𝓢𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓣𝓸 𝓕𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 ♾️

✨BROKEN BUT NOT DEFEATED-CHAPTER-20

"You want to talk about me?" Karthik began, voice low, like a distant thunder before a storm. "Say I'm poor? Jobless? Just a tuition master who fuels his bike once a week and stretches EMIs like rubber bands? I've heard worse. I've lived worse."

He took a step forward.

Nithya's hand tightened in his. Her heart was thudding. Not with fear—but with pride.

Karthik continued, gaze razor-sharp.

"But the next time you speak about my wife... or my parents... even one more word—"

He paused.

Jaw clenched. Shoulders squared.

"—you won't be standing in front of Karthik the tuition master. You'll be standing in front of a man who's stopped being human."

That line didn't come with a scream. No loud hero speech. Just raw truth, wrapped in rage.

Kanaga's throat moved like she was trying to swallow her pride, but it got stuck somewhere between her ego and her fear.

The silence was ice-cold.

Until Lalitha stepped forward.

Purse clutched tight under her arm like a sidekick ready to throw hands.

"anni," she said, voice sharp enough to cut through marble, "I kept quiet all these years because you're 'family'. But even snakes hiss before they bite. You? You don't even have that courtesy."

She scoffed, her chin up.

"You want to insult a girl just because she wears only one gold chain? At least she wears it with dignity. Not like your daughter who lost both—gold and dignity—in her one-year marriage."

That one hit hard.

Kanaga staggered slightly. A hand came to her chest as if she'd been physically slapped.

No one said a word.

Lalitha didn't wait for permission. She turned around, grabbed Kavitha's hand, and stormed out like a mic-drop with legs.

Karthik didn't look back.

He turned to Nithya, still holding her hand, and whispered, "Come."

She didn't resist.

She just walked with him—head high, eyes burning, heart pounding with so much love and pain all at once. 

Karthik pov:

I didn't even remember how we left that hall.

All I know is... Nithya sat behind me on the bike. Not a word. Not a sigh. Just her hand, quietly holding onto my shirt. Not tight. Not loose. Just there.

And me?

I was riding with so much burning inside, I thought my chest might explode. My ears were ringing with those words... "second husband... stay in our house... we'll treat him well..."

Treat me well?
Like I'm what, a stray dog?

I couldn't even look back. I was scared—terrified—that if I saw her face, I'd cry right there. Not for me. But for her. For what she had to hear, for what she defended.

I parked the bike in front of our house. Mechanical. Like a machine. Still numb.

Amma was waiting at the doorstep with that soft smile of hers. "How was the function ma?" she asked, half yawning, not knowing that her son just walked through fire.