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Amaya – POV

If someone asked me to describe the Malhotra dining room, I would tell them the truth:

It is not a room. It is a stage.

One where I had been performing since childhood.

The chandelier glowed low, its crystals catching the golden light the way my mother liked—warm, flattering, deceptive. Two massive vases of lilies stood on opposite ends of the room, their heavy scent filling the air. The long rectangular table could seat twelve, yet felt far too small for the suffocating presence of both families.

The moment the Kapoors walked in, the air changed. My mother stood like some polished statue in silk, smiling too wide. My father’s shoulders squared like he was greeting investors. Nevan’s parents—the Kapoors—entered with an aura of quiet entitlement, the type of people who didn’t need to say out loud that they expected obedience.

And Nevan—

He walked behind them, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable, jaw tight, eyes flicking up only briefly to meet mine.

It had been two weeks since he returned from London. Two weeks since both families had “finalized” the arrangement behind our backs under the guise of reconnecting long‑standing family alliances.

Tonight was supposed to be a nice dinner.

A celebration.

A family bonding moment.

Instead, it felt like a sentencing.

I sat on the left side of the table. Nevan was placed deliberately beside me—our families forming a cage around us. His mother sat opposite him, my mother opposite me.

Perfect symmetry.

Perfect control.

We hadn’t even served the soup before my mother began.

“So,” she said, chin lifting with practiced elegance, “now that both families are finally together, we can settle the details of the engagement.”

My stomach clenched.

Here it comes.

My father added, “The priest said the 15th is the most auspicious. We’ve already informed close relatives.”

Already informed.

They said it so casually, like I was a piece of furniture being delivered and they had simply picked a date.

I opened my mouth. “Actually—”

“Amaya,” my mother snapped softly, without looking at me, “don’t interrupt your father.”

I swallowed the rising heat in my throat.

Nevan turned slightly, his shoulder brushing mine. I felt him tense—just a slight shift, but I noticed.

His mother adjusted her shawl. “The date is perfect. We need at least four weeks for the announcement shoot, the ring ceremony, and the magazine spread.”

Magazine spread.

Of course.

Not engagement pictures—publicity.

“This match is significant for both families,” his father added, his voice low but firm. “We expect complete cooperation.”

I could feel the pressure crawling under my skin.

I tried again. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet—”

My father placed his fork down with a loud, deliberate clink.

“Enough, Amaya.”

The word hit harder than he knew.

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Nevan – POV

She was going to snap.

I could see it in the tension of her jaw, the tight fists in her lap, the way her breathing changed—shallow, sharp. She wasn’t built to sit quietly in situations like this. And she shouldn’t have been forced to.

But both families…

Neither would bend.

Neither would care about what she wanted.

I kept my expression unreadable as soup was served, but my mind raced. She was on a warpath—not because she wanted to fight me, but because she wanted to fight all of this.

I should have spoken up.

I knew that.

But every time I had tried to oppose my parents in the past, I had been shut down even harder. Even as a grown man. And now, with business ties tied into this match, the pressure was tenfold.

She shifted again beside me.

Her knee pressed into mine.

Her breath hitched.

She was about to explode.

Without looking down, without moving much, I reached under the table and gently took her hand.

Her entire body went rigid.

For a heartbeat, I thought she would yank her hand away.

Instead, her fingers tightened around mine—hard.

Her nails dug into my skin instantly.

Sharp.

Desperate.

Silent.

It hurt.

But I didn’t move.

Her eyes snapped to mine, fiery, furious… but also afraid—not of me, but of losing control here, in this room full of people who were waiting for her to do exactly that.

I shook my head slightly, barely noticeable.

Not here.

Not now.

They’ll twist it against you.

Her chest rose and fell quickly, but she didn’t speak.

I kept her hand in mine, letting her press as hard as she wanted.

If this was the only thing I could do to help her right now, then fine.

Let her break the skin.

I didn’t care.

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Amaya – POV

He held my hand.

And I dug my nails into his.

Hard.

It was the only thing keeping me grounded. The only thing stopping me from screaming at the table full of people who pretended to care about me while controlling every breath I took.

The conversation continued above us, like we weren’t even there.

“We should finalize the ring design by Monday,” his mother said.

“Yes, and the jeweler must come home. Amaya has no understanding of tradition,” my mother added.

My head snapped toward her. “I do have—”

“No, you don’t,” she cut in sharply. “You’ve been living abroad too long. You’ve forgotten your roots.”

I felt my nails pierce Nevan’s skin.

He didn’t flinch.

His father added, “We also need to discuss living arrangements. After the wedding—”

“We’re not even engaged yet,” I whispered.

My mother shot me a look that could freeze fire.

“Stop embarrassing us.”

I breathed in, my chest tight. “I’m not embarrassing anyone. I’m stating facts.”

My father scoffed. “Facts? The fact is, the engagement is decided. You will behave accordingly.”

I felt something shatter inside me.

“I haven’t agreed,” I said, louder.

My mother’s smile was venomous. “Don’t be dramatic. This match is perfect. Nevan is the kind of man any girl would be lucky to marry.”

I almost laughed.

Lucky?

Lucky to be forced into a marriage like some kind of business acquisition?

Lucky to have every decision made for me?

Lucky to be dismissed every time I opened my mouth?

I turned to Nevan—not for support, but because I needed to know if he felt even a fraction of this.

His jaw was clenched so tightly I could see the muscle jumping.

His thumb brushed the back of my hand under the table.

Small.

Subtle.

Human.

But the voices around us swallowed the moment.

“We expect children soon after marriage,” his mother said casually, as if discussing travel plans. “A family like ours must continue the lineage.”

My mouth opened in pure disbelief. “I don’t even—”

“She’s not prepared, Madam,” my mother said, laughing stiffly. “She can’t even cook. We’ve been telling her to learn, but she’s stubborn.”

My father added, “We hope the Kapoors will straighten her out.”

Straighten me out.

Straighten me out.

Nevan’s hand tightened around mine.

I wasn’t breathing anymore.

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Nevan – POV

She was breaking.

Piece by piece.

Every dismissive comment from both families chipped at her, and she didn’t have the armor for this. How could she? No one should.

Her nails dug deeper into my skin. I could feel blood warm against my palm.

I didn’t let go.

When they talked about her as if she wasn’t here—

I tightened my hold.

When they talked about “fixing” her—

I shifted closer, my knee pressing against hers, steadying her.

When they talked about children—

Her body jolted, and I squeezed her hand again, silently telling her:

Don’t react. Not now. Not here. They’ll use it against you.

But when her father said she needed “straightening out”—

I felt something inside me snap too.

My eyes lifted. Slowly. Deliberately.

I looked at both families.

Then at her hand in mine.

Then at her.

Her breath was shaking.

Her eyes glistened—not with tears, but with rage.

She looked like she might flip the table.

And honestly?

I wouldn’t blame her.

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Amaya – POV

I was slipping.

I could feel the pressure building, boiling, rising—

And then I heard my mother say:

“We expect Amaya to leave behind her childish career dreams. After marriage, her priority will be the Kapoor household.”

That was it.

My voice burst out before I could hold it back.

“I won’t do it!”

Silence.

A long, cold, suffocating silence.

Everyone stared.

Everyone except Nevan—

He was already watching me.

My mother spoke first, her voice sharp. “Lower your voice.”

“No!” I snapped. “I won’t give up my career. I won’t be some perfect housewife who cooks and cleans and produces heirs. I’m not—”

“Enough,” my father growled.

“No, you don’t get to decide my life!”

“You’re being unreasonable,” his mother said.

“You’re being dramatic,” my mother whispered harshly.

“You’re being ungrateful,” his father added.

Ungrateful.

Dramatic.

Unreasonable.

Childish.

Every word minimizing me.

Every word suffocating.

And through all of it—

Nevan still held my hand.

My nails were in deep.

I didn’t stop.

I wouldn’t.

But my voice cracked.

Just barely.

I hated it.

“I’m trying to speak,” I whispered.

“And we are telling you,” my father said coldly, “that what you want does not matter. What matters is the family.”

I felt the last bit of fight drain from my limbs.

My chest tightened painfully.

Nevan’s thumb brushed my skin again, but it didn’t ground me this time.

Nothing could.

I had been screaming into a void for years.

Tonight proved it more than ever.

I wasn’t a daughter.

I wasn’t a bride‑to‑be.

I wasn’t even a person.

I was a project.

A deal.

A pawn.

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Nevan – POV

She was shaking.

Not visibly—

but I felt it through her hand.

I couldn’t say what I wanted, not here, not with them watching.

But I could do one thing.

I leaned in, just slightly, my shoulder brushing hers, and whispered under my breath so only she could hear:

“Amaya…”

Her eyes lifted to mine.

“Not here,” I murmured. “Save it.”

Her nails stopped digging—for a moment.

“Save your strength.”

She stared at me like she didn’t know whether to scream or collapse.

But she didn’t argue.

She didn’t speak.

She just squeezed my hand once—tight, trembling—and then slowly pulled hers away.

Not because she didn’t want support.

But because she couldn’t trust her body anymore.

She was too close to breaking.

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Amaya – POV

Dinner continued.

But I wasn’t really there anymore.

Their voices faded in and out.

“…guest list will be finalized soon…”

“…designer has already been contacted…”

“…photoshoot location—”

Location.

Shoots.

Clothes.

Perfect image.

Perfect lie.

My breathing felt too loud in my own ears, too fast.

Every muscle in my body felt stiff.

My throat burned.

Nevan didn’t touch me again.

He didn’t speak.

But he sat beside me, silent, rigid, absorbing every hit with me—even if he couldn’t block any of them.

There was a quiet tension between us now.

Not angry.

Not cold.

Just…

The tension between two people drowning at the same time, but close enough to feel each other struggling.

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Nevan – POV

When dessert arrived, nobody touched it.

Everyone was too busy talking.

Except us.

She sat motionless, her gaze fixed on her plate.

I sat beside her, hands clasped under the table now, hiding the blood on my palm.

They didn’t notice. Of course they didn’t.

They didn’t see anything that didn’t benefit them.

And I knew one thing with absolute clarity:

After tonight—

We were both trapped.

Together.

Whether we wanted to be or not.

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