### **[Ishita Sharma’s Perspective]**

The rest of the drive was quiet, but the air was charged, humming with the intensity of our shared moment. He had confessed that he would burn for me—a terrifying promise, yet one that felt like the most honest thing he had ever said.

We finally reached my studio building. He pulled up to the front, but didn't immediately let go of my hand. His fingers were still interlaced with mine, a constant, firm reminder of his presence. Then, slowly, reluctantly, he let go.

He reached for the door handle.

**Ishita:** **“Wait.”**

He paused instantly, his hand hovering over the lever, his ocean-blue eyes questioning me.

I quickly opened my own door, got out, and walked around the front of the car. I opened his door and stood back, gesturing for him to exit.

**Ishita:** **“Come out.”**

He looked genuinely confused, his brow furrowed in a charming mix of surprise and obedience. **Rudra:** **“Ishita, what are you doing?”**

**Ishita:** **“Come out, Rudra.”**

He obeyed, unfolding his tall, imposing frame from the car. The action was slow, deliberate, like a predator unsure of the terrain.

I grabbed his hand again, pulling him toward the entrance. It was 8 PM, so the reception area was empty of clients, but my two assistants, Charlotte and Preeti, were tidying up near the main makeup stations. They glanced up, saw *Rudra Singh Rathor* being dragged by their boss, and immediately looked back down, too smart to question the scene.

I dragged him through the spacious main area, pointing rapidly at the workstations and lighting rigs. **Ishita:** **“This is the main area, where the magic happens. We do shoots here, bridal makeup, everything!”**

**Rudra:** (He simply observed, his expression unreadable, letting me pull him along.) **“It’s… efficient.”**

**Ishita:** **“Efficient? It’s gorgeous! Come on.”**

Finally, I pulled him into my small, private cabin—a cozy, slightly cluttered space where I handled consultations and paperwork. It was certainly small compared to the palace he called an office.

I turned to him, my voice softening as I swept my hand around the room.

**Ishita:** **“Look around, Rudra. Do you remember that day, the first time we met at Shiv Mandir? You saved me from falling on those stairs, six months ago?”**

He nodded, the memory clearly vivid in his eyes.

**Ishita:** **“That same day, I opened this studio. See how lucky you are for me? I think Shiv himself sent you to me. Not just to spoil me, but to handle me. To anchor me.”**

I stepped closer, looking up at him, my voice filled with soft conviction. **Ishita:** **“And you know, your name—*Rudra*—it’s also one of Shiv’s names. *Rudra* means the one who removes sorrow and brings peace. You’re my Shiv, Rudra. You brought my life and this dream to reality.”**

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

I was still reeling from the intimate, fragile moment in the car, the kiss on my forehead, the promise I had made. The fire was banked, replaced by a profound sense of devotion.

When we arrived at her studio, I paused, planning to open her door, say goodbye, and leave a trail of security guards. But she stopped me.

**Ishita:** **“Wait.”**

Then she was standing outside my door, demanding I get out. Her energy was a whirlwind of light and determination. I obeyed instantly, confused but utterly fascinated.

She grabbed my hand and led me into the studio. I noticed the quiet, organized chaos of the space—cameras, lights, makeup cases. It wasn't the stark, metallic order of my world, but it was vibrant and clearly *hers*.

**Rudra:** (I tried to maintain some semblance of cool.) **“It’s… efficient.”** It was the only neutral word I could find.

She ignored the faint praise and dragged me into her small private cabin. I immediately noted the size; it was barely bigger than my private washroom, yet it contained more personality than my entire office floor.

Then she spoke, and the air shifted, turning solemn, sacred.

**Ishita:** **“Do you remember that day, the first time we met at Shiv Mandir? That same day, I opened this studio.”**

My heart hammered against my ribs. I had documented that day, that exact moment she nearly fell. It was the day my life split in two: Before Ishita and After Ishita.

**Ishita:** **“See how lucky you are for me? I think Shiv himself sent you to me. Not just to spoil me, but to handle me. To anchor me.”**

She didn't stop there.

**Ishita:** **“And you know, your name—*Rudra*—it’s also one of Shiv’s names. *Rudra* means the one who removes sorrow and brings peace. You’re my Shiv, Rudra. You brought my life and this dream to reality.”**

Her voice was soft, laced with such genuine, innocent reverence that the carefully constructed walls around my heart fractured completely. She was comparing me, the cold, ruthless billionaire, to God. She saw me not as power, but as **peace**.

My throat tightened. I, the man who didn't believe in God, was being told I was sent by Him. I, who didn't believe in love, was being called her anchor.

I reached out, my large hand cupping her cheek, my eyes locking onto hers. The possessive fire in me was replaced by a desperate tenderness.

**Rudra:** **“Don’t say that, Ishita.”** My voice was rough, barely a whisper. **“Don’t ever put me on a pedestal. I am a monster, not a god. I am the one who needs you to keep me anchored, not the other way around.”**

I leaned my forehead against hers, closing my eyes. **Rudra:** **“But yes. If you say I am your luck… then I will accept it. I will accept *anything* you give me.”**

### **[Ishita Sharma’s Perspective]**

He called himself a monster, not a god, but the way he looked at me—the raw honesty, the overwhelming need—made him seem anything but.

I smiled gently and nodded, confirming my belief in him. **Ishita:** **“Okay, monster. But you’re my monster.”**

He gave a slight, shaky exhale, accepting the title.

**Rudra:** **“Food.”** He stated, pulling out his phone. **“I am ordering.”**

**Ishita:** **“No, I will do it! You always treat me! Today, I’m paying for the budget delivery, remember?”** I argued playfully, reaching for my bag.

He didn't even glance at me. He was already scrolling through an app, his business face back on, but softened by the context.

**Rudra:** **“You tried to pay for the ₹1200 jewelry and the ₹8000 dinner. Your budget cannot handle my nutritional needs, Ishita. Stand down.”**

I groaned dramatically and threw my hands up. **Ishita:** **“Ugh, fine! But don’t you dare order me anything that looks like a salad or a vegetable broth! I am still hungry from the anxiety.”**

He ordered quickly, speaking in short, sharp sentences to the person on the other end, specifying every micro-nutrient. Soon, a delivery arrived: for him, some high-protein, perfectly balanced vegetarian dish that looked scientifically engineered; and for me, a slightly more appetizing (but still healthy) paneer and vegetable wrap.

We ate sitting on the floor of my cabin, leaning against the plush consultation chairs—a ridiculous contrast to the high-end food.

I took a bite of his food, wrinkling my nose. **Ishita:** **“Wow. This tastes like discipline.”**

He simply watched me, taking a bite of his own.

**Ishita:** **“You know, your world is so different, Rudra. All that stress—two companies, endless meetings, protecting your image, protecting me, and everything else. I know you don’t like normal, silly things—laughing at stupid jokes, loving cheap ice cream. Things like me.”**

I reached across the short distance and gently fed him a piece of my paneer wrap—the slightly fatty, flavorful part.

**Ishita:** **“But sometimes, just take a breath and let it go, okay? Don’t always carry everything alone. I am here. I can listen, even if it bores me. I can watch you stare at a spreadsheet for an hour. I can be bored *with* you.”**

I met his gaze, my expression serious.

**Ishita:** **“I am not telling you to change anything or change yourself. I like the way you are. I just want you to remember that the anchor doesn't have to always be the strongest one. The anchor needs rest too.”**

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

She had called me her monster, her Shiv, her luck. She had opened her heart and her studio to me. The defenses I had spent my entire life building were now just scattered rubble around her feet.

She challenged the food order. **Ishita:** **“I will do it! You always treat me!”**

**Rudra:** **“Your budget cannot handle my nutritional needs, Ishita. Stand down.”**

It wasn't about the budget. It was about ensuring she ate properly, and I needed control over the quality. I placed the order quickly—a meticulously sourced protein bowl for me and a wholesome wrap for her.

She tasted my food and made a disgusted face. **Ishita:** **“Wow. This tastes like discipline.”**

It tasted like fuel. It tasted like necessary focus. But her expression made me feel ridiculous.

She then launched into a serious, tender monologue, feeding me a bite of her wrap—a small, intimate gesture that bypassed all my defenses.

**Ishita:** **“I know your world is so different, Rudra. All that stress—two companies, endless meetings… I know you don’t like normal, silly things—laughing at stupid jokes, loving cheap ice cream. Things like me.”**

The last three words stung. *Things like me.* She still saw herself as ordinary and me as unreachable.

She fed me the bite, her eyes full of genuine, earnest concern.

**Ishita:** **“But sometimes, just take a breath and let it go, okay? Don’t always carry everything alone. I am here. I can listen, even if it bores me. I can watch you stare at a spreadsheet for an hour. I can be bored *with* you.”**

Her willingness to share my mundane, soul-crushing reality—even the parts she found boring—was the most precious gift.

**Rudra:** **“There is nothing boring about you, Ishita.”** My voice was rough, low. **“And you could never bore me. Ever.”**

She pressed on, sealing the promise with unwavering eye contact.

**Ishita:** **“I am not telling you to change anything or change yourself. I like the way you are. I just want you to remember that the anchor doesn't have to always be the strongest one. The anchor needs rest too.”**

I leaned forward, placing my own plate aside. I took her hand, lifting it to my lips, pressing a kiss onto her knuckles.

**Rudra:** **“Rest.”** I repeated the word, tasting the unusual concept. **“I haven’t known rest in years. But if my anchor needs rest…”**

I looked directly into her eyes, my voice a soft commitment. **Rudra:** **“Then I will let my anchor pull me in. I’ll let go, Ishita. I’ll let you be my peace. But you have to promise me one thing in return.”**

**Rudra:** **“You have to promise that you will always tell me when you are scared, or when you are falling. You are not allowed to be strong for me. Just be.”**

### **[Ishita Sharma’s Perspective]**

We were still inside my cabin—dim lights, quiet city noise humming in the background. I had no idea why I suddenly grabbed my phone, maybe because the mood had gone soft, or maybe because he was still here—*actually here*, not just physically but completely present.

I unlocked my Instagram and turned to him, excitement bubbling in my chest.

**Ishita:** **“Wanna see something?”**

He raised a brow. **Rudra:** **“Do I have a choice?”**

**Ishita:** **“Nope,”** I grinned, and tapped open my reels.

One by one, I showed him everything.

My goofy dance reel with Payal where we both tried that trending ‘filmy *thumka*’ and fell flat laughing.

A slow traditional one—me in a *lehenga*, doing classical hand moves in that soft golden hour light.

Another in western clothes—bodycon, heels, sunglasses—walking like a diva to some trending remix.

And then… My singing reel. A song I posted a few weeks ago. Soft. Romantic. Just me and a guitar.

I bit my lip while he watched that one, feeling oddly nervous.

**Rudra:** **“You sing well,”** he finally said, voice low, almost thoughtful.

**Ishita:** **“You’re just saying it,”** I laughed, trying to sound dismissive.

**Rudra:** **“No,”** he said simply, his blue eyes intense. **“I don’t waste compliments.”**

Wow. The man made a compliment sound like a corporate assessment.

And then like a light bulb went off in my head, I tilted my head and asked, **Ishita:** **“Wait… *do* you even have Instagram?”**

He looked at me like I just asked if he owns socks. **Rudra:** **“Of course not.”**

**Ishita:** **“Seriously? Not even a secret one for stalking or liking gym pages?”** I teased.

He didn’t answer, just giving me that deadpan look.

**Ishita:** **“Gimme your phone.”**

He didn’t hesitate. Just reached into his pocket, pulled out his sleek matte black phone, and handed it to me like it was nothing.

**Ishita:** **“Open the lock,”** I said, expecting the usual four digits.

He just looked at me.

**Rudra:** **“Do you really think I need a lock?”** he said, completely deadpan. **“No one touches my phone. Not without my permission.”**

I blinked. That was… peak Rudra Singh Rathore energy. The ultimate flex of intimidation.

**Ishita:** **“So wait, you don’t even *use* a passcode?”** I said, unlocking the screen with a swipe. I landed on the home screen—it was painfully minimal.

**Rudra:** **“Laksh tries sometimes,”** he said, watching me.

**Ishita:** **“Poor Laksh. How does he even handle you and your ‘I am the godfather’ mood 24 hours a day? Plus that stone face of yours. I feel bad for your bodyguards.”**

He just… smirked. One of those dangerous yet amused ones.

**Ishita:** **“You think I’m hard to handle?”** I asked, looking up from his phone.

**Rudra:** **“No. I *know* you are.”**

### **[ Rudra Singh Rathore]**

I didn’t understand half the things she was showing me. Filters. Transitions. Songs that kept changing beats halfway.

But she looked alive. Her eyes sparkled when she laughed at her own bloopers. She sang softly with her own reel as it played. She danced in those videos like the world didn’t exist beyond that frame.

And I watched. Not the reels—*her*.

When she showed the singing reel, I felt a familiar tenderness. **Rudra:** **“You sing well.”** She thought I was humoring her. I was never humoring her.

She asked for my phone. I didn't hesitate. She was the only person on earth I would trust with the raw data of my life.

I watched her confusion when there was no lock. **Rudra:** **“No one touches my phone. Not without my permission.”** The simple truth.

She made a joke about Laksh and my moods. I smiled—real, unfiltered. I enjoyed the ease with which she categorized and managed my volatile nature.

**Rudra:** **“You think I’m hard to handle?”** I asked her, testing her.

She looked up at me and confirmed it without flinching. **Ishita:** **“No. I *know* you are.”**

I chuckled, genuinely. **Rudra:** **“And yet you handle me better than most.”**

Her fingers stilled on the screen. I leaned forward and gently tapped her forehead. **Rudra:** **“Even without bodyguards, filters, or billion-dollar distractions… you somehow get under my skin.”**

She blushed. Beautifully. The warmth spread from her cheeks down her neck.

I sat back, watching her go through my phone like she belonged. Because maybe she did. I observed her scrolling, realizing she wasn't looking for secrets, just curiosity. She navigated through my contacts, seeing names of world leaders and corporate rivals.

**Rudra:** **“My entire world is in your hand, Ishita. Be careful where you tap. You might accidentally launch a hostile takeover.”**

**Ishita:** (She looked at my contact list, scrolling past 'President Macron' and 'Mr. Lee Samsung.') **“See? No gym pages. No filters. Just world domination.”** She stopped scrolling and looked up. **“I’m putting myself in here. In your phone. With a heart emoji. And you’re not allowed to delete it.”**

### **[Ishita Sharma’s Perspective]**

I knew the moment I saw his stark, empty phone screen that I had a mission: domesticate the billionaire. And digital presence was step one.

**Ishita:** **“See? No gym pages. No filters. Just world domination.”** I declared, scrolling past his intimidating contact list. **“I’m putting myself in here.”** I quickly typed in a new contact. **“Ishita 💖.”** **“And you’re not allowed to delete it.”**

He just watched me, a faint, proprietary curve on his lips.

My fingers flew across his phone. **Ishita:** **“Okay, now for the real work.”**

I navigated to the app store. **Ishita:** **“Instagram is necessary. For anchoring you to the fun world.”** I downloaded the app and quickly set up an account.

**Ishita:** **“Username: R.S.R.”** I announced, typing * but। private account  as the full name. **“Simple, cold, effective. Just like you.”**

I rummaged through my own recent chats with him until I found the shadowy, artistic photo I had sent him a few days ago—one where his face was obscured but his powerful silhouette was visible. I set it as his profile picture.

**Ishita:** **“There. Anonymous enough for the prince, cool enough for the internet.”**

Then came the grand finale. I hit 'Follow' on my account, then switched back to his profile.

**Ishita:** **“And now, Mr. Rudra Singh Rathor, you are officially following *me*.”** I made him open my profile. **“And I want you to like every single photo. Every single reel. Past, present, and future. *Aapko karna padega, Sir.* You have to do it, Sir.”**

I was leaning so close to him, hovering over the screen, that I literally didn't realize my entire side was pressed against his chest. I was practically sitting *on* him on the small couch in my cabin.

His arm was naturally draped behind me on the cushion, and his other hand was slowly, delicately playing with my long, real nails. He wasn’t even looking at the phone anymore; he was looking at *me*.

**Rudra:** (His voice was a deep, velvet rumble, completely distracted from the social media lesson.) **“*Aapko achcha lagta hai jab main aapko follow karta hoon, Ishita?*”** (Do you like it when I follow you, Ishita?)

He traced the outline of my nail bed with his thumb.

**Ishita:** (I whispered back, my heart pounding at the implied double meaning.) **“Only if you like what you see, Rudra. All of it.”**

**Rudra:** **“I like it all. Every single detail. Now turn around and finish the task. I need to fulfill my new social media duties.”**

### **[ Rudra Singh Rathore]**

My mind was processing the unprecedented breach of security with surprising calm. She had named me *Ishita 💖* in my personal contact list. She was creating a frivolous, public profile for me. And I found myself completely allowing it.

She was leaning on me, her warmth and scent a potent distraction. My arm was resting behind her, providing a casual, yet firm, barrier. My other hand found its way to her hand, gently running over her long, natural nails—they were delicate, like her, but strong.

**Ishita:** **“Username: R.S.R. Simple, cold, effective. Just like you.”**

**Rudra** (Inner Monologue): *Simple? Cold? She has no idea what 'Rudra' truly represents, but she is naming my presence in her world.*

She set the dark, shadowy photo I liked. Smart girl. She knew my aversion to direct images.

Then, she committed the ultimate act of digital possession: she made me follow her.

**Ishita:** **“And now, Mr. Rudra Singh Rathor, you are officially following *me*.”** She turned her head up, her eyes wide and demanding. **“And I want you to like every single photo. Every single reel. Past, present, and future. *Aapko karna padega, Sir.* You have to do it, Sir.”**

I noticed how close we were. Her hip was pressed against my leg, her shoulder against my chest. She was completely unaware of the intimacy, focused only on the screen.

**Rudra:** (My voice was low, almost a vibration against her ear, shifting the focus from the digital to the physical claim.) **“*Aapko achcha lagta hai jab main aapko follow karta hoon, Ishita?*”** (Do you like it when I follow you, Ishita?)

I watched her gasp softly at the double meaning.

**Ishita:** **“Only if you like what you see, Rudra. All of it.”**

My grip tightened slightly on her hand, pulling her fingers to my lips for a swift, secret brush.

**Rudra:** **“I like it all. Every single detail.”** I confirmed, the statement encompassing her reels, her heart, her stubbornness, and her physical warmth pressed against me. **“Now turn around and finish the task. I need to fulfill my new social media duties. I wouldn't want to disappoint my only follower.”**

I watched as she turned back, giggling, and started clicking 'Like' on every single reel she had ever posted, completely unaware that the man beside her found the entire experience infinitely more valuable than a successful

Ishita finally deemed my R.S.R. profile sufficiently active and acceptable. She handed the phone back, glowing with satisfaction, and finally pulled away from my chest—a distance I immediately regretted.

**Rudra:** **“Satisfied, Ishita? Will my digital presence bring you peace now?”** I asked, tucking the phone—now contaminated with social media apps and a heart emoji contact—into my pocket.

**Ishita:** **“Very satisfied. Just make sure you check your notifications. I expect 100% engagement, Sir.”**

I smiled faintly, standing up. The time had vanished. The quiet moment in her studio, filled with laughter and near-confessions, had been a perfect sanctuary.

**Rudra:** **“It’s late. We need to get you inside.”**

The drive back to her house was silent. I drove slowly, my hand resting on the console, resisting the urge to take hers again. I was focused now, the domesticity of the past hour receding, replaced by the reality of the threats I had yet to neutralize.

I pulled up to her door. I walked her to the entrance, waiting until her key was securely in the lock. We exchanged the usual silent goodbye—a long, possessive look, a soft smile from her.

**Rudra:** **“Call me when you wake up. I want to hear your voice first.”**

She nodded, gave me a final soft look, and disappeared inside.

---

I didn't linger. The moment her door closed, the cold, ruthless exterior of Rudra Singh Rathor snapped back into place. I drove the massive car back to the Rathor Mansion at maximum speed.

I bypassed the security, the guards, and the silent house, walking straight to my private study—a room of dark leather and cold steel, designed for maximum solitude and ruthless efficiency.

I didn’t even bother to loosen my tie. I pulled out my phone and called Laksh. It was 1 AM, but Laksh was always awake. He knew my schedules, and he knew my priorities.

The call connected instantly. **Rudra:** **“Laksh.”** My voice was flat, devoid of emotion, yet carrying lethal intent.

**Laksh:** *“sir. I was waiting. The operation is complete.”*

**Rudra:** **“Details. I want to know exactly what you did to those two pieces of trash who thought they could approach Ishita.”**

**Laksh:** *“As you commanded, silence was maintained. We didn't touch their bodies. We destroyed their lives.*

*The first one, the one who reached out, works at a small, up-and-coming tech startup. I had the parent company acquire the startup three hours ago. By the time he woke up this morning, his entire department, including him, was liquidated. He’s blacklisted from the entire sector. He will never get another job in tech in this country. His future is gone.”*

I leaned back against the polished mahogany desk, a flicker of grim satisfaction crossing my face. **Rudra:** **“Good. And the second one?”**

**Laksh:** *“The second one, who was just staring, is a student. His father runs a very minor manufacturing unit that depends on government contracts you indirectly control. The unit’s primary contract was revoked an hour ago, citing irreconcilable compliance issues. The financial ruin is effective immediately. The family business is finished. The boy will spend the next decade watching his family pay for his indiscretion.”*

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the wave of cold, possessive certainty wash over me. *No one touches what is mine.*

**Rudra:** **“Did they understand *why* this happened, Laksh?”**

**Laksh:** *“They were both delivered a single, anonymous note stating: 'The price for touching what belongs to R.S.R.' No more. No less.”*

**Rudra:** **“Excellent.”** I finally allowed myself a low, dangerous exhale. **“Now the world knows the true cost of testing my boundaries. Get me the Q3 reports. The rest of the world can wait until morning.”**

The danger was neutralized. The borders were drawn in blood and financial ruin. Now, I could finally think about the next time I would see my Ishita.