Vihaan's POV:
She walked away with that slow, hurt-righting-itself stride — not broken, not fleeing. For a second, the world narrowed to the space she left behind: the bench, the flutter of the magazine Olivia had dropped, the echo of Ama's footsteps. My chest tightened until it hurt. I was happy inside because this is what I actually wanted, strong Ama. Not trying to beg for attention, but somewhere inside my heart, I know, if I am even a bit late, I might lose her forever.
Olivia's smug face turned to me like she'd won something. She didn't wait for me to speak; she was used to preempting me with charm, with calculated flattery. Today, that charm looked thin.
"Pretty display," she said, voice light. "You saw that, right? She couldn't even—"
I cut her off before the sentence was finished. My voice was low on purpose, a deliberate drop to strip away any of her performance. "Stop."
She laughed — a tiny, sharp sound. "Or what? You'll scold me?"
I stepped toward her until she had to look up. Up close, she was still composed, still dangerous in the way the confident are dangerous. But there's always a seam. I knew where to press.
"Listen carefully," I said. "Everything that's happening right now — every arrangement, every damned compromise — is because of Ama. This whole mess is for her. If you think you can parade her pain as your victory, you don't understand what's been set in motion."
Her eyes sharpened. "Set in motion? By you?"
"By me," I repeated. No explanation. Not here. Not now. She should not know the why. She had to be made to understand the limit.
She tried to smirk. "So what? I'm… collateral?"
"You're a choice you made," I said. "I made a choice, too. If you think you can cross the line and hurt her to make yourself safe or famous or whatever it is you want, you'll have to face me first."
She lifted an eyebrow, leaning into the game. "Face you? You mean… expose me? Publicly? What will you do, Vihaan—outlaw me?"
I let the short, humorless smile form. "I said face me. Not because I like confrontation, but because I will make sure the consequence is real. I know how to make things costly — for careers, for reputations, for the conveniences you depend on. You're clever; you know your world better than most. Cross Ama, and I will make you understand the price."
Her jaw tightened for the first time. The mask slipped. "You're threatening me."
"Yes." Calm, absolute. "I'm telling you the truth. I am not going to let anyone hurt her and walk away. Not you. Not anyone."
A beat. She searched my face for the performance she could manipulate, the man she could bribe or coax. She found something colder and steadier — not theatrical, not showy. Dangerous because it was real.
"Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "We'll see."
I turned without another word and watched Ama's silhouette until the park swallowed her. My chest ached with a dozen things I could not sort: guilt, the ragged edge of love, the knowledge that my choices would hurt the one person I wanted to protect.
I had just spoken a warning. It sounded like a threat because it was one. If she couldn't see why I'd done what I'd done, then she'd have to learn it the hard way. If Olivia tried to use Ama as leverage or spectacle, she would discover that some decisions made behind closed doors can be far more devastating than the public scandal she seemed to crave.
I got back home, and the very first thing I will do is:
I picked up my phone. Noah's the only one I trust with this.
"Noah, I need everything you can dig up," I said, voice low but firm. "Anything about Salvatores—contacts, movements, messages. I need to know if they are planning something. This isn't just a warning; this is about them crossing a line, and if they do, I want to know first."
Noah's calm, professional tone came through instantly. "Consider it done. I'll feed you updates in real time. They won't get a step past you."
I leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Good. Let them think they got control. By the time they realize they are dealing with me, it'll already be too late.
"Thanks," I ended the call.
I stared at the wall, and the memories of the day started flashing in front of my eyes. How she was excited when she wanted to surprise me, and how she turned pale when I didn't return that smile. I didn't realize when I started crying just by the thought of how badly I hurt her. Although this is the last thing I wanted to do. I made the women cry whom I wanted to protect from even a single drop of tears.
I sank into the chair, my chest tight, every heartbeat a painful echo of her sobs. I saw her again—her bright eyes brimming with hope, the way she had smiled when she told me she was coming back, wanting to surprise me. How could I have let that hope shatter in an instant?
I ended the call and sat in silence, staring at the wall as the memories of the day hit me like waves. Ama's bright eyes when she said she wanted to surprise me. Her smile died when I didn't return it. Her trembling hands, her whispered apology — I'm sorry for lying, I just wanted to surprise you.
"Ama…" My voice cracked. "I'm so sorry. I never wanted this… never wanted to hurt you."
She had trusted me even in that small lie, and I couldn't meet her gaze. I couldn't give her the answers she was desperate for. And then, the sight of her fainting right there, in front of me, crushed me.
My grip on the phone slipped; sweat or tears—I couldn't tell—slicked my palm."Ama…" The name broke like a splinter. I murmured, dragging a hand over my face. "I failed the one person I promised to protect from every drop of pain."
Tears blurred my vision. "Please trust me," I whispered. "Please wait for me. I promise, I'll never let you regret it."
Every tear she shed, every quiet gasp of despair haunted me. I had wanted to protect her from even a shadow of hurt. Yet here she was, broken and alone, because of me.
"I'll fix this… I'll make it right, no matter what it takes," I said aloud, gripping the chair until my knuckles turned white. "She'll never have to cry for me again. Not for anything I've done."
The thought of her so fragile in my arms, her apology still echoing in my ears, made my own tears fall freely. I wanted to run to her, to tell her everything, to beg her to understand—but I couldn't. Not yet.
All I could do was sit here, feeling every ounce of her heartbreak as if it were my own, repeating under my breath like a prayer: "I'm sorry, Ama. Please don't give up on me. Please don't give up on us. Please."