### **[Rudra Singh Rathor's Perspective]**

The drive back to Eternity Company was a blur of speed and silence. My hands were back on the steering wheel, but my focus wasn't on the road; it was fixed on the imprint she had left on my life.

I parked the car in the underground executive garage-a silent, sterile space befitting my cold persona. But I wasn't cold. I was a furnace of desire and possessiveness.

I walked toward the private elevator, my mind replaying the moment in the café.

*The feel of her small, startled body against mine when I pulled her chair.*

I ran my hand over the black leather bracelet she had given me, a constant, gentle pressure on my pulse. She was so damn **tiny**-my 6'3" frame dwarfed her 5'3" height. Her movements were quick, sharp, full of fire, yet when I held her, she felt delicate.

**Rudra** (Inner Monologue): *Her waist...*

I stopped, leaning against the cold marble wall of the elevator lobby. The memory of my hand resting near the curve of her hip, the slight indentation where her small waist tapered-*I could practically encircle it with one of my hands.* She was all sharp edges andfeisty spirit wrapped in a **slim, fragile-looking frame**.

The contrast was intoxicating. I was the rock, the unyielding force; she was the tiny flame that had melted me.

But then, the heat turned sharp, dangerous. I remembered the boys. The lingering stares. The way they had ogled her, forcing me to make that absurd, possessive gesture with the chutney.

The dangerous aura that defined Rudra Singh Rathor snapped back into place. *No one stares at what is mine.*

I pulled out my phone and dialed Laksh, my voice instantly dropping to the familiar, icy tone that commanded the world.

**Rudra:** **"Laksh."**

**Laksh (Through the phone, instantly alert):** "Sir. I was just reviewing the Q3 reports. Is everything alright?"

**Rudra:** (I walked into the silent elevator, the doors closing on my sudden fury) **"No, Laksh. Everything is not alright."**

**Rudra:** **"I need you to handle a small personal matter for me. A cleanup. Find the security footage from 'The Golden Spoon' Café near the City College campus, table seven, around 4:45 PM today."**

**Laksh:** (Typing fast) "Got it, Sir. Table seven, 4:45 PM. What exactly am I looking for?"

**Rudra:** (My voice was low, cutting, laced with menace) **"Find the three boys who were sitting near the window, trying to look subtle while staring at the woman with me. I want their names, their college enrollment, and their father's business connections. Everything."**

**Laksh:** "Understood, Sir. And... what is the action required?"

**Rudra:** **"Rudra Singh Rathor style, Laksh."**

I leaned against the mirrored wall of the elevator, watching my own reflection-cold, ruthless, and terrifying.

**Rudra:** **"Make sure they understand the term 'off-limits.' They should be so busy cleaning up the mess they just made-in their college career, their family finances, whatever-that the next time they see a woman, they only look at the pavement."**

**Rudra:** **"I don't want them near the City College campus again. I don't want them to breathe the same air as her. *Make them disappear from the city.* Discreetly. No noise. Just silence and fear."**

**Laksh:** (The line went silent for a beat, acknowledging the sheer scale of the task) "Consider it handled, Sir. By tomorrow morning, those boys will regret they ever learned to see."

I hung up, the feeling of ruthless satisfaction replacing the earlier stress. *This* was my language. This was how the Prince protected his Queen.

### **[Laksh's Perspective]**

The call from Rudra Singh Rathor demanding a "cleanup" was always the most terrifying part of my job. The man didn't do half-measures; he aimed for silence and permanent compliance.

I had the boys identified within the hour. College students from wealthy but dependent families. Perfect.

I made the moves subtly. No direct contact, just strategic, chilling pressure.

**Laksh (Inner Monologue):** *Rudra Sir doesn't need to break their bones; he needs to break their futures.*

First, I had their academic records flagged for immediate investigation by the university board-not for cheating, but for *insubordination* and *financial irregularities* that didn't exist, but suddenly made their scholarships disappear.

Second, I had a senior legal partner send a highly threatening, anonymous letter to each of their fathers, detailing a fictional, massive lawsuit involving their small businesses-a threat that would tie up all their liquid assets in fear for months.

Finally, the message directly to the boys. I didn't call. I didn't text. I had one of my toughest security agents track them down discreetly at a bar. The agent simply walked up, placed an envelope on the table, and walked away.

Inside the envelope was a single, high-resolution photo of the back of **Ishita's head**-taken *inside* the café. No note.

But on the back of the photo, in bold, stark, laser-printed letters, were two phrases:

**1. OFF-LIMITS.**

**2. HE SAW YOU.**

By the next morning, I had three frantic phone calls from three different fathers begging me, Rudra's manager, for a 'meeting' to discuss the 'minor misunderstandings' in their files. The boys had withdrawn from college that same day. They hadn't uttered Ishita's name once.

I called Rudra.

**Laksh:** "Sir, the boys from the café near City College. They have been... addressed. The situation has been resolved, and the area is secured. They are no longer a concern."

**Rudra:** "Good."

That was it. The usual cold dismissal. But I knew the true cost of that *'good.'*

### **[Rudra Singh Rathore's Perspective]**

Laksh's call confirmed the cleanup. **Good.**

The possessiveness, the ruthless command-it settled the anxious, chaotic feeling that Ishita always stirred. She was protected. The world understood the boundary.

I barely gave it another thought. My mind shifted immediately back to her-the woman I was ruthless for.

### **Ishita Sharma's Perspective

These days, I don't even get time to breathe.

Morning: College.

Afternoon: Studio.

Evening: Shoot or client.

Night: Study.

And then... stress, more stress, and somewhere in the middle-texting **him**.

Rudra.

He kept checking in:

*"Did you eat?"*

*"How many hours left?"*

*"Drink something cold."*

*"Sending driver. No arguing."*

He never sounded too sweet. He never fussed like a dramatic rom-com hero. But he *cared*, in his own commanding style.

Still... what he didn't know was-my body had almost given up.

At least *one* thing went right. My periods came *before* the exams began. Thank god! Because mixing cramps with exam pressure is my personal version of hell.

But I didn't tell him that.

I mean... how could I?

What was I supposed to say?

*"Hey Mr. Eternity-President, by the way, I'm bleeding and bloated and emotionally unstable. Just FYI."*

Ugh. No.

It felt weird to talk about that stuff to a man like him-sharp-suited, composed, ruthless Rudra Rathore.

I mean... would he even *get it*?

So I kept quiet. Smiled on call. Sent selfies with filter to hide my tired face. Laughed even though I felt like collapsing.

Because somewhere deep inside, I didn't want him to worry.

Or worse-feel awkward.

### **Rudra Singh Rathore's Perspective

Ishita's voice on call was thinner these days. Still sarcastic, still fast-talking-but I could hear the fatigue under every word.

"I'll be fine, just a little tired," she said.

"Busy month, Mr. Rathore. Deal with it," she joked.

I smiled. But my jaw tightened.

She thought I didn't know?

That I couldn't see how pale her face had become in the video call?

How she'd forget to eat because of her exams?

She didn't tell me *everything.* I knew that. She tried to be strong. Independent. Fierce.

But I *noticed*.

She doesn't know this-but I've marked her exam dates. I asked Laksh to reschedule two of my boardroom meets just to make time in case she called.

And I also noticed she was *restless*. Touching her lower belly during one video call. Wincing silently after stretching in studio footage.

Then it hit me.

**She's on her period.**

And she doesn't want to tell me. Maybe she thinks I'll be uncomfortable. That I'll react like a typical man-awkward, weird, distant.

But I'm **not** a typical man. Not when it comes to her.

So I didn't say anything.

But that night, I sent her a care package through my assistant-anonymously, of course.

Inside was:

* A box of dark chocolates (with sea salt, the kind she likes)

* Heat patch pads

* Her favorite tinted lip balm she lost last week

* A stress-relief roll-on

* And a note in my handwriting:

**"Handle the world, but don't forget to handle *you.* - R"**

### **From Ishita's Perspective**

I opened the box.

And stared.

Tears pricked the back of my eyes before I could stop them.

How did he...?

I didn't even tell him. I didn't *have* to.

He noticed. He cared. In his own silent, powerful, perfect way.

And suddenly, it didn't feel weird to tell him anything anymore.

Because somewhere deep down, I knew:

**He wasn't just listening to my words-he was reading me.**

Every unspoken line.

Every little change.

Every discomfort I didn't mention.

And without saying a single thing...

**He made it all better.**

### **[Rudra Singh Rathore's Perspective -

The city was noisy, chaotic as always. But inside my car, with her curled up beside me, everything felt... still.

She shifted in her sleep.

Softly. Naturally. As if her body knew it belonged here. Her head snuggled deeper into my shoulder-that same shoulder which had never been a place of comfort for anyone before. It had only known burden, not warmth. But today... it became her pillow.

And then... her hand.

She didn't stop at my shoulder. In her deep sleep, her hand began to trail, unconsciously seeking contact. It was a slow, feather-light movement-from the solid, hard curve of my **bicep**, down the corded muscle of my **forearm**, until it settled near the gear shift where my **palm** rested.

A part of me froze. Not out of discomfort. But out of sudden, aching realization. *She wasn't faking it.* She wasn't pretending. She trusted me. *Me.*

I looked down at her-just briefly. She was in such a peaceful slumber, her lips parted slightly, eyebrows finally relaxed after days of tension. Her long braid had slipped over her shoulder, tickling my arm.

God... she looked so small. So soft. So heartbreakingly fragile.

I couldn't help myself. I reached down and slid off her sandals-quietly, slowly-so her tired feet could relax immediately.

Then, her small hand, still resting on the gear knob, began to softly **wrap around** my palm, her fingers instinctively curling as she deepened her sleep.

My heart rate jumped. This was it. The absolute, undeniable connection.

I couldn't just leave my hand there passively. I drove one-handed, then slowly, deliberately, I turned my hand, **opening my palm** to fully receive hers. Her small, warm fingers immediately embraced mine.

With the utmost care, fearing I would wake her, I **intertwined our fingers**-my massive, calloused, CEO fingers fitting perfectly, protectively, around her soft, makeup-stained ones.

She didn't stir. Her grip simply tightened slightly in response, a sigh escaping her lips.

**Rudra** (Inner Monologue): *This is where I belong. Not in the boardroom, but here. Holding her hand, guarding her sleep.*

I kept driving. Didn't stop at red lights if they were empty. Took the longer route. Slower turns. Smooth roads only. Because I knew-if I stopped the car, she might wake up. And I wasn't ready to let this moment end yet.

In the rearview mirror, I caught my own reflection-eyes softer than ever, jaw no longer clenched, and something strange curling at the corner of my lips. A smile. A real one.

My life was chaos. But my hand was full. And her trust, heavy against my shoulder, was the only peace I'd ever needed. I drove on, two lives, now completely, unconsciously **tangled**.

### **Ishita Sharma's Perspective -

"Mmm..."

My eyes blinked open slowly, like I was floating between two worlds-the real and the dream. But the warmth around me was real. So was the rhythmic sound of breath... and the strong, steady heartbeat under my cheek.

Wait... heartbeat?

I jerked my head up slightly and froze. My entire body was curled against **Rudra's broad frame**, face pressed into his shoulder-actually... his shoulder. **God.** His expensive shirt now had the imprint of my makeup, I was sure. My sandals were gone, my feet tucked up. My hand... oh no, *my hand* was still holding his bicep like a stuffed toy. *What the hell!?*

I sat up suddenly, disoriented, cheeks already flaming hot.

**Ishita:** **"Oh my god-I'm so sorry, Rudra!"** I whispered quickly, voice hoarse from sleep and embarrassment. **"I didn't mean to... I didn't realise I-slept off!"**

His eyes, those deep **ocean-blue eyes**, glanced toward me behind his sunglasses. He wasn't driving anymore. We were parked. In a shady, quiet corner of the city near a small park, far from noise.

He removed his glasses, placing them on the dashboard.

**Rudra:** **"You were tired,"** he said simply. His voice was calm. Low. And... softer than usual. **"Your body needed it."**

I blinked. He didn't look angry. Not even irritated. Just... watching me.

**Ishita:** **"You should've woken me up! I drooled on your shirt, didn't I? *Aapki itni mehengi shirt...* Oh god, I slept on your shoulder for **four hours?** I must've been so heavy-"** (Your shirt is so expensive...)

**Rudra:** **"**Ishita.**"**

He said my name with that commanding calmness that made my heart skip.

**Rudra:** **"You think you're heavy?"** He let out a breath that could almost pass for a *laugh*. **"You're like a kitten. Small, warm, and impossible to wake. *Tumhe hilana mushkil hai.*"** (It's difficult to move you.)

I gaped at him. **"...Did you just call me a kitten?"**

His lips curved-not into a full smile-but that teasing smirk I was now familiar with.

**Rudra:** **"Don't get used to it,"** he replied, adjusting his cufflinks like nothing had happened. **"I was being kind. *Warna tum toh chalti-phirti toofan ho.*"** (Otherwise, you are a walking storm.)

I crossed my arms, trying to hide the furious blush. **"*Haan, haan.* And you're the rock, I know."** (Yes, yes.)

I looked down and spotted my sandals near the center console. **"Wait, you took my shoes off?"**

He just shrugged, already turning the ignition.

**Rudra:** **"They looked uncomfortable. *Ab chalo. Tumhari neend poori ho gayi hai, toh mera kaam shuru.*"** (Now come on. Your sleep is complete, so my work begins.)

### **Rudra Singh Rathore's Perspective

She stirred slowly, and the moment she bolted upright, the car felt empty.

Her sleepy voice was a cute, flustered mess. *"I'm so sorry, I slept off!"*

I took off my sunglasses, wanting her to see the sincerity in my eyes. She didn't need to apologize for needing rest.

When she said *she was heavy*-I almost laughed for real. I had spent four hours driving, my arm slightly numb, with her perfectly molded against me. She was a **small, perfect weight**, a warmth I hadn't realized I craved.

**Rudra:** **"You think you're heavy? You're like a kitten. Small, warm, and impossible to wake."**

I instantly regretted calling her a kitten, but the way her eyes widened in surprise was worth it.

**Rudra** (Inner Monologue): *I wish she hadn't woken up so soon.*

She started spotting details. My arm, her sandals.

**Ishita:** **"Wait, you took my shoes off?"**

**Rudra:** **"They looked uncomfortable. *Hosh mein hoti toh khud hi nikaal deti.*"** (If you were conscious, you would have taken them off yourself.)

I adjusted my cufflinks, ignoring the faint dampness on my shirt-her drool was now my badge of honor.

**Rudra:** **"*Ab chalo.* Your sleep is complete, so my work begins. Where is your first stop, home or studio? You need to call your father."** (Now come on.)

I pulled out of the parking spot, watching the reflection of her messy hair in the rearview mirror. Possessiveness warred with tenderness. I had guarded her sleep. Now I would guard her waking hours.

### **Ishita Sharma's Perspective -

It was past midnight. The lights were off. Fan on low. Phone charging next to my pillow.

But sleep? Nope. Nowhere even *close*.

I lay on my bed, blanket curled around me like a burrito, eyes fixed on the ceiling fan.

I tried everything-closing my eyes tight, listening to lo-fi beats, even reading a page of my boring theory notes-but *he* kept showing up.

**Rudra Singh Rathore.**

That man with a face sculpted like a god, **ocean-blue eyes** that speak louder than words, and that tall 6'3" frame that makes me feel like a baby beside him-especially when he leans down to whisper something teasing near my ear...

God. Why is he built like that?

Why is he so gentle, so patient, so maddeningly quiet-but intense when he stares? Why does he always listen when I ramble about college, hold my bag without complaining, and remember the smallest things I say in passing?

And why, out of *everyone in this world*, does **he** keep choosing to spend time with *me*?

Me-a 20-year-old fashion and makeup girl, a modeling student who still stresses over eyeliner symmetry, cries during periods, and skips meals when shoots pile up.

I'm... *me.* Short, 5'3, brown-skinned, always with long nails and messy notes in her purse.

And he's **him.** A freaking billionaire. President of Eternity Corporation. My dad would faint if he knew I'm secretly in love with a man who lifts weights before meetings and owns more watches than I own kajals.

But... I do. I think I love him. So much it hurts.

And I'm terrified to say it. What if he doesn't feel the same? What if he thinks I'm just another girl who fell for the money?

I turned to my side, hugging the pillow tight.

His face flashed again in my mind.

That small smile he gives only when he looks at me...

That soft "take care" before I step out of the car.

The way his eyes darken when someone else stares at me too long.

**Ishita:** **"Rudra..."** I whispered into the pillow.

*Please don't ever let me go.*

### **Rudra Singh Rathore's Perspective

The world was quiet. My penthouse, my empire, my entire damn life-all silent. Except for the storm inside my chest.

I leaned against the glass wall of my bedroom, city lights glowing below me, shirt still on, sleeves rolled up from earlier.

Work was done. Meetings completed. Deadlines handled.

But *she* was still in my mind. Like she always is.

**Ishita Sharma.**

A 20-year-old with the smile of a sunbeam and the confidence of a queen. Sharp tongue. Soft heart. Stubborn as hell. Shorter than my shoulder. Fashion-obsessed. Always glittering. A walking, talking, laughing contradiction of my serious, no-nonsense life.

God, I love her.

Not because of how she looks-even though she's stunning.

Not because of how she treats me-even though she drives me mad in the best ways.

I love her because when she hugs me, it's the only place I feel... *safe.*

When she talks, even her complaints make me smile. When she rolls her eyes at me, it feels like home. And when she looks sad or tired or stressed... I'd give up my entire empire just to see her laugh again.

She thinks I don't notice.

But I do.

Every detail.

Her habit of fiddling with her nails when nervous. The way she adjusts her dupatta when angry. The excitement in her voice when she talks about her shoots. How she tries not to show when she's in pain-like during those few days in the month she thinks I don't know about.

I know.

And I wish I could say something.

Tell her that I've loved her since the first day.

That even though I'm 25, even though I'm in a different world than hers, even though people might say things...

I don't care.

She's my **sunshine**.

And without her, this cold world would freeze me.

But instead, I stand here.

Staring at the moon.

Thinking of her.

Whispering her name like a prayer.

**Rudra:** **"Ishita... if only you knew."**

### **[Ishita Sharma's Perspective]**

The early evening breeze in the society garden felt lovely after the day's heat. We were walking past the rose bushes-me rambling about the post-shoot exhaustion, Rudra silent as usual, just listening.

**Ishita:** **"...And then we wrapped up the ethnic wear sequence. Honestly, the male model, *Kabir*, was really nice. Very professional, treated the whole team well. We ended up having lunch-you know, biryani and stuff-with the whole crew after the last shot."** I paused, looking up at him expectantly. **"It was a good day overall."**

Rudra stopped dead by the fountain.

I turned back, confused by the sudden halt. The golden light caught the harsh, cold planes of his face. His usual controlled neutrality had shattered, replaced by something dark, something that screamed *danger*.

**Ishita:** **"Rudra? What's wrong?"**

He didn't move. He didn't speak. He just stared at me, his ocean-blue eyes now deep indigo, like the sea before a hurricane. The silence stretched, heavy and threatening.

**Rudra:** (His voice was dangerously low, a deep rumble that vibrated through the air) **"You had lunch with a *male model*."**

**Ishita:** **"Yes, Kabir. With the *crew*, Rudra. It was a business lunch, post-shoot, I just told you! What's the big deal?"** I tried to step back, irritated by the intensity of his sudden mood swing.

But he was too fast.

His hand shot out, not to my waist, but to the delicate skin of my inner **wrist**, catching me firmly. He tugged me one step closer, closing the impossible distance between us. The heat radiating off his body was shocking.

**Rudra:** **"The big deal,"** he leaned down, his towering 6'3" frame intimidating, his breath hot against my ear, **"is that you are *mine* to have lunch with. Not some anonymous man who spends his life staring at mirrors."**

My heart hammered against my ribs. The grip on my wrist was non-negotiable.

**Ishita:** **"Let go, Rudra! This is ridiculous! He's a colleague! You don't get to control my professionalism!"**

His other hand moved, sliding to the back of my **neck**, his fingers splaying possessively into the roots of my hair, holding my head absolutely still. He used the slightest pressure to tilt my head back, forcing me to look straight into his furious eyes.

**Rudra:** **"You think this is about professionalism?"** he muttered, the intensity almost physically painful. **"This is about him looking at you. Him laughing with you. Him thinking he can be near you. And I don't like it, Ishita. Not one bit."**

He pulled my wrist tighter, right against his chest, right over his beating heart.

**Rudra:** **"The next time you spend four hours with someone, make sure it's me. Or else... I will make sure he regrets breathing the same air as you. Do you understand, *kitten*?"**

The possessive pet name, laced with that rage, left me breathless and trembling.

### **[Rudra Singh Rathor's Perspective]**

*Kabir.*

She said his name so casually. Said they ate biryani together. Said the whole *crew* was there-as if that made the image of a handsome, perfectly sculpted male model staring at her laugh any better.

I stopped walking. I was blind with fury. *Jealousy.* The emotion was disgusting, childish, and entirely unavoidable.

**Rudra** (Inner Monologue): *She is mine. She smiled at him. She shared a meal. She doesn't realize the gravity of her simple existence when other men are around.*

When she asked what was wrong, I couldn't articulate the venom coiling in my gut.

I grabbed her **wrist**. Not to hurt her, but to anchor her. To stop her from moving away. I pulled her close, close enough that she could feel the absolute rage and hunger radiating from me.

**Rudra:** **"The big deal, is that you are *mine* to have lunch with. Not some anonymous man who spends his life staring at mirrors."**

She fought, arguing about professionalism. Foolish girl. This was never about business.

I silenced her by moving my left hand to the back of her **neck**. My fingers sank into her hair, a firm, non-threatening hold that nonetheless commanded obedience. I tilted her head back, exposing her beautiful, bewildered face to the descending sun and my dangerous gaze.

**Rudra:** **"You think this is about professionalism? This is about him looking at you."**

I pulled the wrist I held right against the frantic beat of my heart, forcing her to feel the storm inside the calm exterior.

**Rudra:** **"The next time you spend four hours with someone, make sure it's me. Or else... I will make sure he regrets breathing the same air as you. Do you understand, *kitten*?"**

My control was hanging by a thread. I wanted to claim her mouth, but the rule stood firm. So, instead, I used the only tool I had left: **intimidation through intimacy.**

I lowered my head, my lips brushing the delicate skin right below her ear, where her pulse was jumping frantically. I didn't kiss her. I didn't speak. I just breathed heavily against her neck for a long, slow moment, letting the sheer proximity and raw possessiveness of the act sink into her skin.

Then, I pulled back, my breathing steadying, the fire in my eyes still burning.

**Rudra:** **"Good. Now, you tell me everything about that shoot. Every single detail. Starting with what Kabir said."**

### **Ishita Sharma's Perspective**

His hand didn't move. It stayed on my waist-firm, unyielding-but not heavy, not cruel. Just... **possessive**. My body stiffened, heart hammering like a drum, and a heat I couldn't name spread through me.

**Ishita:** **"R-Rudra..."** I breathed, trying to find words that didn't exist. My fingers instinctively went to his chest, feeling the hard line of muscle beneath my palms.

He leaned slightly closer, eyes dark, dangerous, and **mine**. **Rudra:** **"Why are you trembling, Ishita? Is it because I'm holding you... or because you like it?"**

I blinked. **Ishita:** **"I... I'm not..."** My voice faltered.

**Rudra:** **"Don't lie to me,"** he growled, voice low, like a storm about to break. His thumb brushed my hip, slow, deliberate. **"Because if you do... I won't stop myself from... reminding you where you belong."**

A shiver ran down my spine. The possessiveness, the heat in his voice-it was almost sinful.

**Rudra:** **"You're mine, Ishita. Do you understand?"** His words were a warning, but laced with something else... something that made my stomach flutter in ways I didn't expect.

**Ishita:** **"I... I-"** I tried again, but he pressed a finger to my lips, halting me.

**Rudra:** **"Shh... save your words,"** he whispered, almost cruelly, letting his other hand rest lightly along my spine. **"I don't want to hear excuses. I don't want to hear denials. I just..."** His lips curved slightly, not a smile, not a smirk, but a silent claim. **"...I want you. All of you. And no one else will ever even look at you again."**

My breath hitched. His closeness, the possessive heat radiating off him, and the intensity in his eyes-it was intoxicating. I had never felt such a **dangerous pull**, and yet, I couldn't step back.

He maintained the firm grip on my waist, but his hand at the back of my neck moved. His fingers gently raked through my hair, a slow, soothing motion that completely contradicted the anger in his eyes.

**Rudra:** **"Now. Tell me everything,"** he commanded, his voice softening just a fraction, pulling the storm back into the bottle. **"Tell me about Kabir. Every word he spoke. Every compliment he gave you."**

I fumbled, my thoughts scattered by the touch and the gaze. **Ishita:** **"H-he... he just said the light was good on the set. And that my makeup concept was strong. *Usne aur kuch nahi bola.* We talked about the next project only."** (He didn't say anything else.)

His gaze darkened further, watching my mouth move, watching my eyes jump away from his. He started tracing the fragile curve of my **collarbone** with the tip of his finger, a feather-light touch over my clothes that felt like fire.

**Rudra:** **"And did *you* laugh at his jokes, Ishita? Did you let him think he was funny?"**

**Ishita:** **"I... I think so. It was... a joke about the lens flares. I was professional, Rudra. Please. *Aapko gussa kyun aa raha hai itna?*"** (Why are you getting so angry?)

### **Rudra Singh Rathor's Perspective**

Her small, delicate frame pressed lightly against me, her pulse fluttering against my chest. I could feel it. Every little tremble, every unsteady breath-it was **mine**.

I tightened my hold on her waist just a fraction, just enough to anchor her. Not to hurt, but to **remind her** that she was mine. **Rudra:** **"Do you hear me, Ishita?"** I murmured, almost growling. **"No one touches you. No one looks at you the way I do. Not until I say it's allowed."**

Her wide eyes looked up at me, innocent yet betraying every flicker of emotion I craved. **Ishita:** **"Rudra..."**

I let my thumb trace slow, teasing circles on her hip, letting the friction build without crossing the line. Sinful? Perhaps. But it was just enough to **claim her without guilt**.

**Rudra:** **"Ishita... if anyone even dares, I won't ask twice. I'll make sure they regret it... forever."**

Her lips parted slightly, and I felt my restraint tested. She began to speak, stumbling over the details of the shoot. Her *Kabir*.

While she talked, I allowed my hand to move from her neck, smoothing the hair back, and then tracing the exposed line of her **collarbone** with the lightest brush of my fingertip. It was a calculated distraction, a subtle move to calm her external panic while simultaneously claiming the vulnerable skin beneath her chin.

**Rudra:** **"And did *you* laugh at his jokes, Ishita? Did you let him think he was funny?"**

She admitted to laughing. The immediate surge of jealous anger was so potent it threatened to undo me.

**Rudra:** (I lowered my voice further, leaning my head so close that her earring brushed my temple.) **"You only laugh like that for me, Ishita. Only for me. That laugh is too beautiful to share with people who don't deserve the air you breathe."**

I shifted my hand from her waist. Instead, I placed my large, warm **palm firmly over her stomach**, right above the hem of her jeans. The contact was solid, intimate, and unmistakably protective.

**Rudra:** **"Stop worrying about my anger. Worry about the fact that I let you go at all. Next time, don't leave my side."**

**Rudra:** **"Now, what did he say about your future shoots? Tell me everything. Keep talking, *jaana*."** (Beloved.)

### **[Ishita Sharma's Perspective]**

I stared up at him. His hand was placed flat against my stomach-solid, hot, and utterly demanding. His eyes, those deep, beautiful **ocean-blue eyes** that were usually my favorite thing to look at, were now filled with a volatile mix of danger, possessiveness, and naked jealousy.

I knew he was capable of anything. He was Rudra Singh Rathor.

**Ishita:** (I shook my head stubbornly, trying to match his defiance) **"No, I won't tell you."**

The air thickened. I felt his grip tighten slightly over my abdomen.

**Ishita:** **"*Aapka kya bharosa* usko *maar diya jake* toh just because in shoot he touched me!"** (How can I trust you? What if you go and kill him just because he touched me in the shoot!)

The words slipped out-raw, honest, and terrifyingly true.

The second they left my mouth, I froze. My eyes widened in horror. I bit down hard on my tongue, the metallic taste of blood barely registering. I instantly squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could rewind time, wishing I could retract the damning truth I'd just spoken aloud. *I knew him that well.*

*Oh, Ishita, you idiot!*

He didn't say anything. The silence was worse than any shout. The only sound was the wind rustling the rose bushes and the frantic, deafening rhythm of my own heart under his hand.

I panicked. I had to diffuse this bomb.

I opened my eyes and looked up at his face-which was entirely devoid of expression now, mask back in place, only the intense, burning heat in his eyes betraying the storm.

I raised my arms, my small hands reaching up to cup his granite **jaw**, my thumbs gently sweeping over his rough stubble. My touch was soft, pleading, and entirely focused on calming the beast I'd just provoked.

**Ishita:** **"Rudra..."** My voice was a soft, shaky whisper, laced with desperate affection. **"*Aap toh hamesha mere saath acche rehte ho na?* Please. Don't be angry. *Main galti se bol diya.*"** (You are always good to me, right? I said it by mistake.)

I maintained the gentle contact, using my softest weapon-my touch-to remind him of the man he was only for me.

### **[Rudra Singh Rathor's Perspective]**

She stared at me, her eyes challenging my authority. Then she spoke the impossible truth.

**Ishita:** **"No, I won't tell you. *Aapka kya bharosa* usko *maar diya jake* toh just because in shoot he touched me!"**

The accusation hit me-not with offense, but with chilling accuracy. She knew me. She saw the ruthlessness I hid from the world. She knew, without being told, the depth of my possessive rage.

She knew I was capable of *murder* for her.

The rage instantly solidified into a dangerous calm. I didn't flinch. I didn't confirm or deny. I just absorbed the knowledge that she understood my capacity for violence when it came to her safety.

She gasped, eyes widening, and clamped her mouth shut. The fear wasn't of me; it was the fear of her own honesty.

Then, the soft counter-attack.

Her small, warm hands rose and cupped my **jaw**. Her touch was feather-light, tender, a silent plea. Her thumb began a slow, soothing stroke over my cheek, seeking to melt the ice I wore.

**Ishita:** **"Rudra... *Aap toh hamesha mere saath acche rehte ho na?* Please. Don't be angry. *Main galti se bol diya.*"**

*Always good to her.* Yes. That was the one truth.

My mask remained intact, but her touch was my only vulnerability. The fingers that gripped her stomach now relaxed, easing the pressure but not releasing the contact.

**Rudra:** (My voice was low, slow, and measured, confirming everything without saying a word.) **"You think I would *kill* a man, Ishita? For touching you?"**

I paused, letting her feel the weight of the question, my eyes boring into hers.

**Rudra:** **"You said it yourself. He *touched* you."**

I leaned in, moving my face closer to hers, my eyes sweeping over her delicate features. I carefully lowered my head until my forehead rested against hers. The intimate contact was shocking, forcing her to breathe the same air.

**Rudra:** **"*Main tumhare liye kuch bhi kar sakta hoon.* You know that."** (I can do anything for you.)

My left hand, which had been resting on her stomach, moved slowly, deliberately, up her torso, settling firmly on her **ribcage**, right over her lungs. The gesture was a warning, a promise of protection, and an utterly sinful claim.

**Rudra:** **"And what you say, Ishita, is never a mistake. It's always the truth. *Now, look at me.* And tell me what the next project is. Every dpetail."**

### **[Ishita Sharma's Perspective]**

My forehead was still pressed against his, the hard planes of his face a shocking contrast to the soft urgency of my hands cupping his jaw. His palm was hot and heavy on my **ribcage**, a possessive anchor that restricted my breath, yet somehow felt like the safest place in the world.

He didn't need to ask twice. That look-that quiet, dangerous certainty in his eyes-told me that if I didn't comply, he would find the information himself, and the consequences for *Kabir* would be far worse.

I took a shaky breath, forcing the words past the lump in my throat.

**Ishita:** (My voice was low, barely a whisper against his chest) **"Okay... okay, I'll tell you. *Lekin, please promise me*... nothing happens to him. He's just a professional colleague."** (But please promise me...)

**Rudra:** **"Talk, Ishita. Don't negotiate."** His voice was a flat command, but he nudged his forehead against mine, a tiny gesture of reluctant comfort.

**Ishita:** **"Fine!"** I gave in, rushing the words out. **"The next shoot is for a jewelry brand, ethnic wear. It's a two-day schedule, starting Friday. They need a close-up on the necklace. Kabir is the male lead again. He... he's supposed to stand very close to me in the shots. And the director, Mr. Sinha, asked him to place his hand on my shoulder for one of the poses."**

I closed my eyes again, waiting for the explosion. The details were worse than the lie.

Instead, I felt his thumb, heavy on my ribcage, begin a slow, almost hypnotic **massage** against my bones. The intensity didn't leave his eyes, but the rage had cooled into a chilling calculation.

**Rudra:** (He pulled back just enough to look at my lips, his gaze intense) **"He will stand close to you. He will touch your shoulder."** He repeated the details like marking points on a map.

**Ishita:** **"Rudra, it's just a pose! *Ek professional shot hai!*"** (It's one professional shot!)

**Rudra:** (He ignored my protest. His gaze was burning.) **"I will be there."**

I blinked, stunned. **Ishita:** **"What? No! Rudra, you can't! The director, the client, it's a closed set! *Aapka wahan kya kaam?*"** (What business do you have there?)

**Rudra:** **"My business is *you*."** He leaned in, his powerful body blocking the setting sun, making me feel small and utterly his. **"Tell your director that your fiancé insists on reviewing the lighting and security on set. I don't care what excuse you use. *But I will be there.* And I will stand close enough to remind everyone that if anyone touches what is mine, they lose their hand."**

### **[Rudra Singh Rathor's Perspective]**

She finally broke. She always does.

She begged for a promise, but I gave her nothing but silence and the cold, hard press of my body against hers. I was angry, yes, but now I was calculating. *Two days. Ethnic jewelry. Close poses. Hand on her shoulder.*

I listened to her terrified confession, all the while tracing slow, controlling circles on her ribcage. I needed to calm her, but I also needed to remind her who was in charge. The moment she finished speaking, I knew the solution.

**Rudra:** **"I will be there."**

She gasped, immediately fighting the idea with her usual stubbornness.

**Ishita:** **"Rudra, you can't! The director, the client, it's a closed set! *Aapka wahan kya kaam?*"**

**Rudra:** **"My business is *you*."**

I held her gaze, letting the icy promise settle in her mind. I tilted her chin up with my index finger, emphasizing the gravity of my command.

**Rudra:** **"Tell your director that your fiancé insists on reviewing the lighting and security on set. I don't care what excuse you use. *But I will be there.* And I will stand close enough to remind everyone that if anyone touches what is mine, they lose their hand."**

I didn't loosen my grip on her body; I simply shifted its purpose. My hand on her ribcage slid higher, coming to rest gently but firmly on the soft, vulnerable curve of her **shoulder**-the exact spot the *model* was supposed to touch.

**Rudra:** **"Tell me, Ishita. Does *Kabir* have hands like these?"** I pressed down slightly, the contrast of my size against her small frame undeniable. **"Does he look at you like this? *Woh sirf pose karega.* I will claim you."** (He will only pose.)

I let my fingers rest there for a moment longer, marking the territory. Then I gently pulled her against my chest and held her tight, a silent, powerful promise of protection and ownership.

**Rudra:** **"Now, stop trembling. Your exams are over. Let's get you home. I have a director to call."**