Scandalous Hearts

I was tucked into a quiet corner of the venue, phone pressed to my ear, trying to sound calm while negotiating yet another last-minute political mess. A dozen eyes might be on me at any moment, cameras lurking, assistants hovering-every second was supposed to be controlled, measured.

And then she came.

Lehenga swirling like a firebrand, eyes blazing, cheeks flushed. She barreled straight at me, ignoring the whispers and flashing cameras that must have already spotted her.

"Saamne se haatho mere!" she demanded, spinning toward me like a whirlwind.

I yanked her wrist back instinctively. "The fuck are you doing? It's your damn wedding!" I hissed, still holding the phone, my voice sharp enough to slice through the chatter around us.

Her gaze flicked at the guests trailing behind, at the paparazzi snapping furiously at my aides frozen in horror-and that grin hit me like a bullet. The kind that said she had thought this through, and I was completely trapped.

Before I could react, before I could scold her or shove her gently aside, she rose on her toes and kissed me.

Soft. Sudden. Scandalous.

Right there. In front of everyone.

Gasps, flashes, murmurs-they all blurred around me. My phone clattered to the floor. My pulse raced. And she... she was laughing silently against my lips, eyes sparkling with triumph, daring me to care about protocol, duty, or reputation.