### **[Ishita Sharma’s Perspective]**

It had been a few days since the cabin incident, and the memory of that song was still a heavy, terrifying, beautiful secret I carried. I needed distraction. So, I escaped to the chaos of the local market to buy some much-needed accessories for my next ethnic shoot.

I was hunched over a stall overflowing with jewelry, fiercely negotiating the price of a delicate silver *payal* (anklet) and a pair of traditional *jhumkas* (earrings). The stall owner, a stout, talkative man, was stubbornly sticking to his ridiculous price.

**Ishita:** **“*Bhaiya, yeh kitna zyada hai!* Give me a fair price, they’re silver-plated, not pure silver!”** (Brother, this is too much!)

**Shopkeeper:** **“Arre, ma’am! Pure silver *ka* finish hai, look at the sparkle! Last price, ₹1200 for the *payal* and ₹800 for the *jhumkas*. Take it or leave it.”**

**Ishita:** **“₹1000 for both, final deal. I’m a regular customer here!”** I insisted, pulling my best stern face.

I didn't notice the sudden drop in noise around the stall. I only felt the air shift, turning heavy and intensely scented with sandalwood and expensive cologne.

And then, a large hand, tanned and impeccably groomed, reached over my shoulder and picked up the *payal* I was arguing over.

My heart vaulted into my throat. I didn't need to look up. I knew that watch, that scent, that presence.

**Rudra.**

He was standing right next to me—his 6’3” frame dwarfing me and the entire jewelry stall, wearing a simple white linen shirt and black sunglasses, looking utterly out of place yet completely commanding.

**Shopkeeper:** (His eyes widened instantly, recognizing the expensive brand on Rudra's wrist.) **“Oh! Sir! Namaste! *Aapki Madam toh bohot achcha bargain karti hain!* Please, Sir, say something to your madam. She is not agreeing to my best price!”** (Your madam bargains very well!)

I froze, cheeks instantly flaming. *Madam.* I wanted the ground to swallow me.

Rudra leaned in slightly, his hip barely grazing mine—a casual contact that still sent shivers through me. He removed his sunglasses slowly, revealing those ocean-blue eyes that were now sparkling with dangerous amusement.

**Rudra:** (His voice was low, smooth, and dangerously flirtatious as he addressed the shopkeeper, but his gaze was fixed on me.) **“Madam is indeed talented. She likes to fight for what she wants. It's one of her most charming qualities, *hai na, Ishita?*”** (Isn't it, Ishita?)

He glanced at the *payal* in his hand. **Rudra:** **“₹1200, you said? It’s not about the money, *Bhaiya*. She enjoys the sport.”**

I tried to elbow him gently, whispering fiercely. **Ishita:** **“Rudra! Stop it! *Maine ₹1000 bola tha!* Don’t you dare pay full price!”** (I said ₹1000!)

He ignored me completely. He dropped the *payal* back on the velvet cloth and picked up the *jhumkas*.

**Rudra:** (To the shopkeeper, his possessiveness thinly veiled by boredom.) **“Keep the *jhumkas*. And the *payal*. And show me the best, heaviest, pure silver *kadas* (bangles) you have. Something fitting for her. I'm not here for games.”**

### **[Rudra Singh Rathor’s Perspective –

I was finishing an afternoon call with the security team near the city center when my driver mentioned a crowd near the local market. I wasn't paying attention until my security feed pinged me—a small, familiar figure in baggy jeans was vigorously arguing with a jewelry vendor.

*Ishita.* Arguing over ₹200. My billionaire-level annoyance instantly vanished, replaced by a grin. She was beautiful even when fighting over change.

I dismissed my team, adjusted my sunglasses, and walked straight into the chaos.

The moment I heard the vendor call her **“Madam”** and appeal to me—the assumed husband—a profound satisfaction bloomed in my chest. *Madam.* Not colleague. Not friend. *Mine.*

I leaned in, feeling her immediate tension, the flush rising to her cheeks. I picked up the *payal*—a delicate thing, like her.

**Rudra:** (To the shopkeeper, but addressing her heart.) **“Madam is indeed talented. She likes to fight for what she wants. It's one of her most charming qualities, *hai na, Ishita?*”**

Her whispered threat to stop me from paying full price was adorable. The idea of her trying to control my spending was pure, sweet chaos.

I dropped the cheap, plated *payal* back down. If she was wearing silver, it would be *pure* silver. Something worthy of her.

**Rudra:** **“Keep the *jhumkas*. And the *payal*. And show me the best, heaviest, pure silver *kadas* (bangles) you have. Something fitting for her. I'm not here for games.”**

The shopkeeper immediately scrambled to present his best pieces. Ishita looked furious, but trapped.

I leaned down again, my voice a breath against her ear, letting her feel the heat of my gaze.

**Rudra:** **“You think I like seeing your feet decorated with cheap metal, *jaan*? No. If you wear it, it has to be worthy of carrying your name.”**

I placed a large, solid, beautifully carved silver *kada* on the stall. I picked up her hand—her small, ring-less hand—and measured it against the thick bangle.

**Rudra:** **“This one,”** I told the shopkeeper. **“Pack it. And don’t you dare charge her the bargain price. Charge me full MRP.”**

I didn't let go of her hand. My thumb ran a slow, possessive circle over the back of her palm. She didn't pull away. She just stared at me, those brown eyes wide with unspoken realization.

**Rudra:** (To her, the playful tone gone, replaced by soft ownership.) **“*Chalo, Madam.* Your shopping is done. We need to talk about what you saw on my laptop.”**

### **[Ishita Sharma’s Perspective]**

We were finally in the car, Rudra driving with his usual controlled speed, and the heavy, expensive silver *kada* was resting in the little velvet box on my lap. I was fuming, both from the forced purchase and the shopkeeper calling me 'Madam.'

**Ishita:** **“*Kya jarurt thi itna mehnga lene ki, haa?*”** (What was the need to buy something so expensive, huh?) I demanded, throwing my hands up dramatically. **“*Acha khasa pata liya tha use mene 1000 ke dene ke liye!* But nahi! *Apke pass toh zayda paisa aa raha h na! Udao!* Huhh!”** (I had convinced him well to give it for ₹1000! But no! You have too much money, right! Spend it! Huhh!)

He chuckled—a low, smooth sound that did nothing to calm my dramatic rant.

**Rudra:** **“Toh kya hua?”** (So what happened?) He glanced at me, his eyes full of teasing warmth. **“*Meri taraf se phela gift h aapke liye.* It has to be special.”** (It's the first gift from my side for you.)

**Ishita:** **“Oh, *phela gift*! To kya pura bank khali kardo? *Aapni company mere naam kardo na!*”** (Oh, the first gift! So should you empty the entire bank? Just put your company in my name!)

**Rudra:** **“Ooo, yes, good idea. You are smart, Ishi.”** He reached over and gently pulled my cheek, that infuriatingly charming gesture of his.

I jerked his hand away, thoroughly annoyed. **Ishita:** **“Shut up!”**

I instantly seized the chance to divert the topic, throwing out a massive lie about the laptop.

**Ishita:** **“And I didn't see anything in that laptop! In fact, I was just watching Netflix!”** I continued, launching into an exaggerated complaint. **“*Aur vo bhi mujhe download karna pada! Aur apne taraf se recharge karna pada!*”** (And I even had to download it! And recharge it myself!)

**Ishita:** **“*Pata h kitna mehnga ho gya h? Saala! Mujge lootne m lage h sab!*”** (Do you know how expensive it has become? Damn! Everyone is trying to loot me!)

He just listened, completely unbothered by my fake tech-related financial struggles.

The car smoothly pulled up outside a towering glass building. I looked up. **'The Azure Room.'** Exclusive. Intimidating. And definitely not budget-friendly.

**Ishita:** **“Rudra! No, no, no! Not here! *Hum kahin aur chalte hain!*”** (We are going somewhere else!)

He ignored my panicked protest, parking the car. He opened my door and led me inside. The place was dimly lit, silent, and intimidatingly fancy. The menu was presented, and I immediately scanned the prices.

My eyes widened. I looked straight at him, my voice dropping to a scandalized whisper.

**Ishita:** **“Rudra! *This is too much!* I mean, *ek plate mein* I can buy five new sandals and two dresses! This expensive food, God!”** (In one plate...) I clutched my chest dramatically. **“*Yeh log daal chawal kis rate pe bechte hain?* Are they feeding us gold?”** (At what rate are these people selling lentils and rice?)

### **[Rudra Singh Rathor’s Perspective

I listened to her rant about the silver bangles and her exaggerated claim that I should hand over Eternity Corporation. I loved her dramatic outbursts; they were so unfiltered and purely *her*.

**Rudra:** **“You are smart, Ishi.”** I pulled her cheek, enjoying the soft fury in her eyes before she batted my hand away.

She then quickly tried to cover up the laptop incident with a fake Netflix crisis. *She saw the video.* The way she avoided my eyes and exaggerated her struggle proved it.

**Ishita:** **“*Pata h kitna mehnga ho gya h? Saala! Mujge lootne m lage h sab!*”**

I hid my smirk. She was worrying about ₹500 Netflix subscriptions when the man beside her was worth billions.

**Rudra:** **“Yes, Ishita. Everyone is a fraud. Only I am honest.”** I pulled up to The Azure Room. This place was expensive, yes, but it offered privacy and guaranteed quiet.

Her immediate panic was priceless.

**Ishita:** **“Rudra! No, no, no! Not here! *Hum kahin aur chalte hain!*”**

I took her arm, leading her in before she could argue further. I was in a full serious-teasing mood; I was going to enjoy watching her rant about my life choices.

We sat down, and she immediately seized the menu, her eyes widening at the prices.

**Ishita:** **“Rudra! *This is too much!* I mean, *ek plate mein* I can buy five new sandals and two dresses! This expensive food, God! *Yeh log daal chawal kis rate pe bechte hain?* Are they feeding us gold?”**

I leaned back, absolutely chill, enjoying the theatrical anguish on her face.

**Rudra:** (My voice was calm, utterly reasonable, contrasting her frenzy.) **“Ishita. This is a five-star restaurant. They don’t serve *daal chawal*. They serve meticulously curated *lentil emulsions* and *artisan rice crisps*. And yes, they probably use tiny flakes of edible gold in the presentation.”**

**Rudra:** **“Now, stop looking at the price of the *Chicken Roulade* like it’s your annual income. Just order something. *I will handle the looting.*”**

I reached across the pristine white tablecloth and placed my large hand over hers, holding the menu down.

**Rudra:** **“Unless you’d like me to start asking about the things you *didn't* see on my laptop, you will quietly order dinner, *jaan*.”**

### **[Ishita Sharma’s Perspective]**

I stared at the menu, then at Rudra, then back at the menu. The *lentil emulsion* was ₹4,000! My brain short-circuited. I instinctively brought my hand up and gently tapped my forehead with my palm—a dramatic gesture of self-pity.

**Ishita:** **“Rudra, seriously!”** I wailed, though my voice was hushed out of respect for the intimidating ambiance. **“*Because I am just 20 and you are 5 years older than me!* You are taking advantage of your age and of your Hulk-type body! Seriously, I’m so tiny, yaar!”**

I gestured between his towering, muscular frame and my own small figure, trying to use the disparity as a bargaining tool.

**Ishita:** **“You are practically kidnapping a middle-class girl and forcing her to consume gold-plated food! We are pure vegetarian, and still, look at the price! *Ghar pe daal chawal khate hain hum log!*”** (At home, we eat lentils and rice!)

He just watched me, the corner of his lips twitching, completely unbothered by my existential crisis over the price of asparagus.

The waiter finally arrived with our first course: a small portion of brightly colored vegetables arranged artfully around a central, creamy sauce. It looked like a painting. It looked like it cost ₹3,000.

I hesitated, picking up the fork like it was an unfamiliar weapon.

**Ishita:** **“I… I don’t know how to eat this without destroying the art.”**

Suddenly, Rudra pushed his own massive chair back slightly and moved. Before I could process it, he was next to me, gently pulling out the chair right beside mine, and *sitting down*. His presence instantly engulfed my space.

**Ishita:** **“Rudra! What are you doing? This isn’t a canteen!”**

**Rudra:** (He ignored the public setting, his voice low, only for me.) **“You’re going to be slow. We’ll be here all night. Open.”**

He picked up a small piece of the 'art,' dipped it expertly in the sauce, and held it right up to my mouth.

**Ishita:** **“No! I can feed myself, Rudra!”**

He just held the fork steady, his intense blue eyes challenging me. He was teasing me, yes, but there was a deep, warm seriousness there too.

I gave up, too embarrassed to cause a scene. I reluctantly leaned forward and took the bite. It was, annoyingly, delicious.

**Ishita:** (Chewing slowly) **“Okay, but this is ridiculous. Rudra, *it’s too much for a girl like me*. I can't get used to this life.”**

He continued to feed me the tiny, expensive portions, ignoring my protest entirely.

**Rudra:** **“You deserve the best, Ishita. Everything. Stop arguing.”**

I realized arguing was futile. The *payal* was on my lap, and the Hulk was feeding me gourmet carrots. I accepted my fate, pulled out my phone, and started clicking pictures of the aesthetic area—the chandeliers, the velvet curtains, the tiny flower arrangements.

I looked at him, feeling brave because he was close and soft.

**Ishita:** **“Okay, fine. But can we have at least one photo? If you are okay? *Only one selfie, please?* I know you hate it.”**

### **[Rudra Singh Rathor’s Perspective

Her dramatic rant about my age and body was ridiculously endearing. She thought she was arguing about prices; she was actually listing all the reasons she felt vulnerable next to me.

**Ishita:** **“You are taking advantage of your age and of your Hulk-type body! Seriously, I’m so tiny, yaar!”**

I didn't argue the point. I let her claim I was a Hulk. It meant she trusted my strength.

The moment the first course arrived, I saw the hesitation in her eyes. It wasn't just the price; it was the formality. She wasn't used to being fussed over.

I made a split-second decision. I slid my chair next to hers, instantly closing the emotional gap the large table created.

**Rudra:** **“You’re going to be slow. We’ll be here all night. Open.”**

She put up a token resistance, but her eyes were already fixed on the fork. I gently fed her the vegetable, watching her eyes widen slightly at the flavor. This was better than any business deal.

**Ishita:** **“Okay, but this is ridiculous. Rudra, *it’s too much for a girl like me*. I can't get used to this life.”**

I picked up another bite. **Rudra:** **“You deserve the best, Ishita. Everything. Stop arguing.”** I held the fork steady. **“Let *me* worry about what you get used to. Your job is just to eat.”**

I continued feeding her, enjoying the intimacy of the silent exchange. She finally gave up, accepting the food and pulling out her phone to document the ridiculously expensive décor.

Then, the inevitable question.

**Ishita:** **“Okay, fine. But can we have at least one photo? If you are okay? *Only one selfie, please?* I know you hate it.”**

*Hate it.* Yes, I hated photos. They were documentation, press fodder, a means of tracking. But *she* wanted one. And after seeing that private video of me singing to her, I couldn't deny her this small, public acknowledgment.

I leaned back slightly, pulling her closer against my side.

**Rudra:** **“One. Only one, Ishita. And I’m not doing the duck face. If you want a selfie, you take it. I’ll just look at the camera.”**

I subtly wrapped my arm around the back of her chair, my fingers finding the bare skin of her shoulder just beneath the strap of her top, a firm, possessive squeeze that was hidden from the waiter but not from her.

**Rudra:** **“Make it fast. I don’t want people to think I’m enjoying this.”**

### **[Ishita Sharma’s Perspective]**

He had finally agreed to the selfie, but his expression was set—the perfect, stone-cold billionaire mask. I pulled my phone up, leaning my head slightly toward his immovable shoulder.

**Ishita:** **“Rudra, please! At least look normal, not like a robot, please!”**

He took a deep breath, the movement barely noticeable beneath the fine fabric of his shirt, and looked at me in disbelief, a silent question in his ocean-blue eyes: *How dare you call me a robot?*

I didn't care. I clicked several shots rapidly. In some, he maintained the CEO façade, looking straight at the camera. But in others, I noticed later, he wasn't looking at the phone at all—**his eyes were focused entirely on me**, his gaze intense, possessive, and soft all at once.

We finally settled into eating the *meticulously curated emulsions* and *artisan rice*. The food was good, I couldn't deny it, but the price tag was still a spiritual burden.

**Ishita:** **“You know, it’s been almost five months since we met, and today, for the first time, I am actually *not* interested in paying this bill. Sick people, costing food this much!”** I stabbed a piece of asparagus dramatically.

I looked at him, suddenly inspired by a new challenge.

**Ishita:** **“You know what, Mr. Hulk? Someday, come to my side of the city, near my house. I will give you a treat better than this in *my* budget. Huhh! Done!”** I declared, nodding decisively.

He just raised a perfect eyebrow, accepting the challenge silently.

I finished my juice, stood up, and squared my shoulders. **Ishita:** **“Okay, I’m going to the counter.”**

I walked toward the front desk with a determined stride, pulling out my small, worn wallet. The cost would probably wipe out my savings for two months, but I was going to pay. This dinner was too much, but I wanted to show him that I was independent, I was serious, and I was going to pay for my own choices.

I reached the counter, my heart pounding, and placed my wallet on the marble surface.

**Ishita:** **“Excuse me, the bill for table seven, please.”**

The manager smiled politely. **Manager:** **“It’s already taken care of, ma’am.”**

My blood pressure spiked. I knew exactly who the culprit was. I spun around, my eyes immediately finding Rudra, who was standing a few feet behind me, leaning against a pillar, his black card already tucked away.

**Ishita:** **“Rudra! Why do you do this? I told you I would pay!”** I hissed, feeling utterly frustrated and undermined. **“You don't listen to anything I say!”**

### **[Rudra Singh Rathor’s Perspective

I watched her dramatic declaration that she was going to pay the bill. *Five months.* She was right. Five months, and she still fiercely protected her independence, even over a dinner that cost less than the watch on my wrist.

Her challenge about treating me in her neighborhood made me smile genuinely. It was a date offer, wrapped in protective budgeting.

**Rudra:** (I responded, my voice smooth and low as I rose from the table.) **“Accepted. I look forward to your budget *daal chawal*.”**

I let her march toward the counter with her tiny, determined wallet. I knew she was going to try and pay, and I knew I wouldn't allow it. It wasn't about the money; it was about ensuring her focus remained on me, not on a transaction.

As she reached the counter, I casually stepped up next to her, pulling my black card out of my suit jacket.

**Rudra:** (To the manager, ignoring Ishita completely.) **“Table seven. And inform my driver to bring the car around now.”**

The transaction was swift and silent. The manager, familiar with my routine, didn’t even glance at her.

The moment the card was accepted, Ishita whirled around, her eyes flashing with genuine frustration.

**Ishita:** **“Rudra! Why do you do this? I told you I would pay! You don't listen to anything I say!”**

I pocketed the card, leaning down to meet her height, my voice dropping to a possessive murmur that only she could hear over the soft ambient music.

**Rudra:** **“You only pay for what you buy for yourself, Ishita. When you are with me, *I* pay. You are my guest. It’s non-negotiable.”**

I reached out, taking her arm just above the elbow—a firm, guiding grip—and led her toward the exit where the car was waiting.

**Rudra:** **“Don't get frustrated, *jaan*. You can pay for our next dinner. I'm very keen to see your budget planning in action. Now come. You need rest. Tomorrow is a long day.”**