The grand hall of the Udaipur palace thrummed with a thousand hushed conversations, a symphony of silk rustling and crystal clinking. Chandeliers, each a cascade of glittering diamonds, spilled warm light over the assembled nobility. Aayat, a vision in crimson and gold, stood beside Anirudh, her hand resting lightly on his arm. Her smile, a soft curve, acknowledged the endless stream of well-wishers. Anirudh, regal in his tailored achkan, offered a polite nod to each, his gaze, however, always drifting back to her. His younger brother, Rajveer, and his new bride, Preeti, occupied an identical dais across the vast room, their joy a parallel echo.
A man, his smile a little too wide, his eyes a little too bright, approached Aayat. He wore a heavy emerald ring that flashed as he gestured.
"Aayat, my dear," he purred, his voice slick, "your brushstrokes paint a world I long to inhabit. Such artistry. Such beauty." He leaned closer, his eyes lingering on her décolletage. "Perhaps a private viewing, one evening?"
Anirudh's jaw tightened. A muscle in his temple began to twitch. He felt a white-hot spear of rage pierce him.
"My wife is not for private showings," Anirudh's voice, low and dangerous, cut through the polite murmur. The man flinched, pulling back slightly, his smile faltering.
"Oh, of course, your Highness. Merely an admirer of her talent." He bowed, a little too quickly, and melted back into the crowd.
Aayat's hand tightened on Anirudh's arm. "Anirudh, please. Not here." Her voice, a soft whisper, carried a plea.
He ignored her, his eyes scanning the retreating figure. "He touched you. With his eyes." His words were a guttural growl.
"He did no such thing. He complimented my work." She tried to soothe him, her fingers tracing patterns on his sleeve.
"He undressed you with his gaze, Aayat. Do not pretend you didn't see it." His voice vibrated with a suppressed fury. "Every man in this room wants you. Every single one. And they think they can just *take*."
"Anirudh, you're making a scene." Her voice was firmer now, a hint of steel beneath the silk. "This is our reception. Rajveer and Preeti's too. We cannot do this."
He turned on her, his eyes blazing. "You think I'm making a scene? He was practically pawing at you!"
"He was not! You are overreacting. It was a compliment, nothing more." Her voice cracked, a desperate attempt to rein him in.
"A compliment? He was a wolf, baring his teeth. And you, you just stand there, letting him." He ripped his arm from her grasp, his face a mask of fury.
"That's enough!" she hissed, her eyes darting around the room, acutely aware of the curious glances. "You are embarrassing me. You are embarrassing yourself."
He scoffed, a bitter, humorless sound. "Embarrassing? You think I care about that? I care about *you*."
He spun on his heel, striding away from the dais, his heavy footsteps echoing in the sudden hush that had fallen over their section of the hall. The murmur of conversation swelled again, a confused buzz.
Aayat watched him go, a wave of despair washing over her. She saw Rajveer and Preeti exchange worried glances across the room. Her shoulders slumped.
Anirudh stalked through the palace corridors, each step fueled by a simmering resentment. The opulent tapestries and gilded arches blurred past him. He burst into their private chambers, the heavy oak door slamming shut behind him with a resounding *CRACK*.
He swept his arm across the dressing table, crystal perfume bottles, pearl necklaces, and silver brushes clattering to the marble floor, scattering across the rich Persian rug. A small, delicate porcelain bird shattered with a sharp *PING*. He kicked a velvet stool, sending it skidding across the room.
"She doesn't understand," he muttered, his voice hoarse, "She never understands." His hands balled into fists, trembling with unspent rage. He paced the room like a caged tiger, the silk curtains swaying with the agitated current of his movements. He stared out the vast window at the twinkling lights of Udaipur, his reflection superimposed on the night sky. He pulled out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen.
"Get me Vikram," he barked into the receiver, his voice cold and hard. "The man with the emerald ring. Find him. I want him to understand what happens when you disrespect what's mine. Make it personal. And make sure he remembers me. There will be a substantial reward for your... initiative." He hung up, a grim satisfaction settling over his features. He would teach them all.