Karthik held her hand and took her inside from the balcony, settling her on the couch with a gentle ease. He tucked the throw blanket around her, his voice soft, almost coaxing. "Sleep a little more."

She sighed, surrendering to the warmth—until a moan sliced through the air from the next bedroom. It was Sakshi's bedroom.

Her hand flew to her forehead. "Not again!"

Karthik blinked. "What do you mean, 'Not again'?"

She turned her head, deadpan. "It's the fifth time."

"Seriously?" His brows shot up.

"Why do you think I was in the balcony? I don't have your talent for sleeping through a hurricane." there was another loud moan. "Or this."

Another, louder moan echoed. Karthik clenched his jaw, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "Lucky me. But seriously—fifth time? Who even has that kind of energy?"

She folded her arms, unimpressed. "People who are actually in love. Not people like us, who talk about hate sex on their first night."

His jaw tightened. "You're never gonna let that go, are you?"

She smirked. "Not while I'm stuck listening to this every night while being married to you."

Karthik exhaled, looking at the ceiling like it held the answers to his life's misery. "I said I was sorry."

"You did," she admitted, "but I expect a little more groveling from you before i forgive."

His head lolled to the side. "Fate really played me dirty—married to a woman who hates me and still forced to grovel."

Another wave of indecent noises filled the air. Without a word, he grabbed two headphones, handing her one. They sat in silence, drowning the sounds in music.

Ten minutes later, they peeked, hopeful. The sounds were still there. They cursed in unison and shoved the headphones back on.

Half an hour passed. Finally, silence. Hridhaya sighed in relief, sinking into the couch, eyes fluttering shut. But Karthik has his own plans.

He walked to his wardrobe, pulled out a sleeveless T-shirt, and—facing the wadrobe, not her—announced, "I am undoing my T-shirt."

She cracked open an eye. "Congratulations. Do you want a medal?"

He turned around as he undid his T shirt and smirked, peeling it off dramatically. "Don't drool over my muscles and accuse me of seducing you. Better close your eyes before you lose control."

Her lips twitched. "Where is the safety pin? I need to deflate that oversized inflated head."

He flexed, as if he hadn't heard her. "So, you're not going to gawk at me?"

She scoffed. "If you had saved the money you spent on protein powder and paneer paratha, your father might be richer than Ambani. Do you think you're the only guy on earth with abs? There are probably a thousand girls who'd fall for your good looks. But not me, Mr. Eight-Pack."

His smirk deepened as he walked towards her wearing his sleeveless T shirt. "So, you agree I'm good looking?"

She gritted her teeth. He sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "Hmmm, what's the use of being this handsome and having 8 packs... only to end up with a tailless ape like you?"

She grabbed the nearest pillow and whacked him in the face.

Hridhaya sat up and folded her arms, smirking. "You have no idea how many guys have proposed to me."

Karthik barely looked up, stretching his arms behind his head. "Blind guys? Deaf guys? Or both blind and deaf?"

She rolled her eyes. "None. Really good-looking guys."

His lips curled. "Ah, then they must be fresh out of the psych ward."

Her smirk deepened. "At least they got out. You, on the other hand, seem like you're on a one-day bail from the same."

"Early morning, and I don't have time for your psycho lovers or you. I have better things to do."

Hridhaya leaned back, raising a brow. "And Mr. Billionaire, that would be...?"

Karthik didn't answer. He simply shook his head, a teasing smile playing on his lips, and dropped to the floor. Push-up after push-up, his muscles tensed and flexed—perfectly controlled, perfectly sculpted. One. Five. Twenty-five. Fifty. A hundred. Beads of sweat trickled down his chiseled body. His breaths were steady, his movements fluid.

And Hridhaya? Completely hypnotized. She tried to look away. She really did. But the way his biceps flexed, the way his back muscles moved—it was unfair. By the time he was done, her mouth was still slightly open, her thoughts running in dangerous directions.

Karthik pointed at her. She blinked, snapping out of her trance. "What?"

He smirked. "Mosquito."

Her brows knitted. "Huh?"

He stepped closer, lowering his voice like he was about to whisper something scandalous. "Two mosquitoes entered your open mouth, made love, and had thirteen babies inside it."

Hridhaya's mouth snapped shut. "What?!"

Karthik burst into laughter, leaning to the side of the couch like he couldn't hold it in. Her cheeks turned crimson, half with embarrassment, half with the urge to kill him.

Just then, a knock on the door. Hridhaya jumped onto the bed , not wanting anyone to know she preferred the couch. Sakshi entered, her gaze flickering between her sweaty brother and Hridhaya. Her smirk widened. "Last night, from the way Hridhaya was talking, I thought you guys wouldn't... but now, I guess she made you work hard and sweat."

She peered inside. "Hridhaya... are you dressed? Can I come in?" Then, throwing a look at Karthik, she grinned. "Did you ruin her too much?"

Karthik sighed, stepping aside. "No one ate your friend, Sakshi. She's alive and well inside."

Sakshi snorted taking the litral meaning of the words.

Before she could say anything, Karthik and Hridhaya snapped in unison— "Shut up, Sakshi!"

******

Hridhaya draped herself in a red silk saree, the fabric smooth against her skin, a symbol of her South Indian roots. Though her family had settled in Mumbai long ago, her heart still beat in rhythm with her heritage. Wearing the saree wasn't just about tradition—it was a quiet, proud reminder of who she was.

Sakshi led her to the living room. Warm smiles welcomed her. Abhishek and her mother, Shradha, were there. Hridhaya walked straight to her mother, wrapping her arms around her in a tight hug—the kind that whispered of home.

But warmth has a way of dissolving when a cold presence enters.

Madhuri walked in with a screech, her voice sharp like nails on glass. Karthik's aunt. The ever-present parasite. Though married and long gone from the house, she always found excuses to come back, leech off her brother, claiming family problems as a free pass. Worse, she had spent years driving a wedge between Raj and Prerna.

Shradha knowing about her, had hesitated before getting Hridhaya married into this family, but she had reasoned Madhuri didn't live with them.
Temporary headaches were better than permanent ones.

But here she was. And she wasted no time dripping venom.

"Is this her real color?" Madhuri's voice curled in mockery. "What we saw yesterday during the ceremony—just paint, huh? What can you expect from a South Indian?"

Her sharp gaze raked over Hridhaya's saree, disgust twisting her features.

"And why the hell are you wearing that silk saree? Don't you know you're married into a North Indian family? As a daughter-in-law of this house, shouldn't you drop all this South Indian nonsense?"

Hridhaya clenched her fists. Her words were ready to fire, but before she could, her mother's hand found hers—a silent plea to stay quiet.

Before she could decide, Prerna spoke. "Let her be. This saree suits her."

Madhuri's face darkened, her voice rising. "First the saree, what next? Will she force everyone to stop eating roti and start eating idli-vada-sambar with hands?"

Hridhaya rolled her eyes. "And how exactly do you eat roti? With a fork and knife? Or do you just run your mouth over it like you run your mouth on everything else?" Just like a bloody scissors."

Shradha squeezed her hand tighter, warning her to stop. But Hridhaya wasn't done. "At least we eat idli-vada-sambar for breakfast. It seems you eat kalesh(drama) for breakfast... maybe for lunch and dinner too."

Prerna's mouth parted in shock. No one in their house had ever spoken to Madhuri like this.

For years, Madhuri had ruled with manipulation, throwing tantrums, poisoning relationships with her words. Rajkumar, seventeen years older than her, still saw her as a baby sister—a mistake that had given her unchecked power.

Hridhaya just set fire to that power. Madhuri's face twisted in rage. She turned to Shradha. "Haven't you taught your daughter any manners? Her mehendi is still fresh, and she spits fire like this. Typical South Indian!"

Hridhaya's eyes burned. "Yes, I'm South Indian. So what? South India is still in India, isn't it? It's not on Mars, right?" She tilted her head, smirking. "But nosy, gossiping aunties? They exist everywhere—North, South, East, or West."

Prerna and Shradha were sweating now. No one had ever dared challenge Madhuri.

"How dare you—" Madhuri's voice cracked as she pointed a finger in accusation.

Before she could blink, Hridhaya grabbed her hand, bent her own finger, and poked her in the eye with it.

Madhuri shrieked. She rubbed her eyes in pain.

"How dare you, Aunty?" Hridhaya's voice dropped into a dangerous calm. "Respect isn't demanded. If you behave like a third-rate Hindi serial vamp, you'll be treated like one."

Madhuri clutched her face, stunned.

"Prerna Aunty has been far too nice, giving you liberties you don't deserve. I won't make the same mistake. Speak nonsense again, and you'll see what happens."

For the first time, Madhuri was speechless.This wasn't another docile daughter-in-law. This was a wildfire. And it had just burned her illusions to the ground.

Shradha and Prerna hurriedly pulled Hridhaya away, dragging her inside before the storm could escalate further.