They said you ruined a marriage.

They said you stole him, manipulated him, whispered sweet nothings while his world with Natasha was falling apart. They never knew the truth—how he found out about the betrayal, the quiet arguments behind closed doors, the loneliness that wrapped around him like a winter coat even when he stood in the spotlight.

They never saw how broken he was when we met.

You were a criminal lawyer then. And yet… when you fell in love with him, you became the villain in someone else’s story.

Your parents didn't approve. “He’s not one of us,” they said. “You’re throwing away your entire career for what—love?” Maybe they were right. Maybe you were crazy. But you left anyway.

You gave it all up—your robes, your clients, your six-figure salary—just to travel the world with him. To be by his side. Not as his trophy, but as his peace. You stood with him through every injury, every loss, every time the crowd turned against him.

They booed when he stepped onto the field. “You are bad luck.” “He was better before you.”

You heard it all but you never let it break yourself. And he noticed.

But still, you stayed behind the curtain during his wins. Never posed for pictures. Never gave the media a reason to twist your love into another scandal. You were there when he cried, when he bled, when he doubted himself—but never when he raised the cup. That was his moment. You didn’t want your presence to steal it from him.

Then came that photo.

Hardik and Natasha. Hugging. Captured by paparazzi like it was the last frame of a romantic film.

Your phone lit up with chaos.

“Back with Natasha?” “She’s out.” “Finally, he realized who’s better.”

It felt like a knife—slow, deliberate, merciless. You stared at the photo, zoomed in until your eyes blurred. You didn’t ask him about it. You didn’t want to be that woman—the insecure, paranoid one.

A few nights later, as you both sat in silence in your hotel room, he noticed your distance.

“You’ve barely spoken to me all week" he said turning off the tv