The royal penthouse was eerily quiet without Abhimanyu. Avantika had grown used to his constant teasing, his hovering presence, and even his bizarre habit of braiding her hair while she studied. Now that he was off attending some royal duties—a charity gala followed by political meetings—she was alone. Well, not entirely. Abhinav Singh Rajput, crown prince of Udaipur and reluctant chef-by-default, was still around, sulking in the kitchen and trying to perfect his dal tadka for her comfort lunch.

Avantika paced the living room in a long t-shirt that reached mid-thigh, her shorts barely visible under the oversized hem. Her hair was up in a messy bun, face scrubbed clean of makeup. She looked like any nineteen-year-old college girl lounging at home. But inside, a storm was brewing.

She settled onto the plush sofa and turned on the TV. Flipping through channels, she landed on a prime-time gossip panel—one she normally avoided. But her hand froze on the remote the moment she saw a photo of her flash across the screen. It was one of her and Abhimanyu walking out of a bookstore near Connaught Place, their fingers barely brushing.

The headline screamed:
"Royal Scandal? Prince Abhimanyu's Alleged Live-In Girlfriend Raises Eyebrows"

Her stomach dropped.

The footage rolled again and again—her in a crop top and flared jeans, laughing at something Abhimanyu whispered. Zoomed-in photos dissected every detail. Her bare midriff. The slight kiss he had pressed to her temple. The one time she had held his hand in public. A commentator asked dramatically, "Where are her values?" Another guest claimed, "The royals are going too modern. Dating publicly? Living together? What message is this sending?"

Her ears buzzed. Her fingers trembled. She watched them call her a gold-digger, a temptress, a college girl seducing royalty for fame. They criticized her clothes, her expressions, even her anklet, calling it "suggestive." The language was cruel, vicious—and worse, it was national television.

She felt her chest tighten, her breath short. The room began spinning. She reached for the remote, tried to turn it off, but her hands refused to listen. Her vision blurred. Her chest ached with every breath she couldn't take.

Abhinav, returning from the kitchen with a plate of parathas, found her sitting still, eyes locked on the screen.

"Avantika?" he said softly.

She didn't respond.

He looked at the TV—and froze.

"Shit," he muttered, dropping the plate. The parathas fell to the floor, forgotten.

"Avantika," he rushed over, kneeling in front of her. "Look at me. Hey. It's nonsense, you know that. These idiots don't know anything."

But she didn't blink. Her lips trembled. Her hands clutched the edge of the sofa so hard her knuckles turned white.

"I—I didn't ask for this," she finally whispered. "I never wanted...this circus. I'm not some...some pawn for their gossip."

Abhinav placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, but the moment he touched her, the dam broke. She started crying—sobbing so hard her whole body shook.

He panicked.

"Okay, okay, breathe. You need to calm down. It's just media—"

"I'm nineteen, Abhinav!" she cried. "I just wanted a nice trip with my friends and now the whole country thinks I'm sleeping with a prince for power—my parents might see this, my professors—my entire degree might suffer!"

He didn't know what to say. He had been raised around press scandals, had seen worse, but Avantika wasn't from this world. She didn't have the armour he and Abhimanyu had.

"I'll handle it, okay?" he said. "I'll call the press team, shut it down—"

But she wasn't listening. Her sobs intensified. Her chest heaved, and suddenly her eyes rolled back slightly.

"Avantika!" he caught her just as she collapsed sideways into the couch.

His heart thundered. She was still breathing—but her body had gone limp.

"Shit, shit, shit—" Abhinav grabbed his phone and dialled the one person who could fix this.

Abhimanyu answered on the first ring.

"Hello, Bhai—"

"Abhimanyu, get home. Now."

"What? I'm in Jaipur, in a meeting, what happened—"

"She fainted."

"What?!"

"Avantika saw the news. The press crossed a line. She panicked, cried, and then...she fainted, bhai. She's not waking up."

The line went dead. Not even ten minutes later, Abhinav heard a helicopter overhead.

—

Abhimanyu burst into the penthouse, his royal blazer flapping open, breath ragged.

"Where is she?"

"In the room—"

He didn't wait. He sprinted to his bedroom, where Avantika lay tucked in under a blanket, still pale and unconscious, her cheeks damp with dried tears.

"Avantika," he whispered, kneeling by the bed. He took her hand gently in his and pressed his forehead to it. "I'm sorry. I should've protected you better."

His jaw clenched. The pain was unmistakable. How dare they do this to her? How dare they rip her apart just because he loved her?

Abhinav stood in the doorway. "Doctor's on the way. I called the PR team too. We'll issue a statement. This won't go unanswered."

Abhimanyu nodded but kept his eyes on her.

Her lashes fluttered a little.

"Avantika?" he breathed.

She groaned softly, her eyes barely opening.

He cupped her cheek. "I'm here. I'm so sorry."

Her voice was hoarse. "You...saw?"

"I did," he said, voice trembling with fury. "They'll pay. I promise you."

Her lip trembled. "They called me names..."

"And none of them are true. You're strong. Brave. My Apsara." He smiled weakly. "And your belly button is still my favourite."

That made her exhale something like a laugh. She reached for his hand.

He kissed her knuckles.

"Are they going to keep saying it?"

"Maybe." He tucked a strand behind her ear. "But next time, they'll have to say it about my wife."

Her eyes widened.

He held up a hand. "I'm not asking you now. Not yet. Not today. But I want you to know—no one gets to talk about you like that and not face me. And no one, no one, gets to make you feel like you're less than a queen."

She gave him a teary smile.

And for now, that was enough.