Yuvaan turned to the gathered media, his presence magnetic and commanding. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began smoothly, his eyes briefly meeting Kiara's, "meet my wife… Kiara Pratap Singh."
A flurry of clicks and murmurs ran through the crowd. A reporter stepped forward, curiosity dripping from his words. "Sir… how did you two meet, and… how did you fall in love?"
Yuvaan's lips curved into a subtle, almost mischievous smile. "Ah… college romance," he said lightly, as if recalling a fond memory. "We knew each other for some time… and got married privately."
Kiara froze. College romance? Married privately? Her mind raced, a storm of disbelief and hurt swirling inside her. Is he mocking me? Acting like he ever truly loved me?
Before she could even process, Aakash signaled a journalist, clearly one he had bribed. The man stepped forward, voice filled with false concern. "Now that you're married… how will you manage your wife… and your… mentally unstable mother?"
The question struck Yuvaan like a lightning bolt. Even Kiara flinched, stunned at the audacity.
"And if your mother becomes a danger to your wife?" the reporter pressed. "Wouldn't it be better to send her to an asylum… or leave her there? No one would judge you."
Yuvaan's calm mask shattered in an instant. In one sharp motion, he slapped the reporter, the crack echoing across the room. Gasps erupted.
Before anyone could intervene, he grabbed the man by the collar, his fist raised, ready to strike.
"Stop!" Kiara's voice rang out, strong and unwavering. She stepped forward, placing her hand on his arm. Yuvaan's fury flickered, then cooled slightly at her touch. He lowered his hand, his gaze burning daggers. "Get out of my house," he growled.
The reporter trembled but dared to retaliate. "I'll have you arrested for raising your hand against me!"
Kiara's voice cut through the tension, sharp and commanding. "You want threats? Then I'll ruin your career. File a complaint that you took a bribe to ask such nonsense and overstepped all limits."
The man tried to deny it, but Angad stepped forward, holding out his phone. "I have proof," he declared, showing a clear video of Aakash handing money to the reporter outside the mansion.
Kiara recalled watching the payment from the balcony earlier, understanding now the malicious intent behind it.
Yuvaan's eyes darkened with pure rage. Without a word, he lunged at Aakash, fists raining blows. Susheela and Vinod rushed to restrain him, while Vikram held Kiara firmly. "Don't get embroiled in this, Kiara," he warned, keeping her safe.
But Kiara's eyes stayed fixed on Yuvaan. She could see the raw, unfiltered fury simmering in him, the warlock's wrath waiting to explode. Just as he lifted a vase, poised to strike, Kiara's hand touched his shoulder.
Instantly, the storm within him stilled. His breathing slowed, fists unclenching. He cast a long, smoldering glance at her, and the tension in the room became almost tangible.
Kiara's heart pounded in her chest. She had seen the depths of his rage… yet also the control she could invoke with just a touch.
The room held its collective breath, knowing they had witnessed the dangerous edge of Yuvaan's power—and the delicate balance Kiara now held between him and the world.
Kiara's voice rang clear, cutting through the tension. "Enough, Yuvaan! Calm down."
Yuvaan's eyes still burned with fury. Without another word, he hurled the vase to the floor; it shattered into pieces, shards flying like tiny lightning strikes. His gaze zeroed on Aakash, his voice low and deadly. "If you ever dare humiliate my mother again… I won't hesitate to kill you."
Susheela instinctively stepped forward, pushing Yuvaan back while cradling Aakash's trembling body. "Yuvaan! Look at him! He's hurt!" she exclaimed, concern for her son battling fear of Yuvaan's wrath.
Vinod's face reddened with anger. He stepped toward Yuvaan, fist raised, as if to strike him for beating Aakash. But before he could make a move, Kiara caught his hand, her grip firm yet respectful.
The sudden act stunned everyone, even Yuvaan, who paused mid-step, his chest heaving.
Kiara's eyes met Vinod's, steady and commanding. "No, not Yuvaan," she said, her tone sharper than steel. "You should be the one slapping Aakash. He disrespected his aunt in such a cruel way, mocking her condition. That's unforgivable."
A hush fell over the room. Even Yuvaan, still simmering with controlled rage, allowed himself a slow, approving nod. Kiara's words had not only restored order but had also made everyone—family and warlock alike—pause and reflect.