Romy stirred first, his hand instinctively moving to brush a lock of hair off Monty's forehead. He leaned down without hesitation and kissed him—deep, slow, and full of craving. It was not just a kiss of love, but of need, of addiction. Monty moaned softly in his sleep, his lips parting instinctively to receive Romy's affection.
Romy smiled against his mouth and whispered, "I want to start every morning like this… with the juicy sweetness of your lips. Let me drink from you, my love."
He leaned in again and kissed Monty, over and over. One kiss turned into two, then into a series of hungry kisses that lasted for what felt like ten endless, blissful minutes. The room was filled with the sound of soft gasps and the rustle of sheets as Romy kissed him breathless.
Finally, Monty giggled and gently pushed him back. "Stop, Romy! If you keep kissing me like this, my lips will swell up like strawberries."
Romy chuckled, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Then let them. I'll kiss them even more. Swollen or not, they belong to me."
He pulled Monty into his arms, burying his face in Monty's chest, holding him tightly as if he could freeze time. Monty wrapped his arms around him, their legs entangled, hearts beating close.
"I wish we could just stay here," Romy murmured against Monty's skin. "A few more days. No chaos, no responsibilities. Just you and me."
Monty sighed, running his fingers through Romy's hair. "I want that too, Romy. God, I want it more than anything… but we can't ignore what's waiting outside these doors. Naina isn't going to sit quietly. We need to teach her a lesson, and we need to show the world the truth."
Romy's smile faded, replaced by a shadow of reality. He pulled away slowly and nodded, the weight of their tangled lives pulling him back to the ground.
"You're right," he said softly, swinging his legs off the bed.
He walked into the grand marble bathroom, picking up his toothbrush with a sigh. The cool ceramic floor beneath his feet felt like a harsh reminder of the world waiting for them beyond their bubble of passion.
As he brushed, his eyes looked at himself in the mirror—at the man who, just days ago, was on the verge of an empty marriage.
Suddenly, warm arms wrapped around his waist from behind. Monty rested his chin on Romy's shoulder, their reflections meeting in the mirror. His presence was comforting, grounding. He pressed a soft kiss to the curve of Romy's neck, his lips lingering like a whisper.
Romy paused, his brush frozen mid-air.
Monty spoke, his voice gentle. "We have to fix this, Romy. Before it all gets worse. We need to control the story. Give the media proof. Take back the narrative before someone else does."
Romy stared into Monty's eyes in the mirror, his own eyes softening.
He nodded slowly. "For us, Monty. For the love that bloomed in the most unexpected way."
Monty tightened his hold. "Yes. For us."
The moment their flight touched down on Indian soil, Romy and Monty felt the weight of their past lives pressing against their chests. But this time, they were not afraid. They had returned not to hide—but to reveal the truth.
With their fingers tightly interlaced, they walked into the buzzing press conference arranged by Prem Choudhary—a powerful media figure and a loyal friend of Monty's. The room was packed. Flashes flickered. Cameras clicked. Questions flew like arrows.
But Romy and Monty stood firm, side by side, calm amidst the storm.
Prem stepped forward first. "Thank you all for coming. Today, we present not just a defense—but the truth."