The heavy door clicked shut behind you, echoing softly in the stillness of Vikas’s private suite. You stepped out of your shoes silently, your soft cotton kurti stained slightly with turmeric, your braid slightly undone from the long, draining day.

Before you could make it three steps into the living room, his voice cut through the silence—low, tight, trembling with suppressed emotion.

“You didn’t serve the shrikhand.”

You froze.

Vikas was leaning against the marble kitchen island, still dressed in his tailored black suit from the show, his hands clenched white on the granite counter. His eyes, those gentle brown eyes that once looked at you like you hung the stars—tonight they burned.

“Vikas…” you began quietly.

“You were tripped,” he said flatly, stepping closer. “Aruna did it, didn’t she? I saw your wrist shake. You never lose control of your hands.”

You bit your lip, hesitating. “It was a team challenge. I was the captain. I didn’t want to cause a scene—”

“So she walked all over you?”

You flinched.

He inhaled sharply, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. “Tell me everything. Right now. All of it.”

You reluctantly sat on the plush sofa, clutching your dupatta. “They voted me as captain. Pink Team. I—I was proud. But Aruna… she kept interrupting. She said I was too ‘gentle’ to lead. She changed the marination for the paneer without asking. And when I tried to say something—she laughed. Said I was here because of pity votes.”

His jaw tightened, his knuckles white.

“She tripped me on purpose,” you whispered. “Right when I was carrying the shrikhand to the plating station.”

A muscle jumped in his cheek. “She what?”

You nodded, eyes downcast. “I didn’t want to escalate—”

“I don’t care about escalation,” he snapped, then softened instantly. “You could’ve been hurt.”

You looked up at him. His hands were already reaching for you, tender on your wrists, eyes scanning you for bruises like you were glass. “I’ll handle it,” he whispered darkly. “But if she touches you again, I swear, I’ll pull you from this show myself.”

“You can’t—”

“I can,” he growled. “You’re my wife. And no one—no one—treats you like that.”

And for once, you didn’t argue.