The flashbulbs outside The Mehta-Sinha Estate could have lit up an entire galaxy.
Dozens of reporters, photographers, and camera crews had camped out since dawn, hungry for any crumb of the biggest celebrity scandal of the year — Riya Sinha’s secret pregnancy.
But what none of them expected was that the storm they created would be silenced not by a PR manager or a written statement—but by Isha Kapoor Mehta herself.
She wasn’t just stepping into the spotlight today as a former Bollywood queen. No.
She walked in as a mother. As the matriarch of a family under fire.
As the woman who owned every room she ever entered.
The large conference hall had been converted into a secure media center. Every major news channel had a seat, and the air was thick with tension.
But when Isha walked in—hair swept into a commanding updo, sunglasses sliding down perfectly sculpted cheekbones, dressed in a flawless white pantsuit with power heels—the silence was instant.
She took the mic like it belonged to her.
“Let’s be clear,” she began, her tone icy yet elegant, her voice steady and sharp as glass. “I agreed to this press conference to protect my daughter-in-law, my son, and my unborn grandchildren. Not to entertain your nonsense.”
Click. Click. The cameras paused.
“I am Isha Kapoor Mehta — two-time global award-winning actress, producer of The Great Actress – Sridevi, wife to India’s most respected neurosurgeon Dr. Aarav Mehta, and mother of Ayaan Mehta and the twins, Ishaan and Arisha.”
She paused, letting the weight of her introduction sink in. Her eyes scanned the crowd like a lioness surveying prey.
“You will NOT drag my daughter-in-law’s name through the mud. Riya is a national-level cricketer. She’s disciplined, brave, and powerful. And yes, she’s pregnant. With FOUR babies. That’s not a scandal — it’s a miracle.”
The crowd gasped.
“There will be no more rumors. No articles speculating about her career ending. No paparazzi stalking our house. No gossip about her and my son. We are a family — and if you try to mess with us again…” she leaned slightly forward, her voice low, dangerous — “you’ll be dealing with me personally.”
A few reporters squirmed in their seats.
From the sidelines, Aarav watched his wife with a proud smile tugging at his lips. The sharp wit, the fierce protectiveness, the take-no-nonsense glare — it was exactly why he fell in love with her. And why he continued to fall for her, over and over.
He whispered to Vikram beside him, “I told you. She doesn’t need bodyguards. She is the guard dog.”
Vikram chuckled. “Remind me never to piss her off.”
Back onstage, Isha closed her statement with a calm warning.
“If I see another fake headline, another clickbait thumbnail, or another drone near my kids, your entire media house will receive legal notices. We have lawyers, we have influence, and we have zero patience left.”
She ended with a calm smile — not sweet, but deadly.
The press didn’t ask a single question.
The mic clicked off. She turned and walked off the stage, her heels clicking like punctuation marks on marble.
As she stepped out, Aarav was waiting.
“You were a storm,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist.
“I’m always a storm,” she smirked. “But today, I had to be a cyclone.”
He kissed her temple. “That’s why I married you.”
Their twins, Ishaan and Arisha, came sprinting down the hallway, screaming with joy, each holding a glittery cardboard sword.
“Mamaaa! Dadda! We defeated the dragon!”
Isha bent down and scooped them both into her arms. “Good. Now go defeat nap time.”
From a distance, Riya watched with misty eyes as Ayaan rubbed her back gently. “They’re handling everything so perfectly…”
Ayaan smiled. “That’s because they’re the blueprint. And soon, we’ll be too.”
Riya rested her head on his shoulder. For now, she could breathe. Because Isha Kapoor Mehta had done what she always did best — stolen the spotlight, protected her family, and shut the world up.
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