She's my wife."
The way he said it—low, dangerous, absolutely lethal—sent shivers down Advika's spine. This wasn't the cold, indifferent husband she'd gotten used to. This was the mafia king, the man who ruled the underworld with fear and blood.
"I didn't mean any disrespect," Vikram said quickly, hands raised in surrender. "I was just being friendly—"
"You were being inappropriate." Sidharth's amber eyes were cold as death. "Do it again, and we'll have a different kind of conversation. The kind that ends with you regretting you ever looked at her."
Vikram fled, disappearing into the crowd with the survival instinct of a prey animal.
Advika's heart was racing, adrenaline and something else—something hot and confusing—coursing through her veins. Sidharth's hand was still on her waist, his body still pressed against hers, and she was hyperaware of every point of contact.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice still carrying that dangerous edge.
"I'm fine. I could have handled him."
"I'm sure you could have." But his hand didn't move. If anything, his grip tightened. "But you shouldn't have to."
People were staring. Whispers rippled through the crowd. The ruthless Sidharth Singhania, showing public possessiveness over his wife. This would be tomorrow's gossip.
"We should go," he said abruptly. "I've had enough of this circus."
Advika didn't argue. She let him guide her out of the ballroom, his hand never leaving her waist, burning through the silk of her dress.
The car ride home was silent but charged with something electric. Sidharth had loosened his tie, undone the top button of his shirt. She caught him looking at her twice, his jaw tight, his eyes dark.
When they arrived at the estate, he opened her car door himself—unusual. His hand found her waist again as they walked inside, and Advika's skin felt too tight, her breath too shallow.
They made it to their bedroom. Sidharth closed the door, and the click of the lock sounded impossibly loud.
"Did you enjoy it?" he asked, his back still to her.
"Enjoy what?"
He turned, and the look on his face made her stomach flip. "The attention. Every man in that room was watching you. Wanting you."
"I didn't ask for their attention."
"But you got it." He moved closer, predatory. "In that dress, looking like..." He shook his head. "Do you have any idea what it did to me, watching them look at you?"
"You were barely around," Advika shot back, anger rising to meet whatever this was. "You left me alone for two hours. If you cared so much about men looking at me, maybe you should have stayed."
"I had business—"
"You always have business! I'm just your wife, right? The treaty bride. Why would you waste your precious time on me?"
"That's not—"
"Would you even care if I did enjoy the attention?" The words burst out of her, raw and honest. "Would you even care, Sidharth? You barely remember you have a wife most days!"
Something in him snapped. She saw it happen—the careful control he always maintained fracturing like glass.
He closed the distance between them in two strides, his hands coming up to cup her face. "You think I don't remember I have a wife?" His voice was rough, strained. "You think I don't lie awake every night, separated by those goddamn pillows, painfully aware that you're right there but I can't—"
"Can't what?" Advika's heart hammered against her ribs. "Can't what, Sidharth?"
Instead of answering, he kissed her.
