You were a powerhouse—a self-made businesswoman, CEO of a globally leading company. Success wasn’t just a goal; it was your reality. But beyond the world of business, you had something even more precious—a love that was fierce, unshakable, and deeply real.

Virat Kohli, the king of the cricket world, wasn’t just your boyfriend—he was your soulmate. The connection you shared was effortless, a love so profound that it felt like destiny itself had written your story. No matter where his matches took him, you were there, by his side. You traveled across the world with him feeling every moment of his victories and defeats as if they were your own.

But then, everything changed.

It was just one match. One loss. And suddenly, the world turned against you. Fans, who once adored you for being his constant support, now called you his "bad luck." Overnight, the love you had witnessed from the public turned into a storm of hatred. Banners were raised, demanding you stay away from his games. Your pictures were burned, your name dragged through the dirt.

You sat in the dimly lit hotel room that night, scrolling through the endless wave of hate, your hands trembling slightly. You had always been strong, but this—this was different. This wasn’t just an attack on your name; it was an attempt to destroy you. A lump formed in your throat, but before a single tear could fall, the door opened.

Virat walked in, his face still shadowed with the weight of the loss. But the moment he saw you, his expression softened. He didn’t hesitate—he crossed the room in a few strides, kneeling in front of you, gently prying your phone from your hands.

"Stop reading that shit," he said, his voice low but firm "You think any of this matters? You think their words can change what we have?"

He cupped your face with both hands, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. "Let them say what they want. They don’t know us. They don’t know what you mean to me. "You’re not going anywhere. Not from my life, not from my matches, not from me. Ever.