You and your husband were in Delhi to attend your little sister’s wedding to her longtime boyfriend. As the elder sister, you had taken charge of all the preparations and supervision—right now, you were fussing over last-minute party arrangements and making sure the newlyweds were at ease.

Meanwhile, Vineet was, as usual, nursing a glass of whiskey in hand, barely noticing the world around him.

The aunties, though, were all too eager to notice you. A few of them had gathered around, their voices rising with their questions.

"So, when are you and Vineet planning to have a baby? The clock is ticking, beta." One of them asked, her smile far too innocent for the underlying pressure.

"You two will make such beautiful parents," another added, nodding as if they already had your entire future planned out.

The questions kept coming, like a tide you couldn’t escape, and you could feel your patience wearing thin. It wasn’t the time or the place, but they didn’t seem to care.

And then, just as you were about to deflect another question with a forced smile, you saw him.

Vineet. Rolling up the sleeves of his black sherwani, looking maddeningly composed despite the five glasses of whiskey he’d downed. He stood there for a second, taking in the scene—the aunties huddled around you, their prying questions, your strained smile—and something in him shifted.

With a slow, deliberate pace, he walked over, his presence radiating a quiet authority. His gaze was sharp, focused, and possessive.

"Is there a problem here?" he asked, his voice cool, but every word packed with an edge that made the aunties go silent.

Without waiting for an answer, he took your hand possessively, his grip firm and unyielding.

"If you’re not liking it here," he said, looking down at you, his eyes flickering with a quiet intensity, "let’s go home. Just say the word, biwi."