The Partnership on Display
The air in the Grand Hyatt ballroom was thick with expensive perfume, low-hissing gossip, and the clinking of champagne flutes. It was the Annual Industry Gala—the same event where, last year, Rithvik had spent the entire evening looking vaguely elsewhere, his anxiety a visible, suffocating shield that kept Dayana at arm's length.
Tonight, he was a different man.
As they circulated, Rithvik's hand rested comfortably, openly, at the small of Dayana's back. He wasn't scanning the room for threats; he was simply present, his focus entirely on his wife and the conversation. His relief was so complete that he found himself genuinely engaging, his brilliant mind sharp and unclouded by internal dread.
They approached Mr. Khanna, a senior partner in a rival firm who was known for his probing, personal questions.
"Rithvik, Dayana! You both look luminous," Khanna boomed, shaking Rithvik's hand. He leaned in conspiratorially toward Rithvik. "Must say, you seem to have shed a few years, Rithvik. Last time I saw you, eight months back, you looked like you were carrying the national debt on your shoulders. Must be all that time off you took."
Before the question could veer into the territory of Why were you so stressed? Was it the family drama? Dayana smoothly intercepted the trajectory.
"It was the foundation launch, Mr. Khanna," Dayana said, her smile bright and professionally genuine. "Rithvik was handling every detail of the legal registration himself, and I insisted he step away from the office for a month afterward to recharge. The man is completely useless unless he's forced to relax." She patted Rithvik's chest affectionately.
Rithvik, who hadn't had to formulate a defense or an evasion, felt a private surge of affection. The goalie. She had taken his truth and fashioned it into a polished, public, and perfectly acceptable narrative about overwork, neatly sidestepping the entire subject of Amulya, Ashvin, and toxic guilt.
Khanna laughed, satisfied. "Ah, the foundation. Good work, Dayana. You run a tight ship at home, I see."
"Only on high-value assets," she quipped, her eyes meeting Rithvik's with a flash of private amusement.
A moment later, Dayana excused herself for a glass of water. As she moved away, Rithvik's mother, Leela, intercepted him, her face tight with worry.
"Rithvik, did you see who just walked in? Amulya's brother. I saw him talking to Mr. Khanna just now—" Leela's voice dropped to a frantic whisper. "He looked our way. He's going to ask about Ashvin, Rithvik, and you know he blames you. You must look detached, make an excuse, leave the room—"
Rithvik put a reassuring hand on his mother's arm, a calmness radiating from him that finally felt real.
"Mother, look at me." He waited until she met his eyes. "I am detached. I am not the problem. Amulya's brother can approach me if he wishes, but I have nothing to say to him that Dayana and I have not already finalized and handled."
He spoke with an easy authority that completely disarmed Leela. He wasn't defending himself; he was merely stating a fact. Dayana had given him the finality he needed.
"But—"
"I'm fine, Mother," Rithvik interrupted, gently but firmly. "I have everything under control."
He looked past her, spotting Dayana returning. He walked straight to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close, publicly dismissing his mother's anxiety in favor of his wife's presence.
"Perfect timing," he murmured, his lips close to her ear. "My mother was trying to re-introduce a past emotional burden. I told her I had everything under control."
"And what made you so confident?" Dayana asked, raising an eyebrow as she sipped her water.
Rithvik looked out at the glamorous, gossiping crowd, then back at his wife—his anchor, his shield, his judge, and his biggest advocate.
"Because I know that if Amulya's brother approaches us, you will tell him, with a smile that could freeze a volcano, exactly where he can take his blame," Rithvik said simply. "And I don't fear any outcome as long as you're standing next to me."
He kissed her hand, a genuine, joyful public gesture of respect that silenced the small part of him that had once been a calculated yandere. His intense devotion was still there, but it had matured into honor. He didn't want to control her anymore; he just wanted to be worthy of her.
"Welcome to the high-value asset protection plan," Dayana whispered, her hand tightening on his. "Now, let's go get some dessert. My husband is starving, and I need to make sure he eats before he tries to carry someone else's emotional baggage.