The award show glittered under golden lights, stars packed into the front rows, cameras flashing endlessly. YN Khan, Bollywood’s reigning superstar, entered with her usual fire — curves wrapped in couture, hair cascading to her waist, her aura enough to make the entire hall shift. People tripped over themselves for her, as always.

And then came Ranveer Singh — flamboyant, energetic, one of Rohit’s own lead actors. He bounded over with his usual enthusiasm, arms wide. Before YN could process, he hugged her tightly. Surprised, she allowed it for a brief moment, though she rarely accepted such gestures.

The room buzzed, phones lifted, the media whispering instantly: “Rohit Shetty’s reaction… dekho dekho.”

She blinked in surprise, stiff at first, then gave him a polite reciprocation for the cameras. But even as she smiled, her heart knew better — this wasn’t her. She only liked Rohit’s touch. And right then, she could feel it… the weight of his gaze.

Across the red carpet, Rohit Shetty stood, towering at 6’3, burly, tattooed arms crossed over his chest. Filthy rich, connected, powerful — and yet he didn’t need to move or speak to command silence. His easygoing charisma had vanished, replaced by something darker, territorial. The media sensed it instantly; cameras zoomed in, whispers spread. The media caught it instantly. Whispers rippled through reporters:

“Did you see Rohit’s face?” “Boss is jealous. Territorial, haan?” “Man looks ready to blow up cars in real life too.”

Rohit walked forward, his stride easy, controlled, but carrying the weight of a storm. He stopped right beside them, his voice calm — too calm.

Rohit Shetty (low, deep, addressing Ranveer with a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes): “Ranveer… tum toh meri film ke hero ho. Par set aur screen ke bahar… hero ban’ne ki zarurat nahi hai.”

Ranveer laughed awkwardly, trying to play it off, but the message was clear. Rohit’s hand found YN’s lower back, subtle but possessive, as he turned her slightly toward him.

Rohit Shetty (soft, leaning closer to YN, voice meant only for her): “Tum jaanti ho na… mujhe pasand nahi jab koi aur tumhe chhoota hai.”

His tone wasn’t loud, wasn’t dramatic — but the territorial burn in it was impossible to miss. Even surrounded by flashing lights and cameras, Rohit Shetty’s jealousy was silent, suffocating, and absolute.