For a long moment, Viom didn't move.

He simply held her — his arms wrapped around her trembling frame, her breath warm and broken against his chest. He could feel her heart hammering against his ribs, as if begging for something it had been denied for too long: safety. Belonging. Peace.

Piya buried her face deeper into him, gripping the fabric of his coat with both hands like it was the only thing keeping her anchored.

"Please..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Please don't leave me..."

The words pierced him more than any accusation ever could.

He tightened his hold, lowering his head to her hair. "I'm not going anywhere," he said softly. "Not now. Not ever."

She choked back another sob, the tears falling freely now. Her guard had crumbled completely, and what remained wasn't the bold, fiery chef or the girl who had survived a decade of silence — it was just Piya.

Small.

Afraid.

Finally allowing herself to fall apart in the arms of the only person who had never asked her to explain.

"I was so scared," she whispered. "I heard his voice. I—I thought it was just in my head, but I know it was him, Viom... He's here. He's looking for me again."

Viom's jaw clenched.

"I believe you. And I swear — he'll never get near you. Not while I'm breathing."

She pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him with tear-soaked eyes.

"But how...? How can you protect me from someone who has everything — power, money, control...?"

He lifted his hand and brushed a strand of hair from her face, eyes locked with hers.

"Because I have something he'll never understand," he said. "Love."

Her breath caught.

And just then, Radhika, who had remained quiet to give them space, stepped forward with gentle strength.

"Piya," she said kindly, "I know this is a lot. But there's one way we can make sure you're protected — legally, completely, and immediately."

Piya looked between mother and son, confused.

Viom took a breath, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"I need you to trust me," he said softly. "More than you ever have before."

He took her hand — gently, carefully — like it was a sacred vow.

"Marry me, Piya.

Right now. Tonight.

Not because you owe me.

Not because of the past.

But because it's the only way I can protect your future."

The room felt suspended in time.

Viom held his breath, waiting — hoping — as Piya looked up at him with tear-drenched eyes. Her lips trembled. Her fingers clutched his sleeve like she might fall again if she let go.

Then, barely audible — more exhale than word — she whispered:

"Yes."

A single syllable. Fragile. Final.

And then... her body went limp.

"Piya?" Viom caught her just as her knees buckled.

Her head dropped against his shoulder, her breath shallow and uneven. Her eyes fluttered shut, her hand sliding from his.

"Piya!" He lowered her gently to the floor, his arms cradling her. "Stay with me. Come on, stay with me."

Radhika was already at his side, checking her vitals, her doctor instincts kicking in instantly.

"Pulse weak. Blood pressure's dropped. She's in shock," Radhika said grimly. "Call the nurses. Now."

But Viom couldn't move.

He was staring at the girl who had finally said yes —

and then collapsed like the weight of that one word had cost her everything.

He brushed a kiss to her forehead, his voice shaking.

"You're not leaving me like this," he whispered.

"You survived too much to break now. You're mine now, Piya. And I swear on that 'yes' — I'll fight the whole damn world to keep you safe."

⸻

Outside the hospital room, the night pressed in.

Somewhere in the city, danger stirred.

But inside Room 306, love had just made its first move.

Param Singh Chaddha stood on the balcony of his Gurgaon penthouse, a glass of untouched whiskey in hand, his jaw tight, his nerves fraying by the second.

She had vanished again.

Every tracker, every contact, every shady favor he'd called in — none had been able to tell him where Piya Kaur was after she entered City General Hospital.

He had tried to get inside that night. Security had tightened just an hour too soon.

And now, silence. No admission records in her name. No photos. No leaks.

Not even the hospital staff could be bribed — not since Dr. Viom Chaddha had taken over her case.

Viom.

The golden boy. The surgeon with a bleeding heart and a dangerous habit of caring too much.

Param ground his teeth.

"She was supposed to disappear," he hissed, talking to the night air. "She was supposed to stay buried."

Then — his phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

He answered. "Who is this?"

A deep voice replied, calm and amused.

"You might want to sit down. There's going to be a celebration soon. And you're not on the guest list."

Param narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Viom's getting married. Tonight. Private ceremony. No family invited."

The blood drained from Param's face. "To who?"

"Bride's name hasn't been shared. Security's tight. He's throwing a closed-door party tomorrow for the hospital board and a few close friends. Public enough to go viral. Private enough to keep you out."

The call disconnected.

Param stood frozen for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest.

"He wouldn't dare."

"He couldn't."

He ran to his laptop, logging in to Viom's Instagram — the only social media he ever kept active for rare updates.

There it was.

Posted just four minutes ago.

📸✨ A simple image: two clasped hands. Hers delicate, wrapped in bandages. His steady, protective.

Caption:

Finally married my first love.

#PiyakaVyom

Param's vision blurred with rage.

#PiyakaVyom.

Piya... is his wife now.

No press release. No photo of her face. No trace to trace.

Just a single line that changed everything.

He screamed and hurled the whiskey glass across the room. It shattered into a thousand glittering pieces — like the plans he had spent years building.

She was gone.

And worse — now she was protected.

Param clenched his fists, his mind racing.

"If he thinks a wedding can save her," he whispered, "he clearly doesn't know me."

He pulled out his phone again and opened a hidden folder of images — surveillance shots, old school photos, screenshots of Piya's job applications, hospital records he'd bought off black-market informants.

He stopped at the last photo — one taken just days ago.

Piya. Smiling slightly. Walking home alone from the restaurant.

Completely unaware of the camera trained on her.

"Your wedding is just the beginning," Param said with a twisted smile.

"And I don't care whose name you carry now — you still belong to me."