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AMAYA — POV

The first thing I saw when I woke up was sunlight.

The second thing I saw… was my phone.

It buzzed relentlessly beside my pillow, lighting up with notifications so fast that the screen looked like it was flickering.

Messages.

Mentions.

Tags.

News alerts.

The photos were out.

My heart stuttered—then steadied, then stuttered again.

I threw the blanket off and sat up, grabbing the phone as if it might burn me.

The first headline hit like a punch.

> “THE MALHOTRA–KAPOOR HEIR ALLIANCE: AMAYA & NEVAN BREAK THE INTERNET WITH SIZZLING CHEMISTRY.”

What?

I tapped open the article.

And there we were.

One photo filled the screen:

Nevan’s hand wrapped around my waist, his eyes anchored to mine, my hair falling in loose waves over my shoulder.

The shot looked… intimate.

Almost tender.

Too real.

I felt something flutter in my stomach.

A tight, inconvenient, traitorous flutter.

I scowled instantly.

“No. Absolutely not.”

My body had no right reacting to him.

To his presence.

To the memory of his fingers on my chin.

To the way his eyes had softened when he looked at me like I wasn’t just a pawn in this charade.

I clicked the next photo.

Nevan guiding my chin.

My eyes half parted.

The moment frozen in a way that looked—

Heat crawled up my neck.

I flung the phone onto the bed.

“Stupid,” I muttered.

“Stupid flutter. Stupid chemistry. Stupid Nevan.”

My mother knocked sharply.

“Amaya! We’re leaving in fifteen minutes for temple darshan. Wear something appropriate!”

Temple.

Right.

The families had planned a donation and prayer visit for good PR—to “seek blessings for the alliance.”

The alliance.

Not the relationship.

I got up, showered quickly, and put on a simple pastel kurta—light, airy, unpretentious.

Hair tied back.

No makeup.

I wasn’t playing dress-up today.

When I stepped into the living room, both families were gathered—Malhotra and Kapoor elders combined into one loud, self-important cluster.

But one person was missing.

I scanned the room instinctively.

No tall frame.

No intense eyes.

No charcoal sherwani.

No presence that shifted the air when he walked in.

No Nevan.

My mother noticed me searching.

“He’s busy,” she said flatly. “Some legal crisis came up this morning.”

Legal crisis?

At 8 a.m.?

Suspicious.

But I didn’t ask.

I didn’t want them thinking I cared.

We piled into a convoy of cars and headed to the temple.

---

NEVAN — POV

Busy.

That’s what they told her.

And technically, it was true.

I was busy.

Busy reading every vile comment posted under our announcement.

Busy hunting down every anonymous man who thought he could objectify her.

Busy tracking their IP addresses through my team.

Busy building legal cases that would cost them three months of their salary—per comment.

Busy unleashing hell.

This wasn’t voluntary.

It was instinctive.

Because something happened inside me the moment I saw the first disgusting remark under her photo.

“I’d love to unwrap her saree.”

“Bet she’s wild in bed.”

“Nevan’s lucky—she looks like she’d be fun to break.”

“Too modern for a bride.”

“Trying too hard.”

The last one was mild.

But the others?

The others made something inside me snap so cleanly that I couldn’t remember the moment before the rage hit.

I didn’t shout.

I didn’t punch a wall.

I didn’t lose control.

I simply became cold.

Frozen.

Lethal.

I opened my laptop, called my legal team at KIUD, and gave one order:

“Every single inappropriate comment about Amaya Malhotra—trace them, fine them three months of their salary, and file harassment notices. No exceptions.”

The team hesitated.

One man—new, clearly foolish—asked, “Sir… won’t that seem excessive?”

I stared at him until he dropped his gaze.

“Do you know what’s excessive?” I said quietly.

“Men hiding behind anonymity to degrade a woman who hasn’t harmed a soul.

Now carry out my order. Immediately.”

He swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

I wasn’t doing this because I was possessive.

Or jealous.

Or protective.

Not consciously.

I was doing it because every word against her felt like an attack on something I had no business wanting to defend.

Something fragile.

Unspoken.

Unbearably dangerous.

I clicked refresh on the feed.

More comments came.

More insults.

More filth.

My fury sharpened.

I made a list.

A long one.

And I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt.

If they were bold enough to write it, they could pay for it.

With interest.

---

AMAYA — POV

The temple was crowded and hot.

Brass bells clanged overhead.

Flowers perfumed the air.

Our mothers held baskets of offerings, ready to present at the shrine.

I folded my hands dutifully, prayed half-heartedly, and stepped aside with the families.

Cameras snapped discreetly from a distance—reporters pretending not to report.

The priests blessed us with vermillion and offered prasad.

But through all of it… something felt off.

Like a presence missing.

Like a thread pulled too tight.

Nevan wasn’t here.

And I hated how much I noticed.

After an hour of rituals, donations, photos, and whispered blessings, we returned to the cars.

I rode back with my parents.

The moment I walked into the house, a housekeeper hurried over.

“Ma’am—your phone was ringing the whole time.”

I grabbed it and checked my notifications.

Another headline dominated everything.

Bigger.

Louder.

Wilder.

> “BREAKING: NEVAN KAPOOR FINES TROLLS A TOTAL OF ₹3.4 CRORE AFTER INAPPROPRIATE COMMENTS ON AMAYA MALHOTRA.”

My heart plummeted.

I clicked.

Another article exploded open, filled with details.

> “Kapoor Legal Division issues official harassment notices.”

“Each offender fined 3 months of salary PER comment.”

“Trolls crying on social media—‘We didn’t know it was illegal!’ ”

“Public praises Nevan Kapoor’s zero-tolerance stance.”

“Kapoor heir protects future partner in ruthless legal sweep.”

My mouth fell open.

“What the—”

I scrolled deeper.

Screenshots of trolls apologizing.

Begging.

Crying.

Publicly posting bank statements and penalty receipts.

Some claiming they’d lost half a year’s savings.

And beneath all that…

Thousands of comments from fans.

> “NEVAN PROTECTING AMAYA??? I’M ON THE FLOOR.”

“Not him avenging her honor LIKE A KING.”

“If he doesn’t want her, HAND HER TO ME.”

“This man said TOUCH MY WOMAN AND DIE.”

“Power couple of the decade.”

“Marry him twice, girl.”

“THE WAY HE DEFENDED HER??????”

“Sir, I am adopting your legal values.”

“Show me a man who protects like this. I’ll wait.”

I sank onto the couch.

This was insane.

Completely insane.

But beneath the shock…

beneath the disbelief…

beneath the “oh my god, what has he done”…

There was something else.

Something warm.

Something unwelcome.

Something terrifying.

A flutter.

A surge of heat.

A soft ache.

A feeling that whispered:

He did this for you.

I clenched my fists.

“Stupid,” I muttered. “Stupid Nevan. Stupid feelings.”

My phone buzzed.

A message.

From him.

> Nevan: I handled it. Don’t worry about the comments.

I stared at the screen.

My pulse picked up.

Another message followed.

> Nevan: If anyone bothers you again, forward it to me.

Forward it?

Who did he think he was?

My protector?

My shield?

My—

I shook my head violently.

No.

I typed back.

> Amaya: You didn’t have to do that.

His reply came immediately.

> Nevan: I did.

I swallowed.

Another message arrived before I could type.

> Nevan: No one gets to talk about you like that. Ever.

My stomach twisted.

Heat crawled up my throat.

This wasn’t possession.

This wasn’t duty.

This was personal.

I cursed under my breath.

“Damn him.”

---

NEVAN — POV

I didn’t expect her to text.

I didn’t expect her to care.

Or notice.

But I wanted her to notice.

Every instinct in me was still coiled tight, waiting for another insult to surface.

Waiting for another excuse to destroy someone.

And then my phone buzzed again.

> Amaya: Nevan…

Are you always this ruthless?

Ruthless.

Finally, a word that fit.

I typed slowly.

> Nevan: When necessary.

A pause.

Three dots.

She was thinking.

Then:

> Amaya:

You scared half the internet today.

I leaned back.

Smirked slightly.

Then typed:

> Nevan:

Not the half that mattered.

Her typing stopped.

Then resumed.

Stopped.

Resumed.

She was flustered.

I could feel it through the screen.

Finally, she sent:

> Amaya:

Why did you do it?

I stared at the text for a long moment.

Why?

Because I couldn’t stand it.

Because every insult felt like a hand on her.

Because the idea of anyone disrespecting her made something violent rise in me.

But she didn’t want that truth.

So I typed the safest version of it:

> Nevan:

Because I won’t let anyone hurt you.

I didn’t add the rest:

Even if that includes myself.

---

AMAYA — POV

My heartbeat thudded too loud.

His last text stared at me like a secret.

Because I won’t let anyone hurt you.

I set the phone down and pressed a hand to my forehead.

This man.

This infuriating, controlled, ruthless man.

Why did he say things like that?

Why did he do things like that?

Why did he make the world believe we were—

I exhaled shakily.

The internet was already in love with us.

Overnight.

And part of me… hated how much I didn’t hate it.

I closed my eyes and whispered into the empty room:

“Don’t do this to yourself.”

But my heart fluttered again—

and I cursed myself all over.

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Author's Note:

AHHHHH! The way I was giggling, blushing and grinning while writing this—Nevan's the literal definition of A MAN.

Do comment which line made your heart flutter!!!

Because my heartbeat was NOT NORMAL, and I was a total mess.

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