Ishita’s Perspective:

*The Days Following the Meeting*

After Rudra’s successful, sugar-fueled infiltration of the Sharma house, everything shifted. It was like stepping out of a shadow and into bright, blinding sunlight. The days of whispered phone calls, secret meetups, and constantly fearing a paparazzi lens were officially over.

**Papa** had given his blessing, and that single nod had unlocked my entire future.

Now, we met freely.

Rudra would arrive at the **Sharma House** in the late afternoon, no longer sneaking down the *gali* but pulling up right to the gate, the sheer scale of his customized car making every other vehicle look like a toy. He’d spend time talking to Papa about gym equipment, patiently listening to Mummy’s religious stories, and teasing **Vaibhav** (who now officially addressed him as **Jiju**).

My family, completely won over by his ‘Nice-Rudra’ act, would watch us leave without a hint of suspicion, their anxiety replaced by pride.

Our dates were no longer tense, rushed hours snatched between my makeup jobs and his mergers. Now, we went everywhere.

We walked hand-in-hand through the **Rathor Mansion** gardens, discussing which antique pieces I hated and where I wanted the sunlight for my new studio (which he immediately put a team to work designing, without consulting me, of course).

We went to high-profile events. The first time, when he introduced me to his board members at a charity gala, I was terrified. But Rudra’s hand never left the small of my back, his **ocean-blue eyes** constantly sweeping the room, signaling possessively: *She is mine, do not challenge her.* I realized then that being the future Mrs. Rudra Singh Rathor was less about status and more about having the world’s most powerful man as your personal, ruthless guardian.

The media, of course, went wild. The headlines shrieked with disbelief:

> **"The Cold-Hearted Prince Surrenders!"**

>

> **"Tycoon Rudra Singh Rathor Spotted! With The Middle-Class Dreamer!"**

>

> **"Royalty and Romance: The Anklet Vow!"**

I was now a permanent fixture on every news channel, my modest work as a makeup artist and beginner model analyzed frame by frame. But even that didn’t bother me.

I remember one specific evening. Rudra had taken me to a very exclusive, rooftop restaurant, the city lights glittering below us. We were seated at a private, secluded table.

**Ishita:** (I leaned across the table, my **brown eyes** shining with genuine happiness.) "You know, this is crazy. A few weeks ago, I was worried about whether I'd see you next week. Now, I worry about what dress to wear to your next shareholder meeting."

**Rudra:** (He reached across and captured my hand, his thumb tracing the delicate bones of my wrist. His gaze was intense, possessive, yet softened by love.) "You will wear whatever you want, **Jaana**. You are my choice. And you will be the most beautiful woman in any room we enter. The world is finally catching up to the truth: that our **destiny collided** and our **unbroken love** cannot be denied."

He brought my hand to his lips, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to my knuckles.

**Rudra:** "No more hiding. You are the only truth I need to show the world."

And in that moment, looking at the man who had faced down his family, my father, and even my fear of a pet tiger, I knew I was living my dream—a beautiful, terrifying, yet utterly safe reality with the man who had once been the **cold-hearted prince**, but was now simply *my* king.

👑 Rudra’s Perspective:

*The Next Day | Afternoon | Ishita’s Studio*

The feeling was utterly foreign and, quite frankly, infuriating. I was in a high-stakes meeting finalizing the bid for a massive infrastructure deal, but for the past two hours, my attention had been split.

I had called **Ishita** three times. Texted her twice. Nothing. Complete radio silence.

My usual reaction to such neglect from anyone—a business associate, a subordinate, a client—would be sharp, immediate anger. But this was **Ishita**, my fragile peace. The initial spike of frustration quickly morphed into a cold, possessive worry.

*Did I say something wrong last night? Was she suddenly overwhelmed by the media scrutiny? Did one of the Rathors try to interfere?*

The idea that she might be upset, or worse, in trouble, was enough to make the infrastructure deal feel trivial. No asset was more valuable than her well-being. I wrapped up the meeting fifteen minutes early, handing the final details off to my COO with a look that dared him to question my departure.

The drive to her studio—a sleek, minimalist space she designed herself—was agonizingly slow. The simple act of her not answering my calls felt like a physical tearing away.

I strode into the reception area of her studio. Her assistant, a young man named **Charlotte**, looked up, instantly straightening at the sight of the notorious **Rudra Singh Rathor**.

**Rudra:** (My voice was clipped and devoid of warmth; I was in full **ruthless tycoon** mode.) "Where is she?"

**Charlotte:** (Stuttering slightly) "S-sir, she’s in her cabin. She’s... very busy."

"Busy." That word did little to soothe the possessive storm brewing inside me. I simply nodded curtly and headed straight for her private cabin.

I bypassed the door, which was slightly ajar, and stepped inside without knocking.

The sight that greeted me was typical **Ishita** chaos, magnified by her ambition. She was seated at her large white desk, surrounded by half-used makeup palettes and scattered mood boards. Her phone was clamped between her shoulder and ear, her right hand was flying across her laptop keyboard, and her **long, curly hair** was tied back haphazardly, with escaping tendrils framing her focused face. She was deep in conversation, her **brown eyes** intense, a picture of the **middle-class dreamer** conquering her world.

**Ishita:** (Her voice, sharp and professional, was clearly audible) "...No, Reet, the silver thread for the *lehenga* is not negotiable. We need that shimmer to catch the light on the runway. Yes, I need the updated mood board by 5, and I am not taking no for an answer. You know how demanding the editor is..."

She stopped mid-sentence, her **brown eyes** widening as they finally registered my towering **6'3" muscular body** filling her doorway. The sheer intensity of my gaze—probably mirroring the icy **ocean-blue** of Oscur right now—made her freeze.

She quickly pulled the phone away from her ear.

**Ishita:** (To the phone, her voice dropping instantly to a slightly breathless, softer tone) "Reet, I have to call you back. Emergency. Yes, *that* kind of emergency."

She hung up and slowly placed the phone on the desk, looking at me with a mix of surprise, affection, and a healthy dose of fear.

**Ishita:** (Her voice was a soft whisper) "R-Rudra? What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in a meeting!"

I crossed the room in two strides, my patience exhausted. I leaned down, placing my large hands firmly on either side of her chair, trapping her at her desk. My tone was low, dangerous, and dripping with the possessive worry that had consumed my afternoon.

**Rudra:** "**I** am supposed to be in a meeting. **You** are supposed to answer my calls, **Jaana**."

I lowered my head until my lips were inches from her ear, my gaze intense.

**Rudra:** "Why the silence, Ishita? Did you forget your promise? Or did the **tycoon's** phone calls suddenly become less important than your silver thread?"

My voice held the implicit threat of the **ruthless tycoon**, reminding her of the **devotion I require**. I needed her to understand that her silence was not just inconvenient; it was unacceptable.

💖 Ishita’s Perspective:

His sudden, imposing presence completely shattered my focus. One moment, I was juggling demanding editors and fabric samples; the next, the **King of Rajasthan** was looming over me, his massive hands caging me in, his **ocean-blue eyes** blazing with pure, possessive concern. The air crackled with his intensity.

His voice, low and dangerous, demanding an answer for my silence, instantly made me feel small, loved, and deeply guilty. I could feel the heat radiating off his **muscular body** as he trapped me against the chair.

I could feel a deep **blush** spreading across my face, from my neck up to my hairline. There was only one way to soothe this particular kind of possessive anger.

I quickly tilted my head up and pressed a soft, firm kiss right onto his chiseled cheek, right near the corner of his perfect, slightly tense jaw.

**Ishita:** (My voice was breathless, trying to sound professional but failing miserably) "Rudra, I'm so sorry! At first, I was busy with a model for the final runway tests, and then I jumped straight onto the call with Reet. My phone completely **died**! I didn't even notice, I was just completely focused on the laptop and the call!"

I reached out and gently touched his tailored shirt, trying to mollify the **ruthless tycoon** with affection. "I promise, it wasn't a deliberate act of rebellion. It was just an extremely chaotic work emergency, Ru."

His expression didn't soften immediately, but the possessive intensity in his eyes deepened as he absorbed my kiss and my hurried explanation. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing my ear.

**Rudra:** (His voice was a low rumble, dripping with a delicious kind of **shameless flirting**) "Chaos is not an excuse, **Jaana**. My time is precious, and my attention is finite. When I call, you answer. My world stops for you; yours must pause for me. Besides," he pulled back just enough to look at my lips, "if I have to interrupt a massive merger to come see you, you owe me a far more substantial apology than a peck on the cheek."

He didn't wait for a reply. He lowered his head, his lips capturing mine with a sudden, powerful demand.

The kiss was everything his anger was: commanding, deep, and absolutely consuming. It wasn't gentle; it was a fierce, possessive claim, meant to remind me exactly where my focus belonged. His arm slid around my waist, pulling me even closer, completely disregarding the desk separating us. He moved his **lips** against mine with an intoxicating certainty, exploring every curve, every softness, until my head was spinning and every thought of silver thread or runway deadlines vanished.

When he finally pulled back, resting his forehead against mine, his breath was warm and slightly ragged against my skin.

**Rudra:** (He whispered, his tone now soft and possessive, the coldness melted away by the kiss) "You see? This is what happens when you silence me. I have to find a much more effective way to communicate. Now, I suggest you shut down that laptop. Your work day is over. The **King of Rajasthan** has come to retrieve his queen."

I couldn't argue. I was too breathless, too undone. The presence of the **ruthless tycoon** was far more important than any job, and his **unbroken love** was the only deadline that truly mattered.

👑 Rudra’s Perspective:

Her breathless apology and that deep kiss had effectively extinguished the possessive fire, replacing it with a far more satisfying warmth. She was mine, and I had successfully reminded her of the order of priorities.

I didn't wait for her to recover or to shut down her laptop; my patience was thin and my need for her was acute. I grabbed her by the arms and **pulled her up from her chair** and into the solid cage of my embrace. She came willingly, her hands immediately **wrapped around my neck** as she let out a delighted, soft **giggle** that was music to my ears.

She **snuggled into my neck**, breathing a sigh of deep contentment.

**Ishita:** (Muffled against my shirt) "I'm so tired, Ru. I've been running on black coffee and adrenaline since six a.m."

I tightened my hold, one hand moving to **caress her back and waist**, the other threading gently through her soft, **curly hair** to soothe the exhaustion away. The scent of her jasmine shampoo was intoxicating.

**Rudra:** (I began pecking her soft lips, a series of soft, possessive kisses after each sentence) "You work too hard. (*Peck*) You need to delegate. (*Peck*) You need me to take care of you. (*Peck*) You need a King, not a client list."

She pulled back just enough to look at me, her eyes half-closed in bliss, and she **brushed her nose against mine**—a simple, sweet gesture of profound intimacy.

**Ishita:** "I missed you so much, Ru. So much."

**Rudra:** (I captured her lips again, a deep, tender kiss that promised a complete return of that feeling.) "I missed you more, **Jaana**."

The sudden, brutal shattering of the quiet intimacy was both jarring and deafening. The **cabin door burst open with a loud noise**, hitting the wall with a shocking bang.

A flurry of youthful energy stood frozen in the doorway, a girl maybe **15 or 16** years old, clutching a large, brightly colored bag.

**Kriti (Bitto):** (She yelled enthusiastically as she entered) "**Didi, main aa gayi!** (Sister, I'm here!)"

She stopped dead, mid-sentence and mid-step. Her eyes, wide and startled, took in the sight of the **ruthless tycoon**—me—holding her sister in a deep, private embrace.

**Ishita** reacted instantly, yanking herself out of my arms and hitting her forehead with her palm in a gesture of utter frustration.

**Ishita:** "**Bitto**! Knock karna nahi aata kya tujhe?" (Bitto! Don't you know how to knock?)

The girl, **Kriti (Bitto)**, slowly recovered her composure, a sly, knowing grin spreading across her face.

**Kriti (Bitto):** (Teasing, drawing out her words) "Aaaa... aaa... aattta toh hai, par... acha hua nahi kiya. Varna pata nahi chalta h na yaha kya ho raha h." (I-I know how, but... it's a good thing I didn't. Otherwise, how would I know what's going on here?)

She then looked at me, assessing me with a bold, cheeky gaze before turning back to Ishita with a teasing look.

**Kriti (Bitto):** "Who is he, Di—mmmmmmuuuuummmm?"

Before **Ishita** could form a single word, **Kriti**’s eyes lit up with sudden, dramatic realization.

**Kriti (Bitto):** "Aaaaahhhaaaa... **Boyfriend**! Ooooohoooo! Main bhi na! Boyfriend h na, haina, haina Didi? Bolo na!" (Ohhh... Boyfriend! Silly me! He's your boyfriend, right, Didi? Tell me!)

**Ishita**, rolling her eyes, let out a weary sigh and threw me a look that said, *'See? This is my life.'*

**Ishita:** (Her voice was a sharp warning, but underlaid with affection) "Boyfriend nahi hai. **Future Husband** hai. Matlab, **tere Jiju**! So behave!" (He's not a boyfriend. He's the future husband. Meaning, your brother-in-law! So behave!)

The effect of the correction was immediate and deafening.

**Kriti (Bitto):** (She screamed at the top of her lungs, grabbing her cheeks) "**KYAAAAAAAAA! Jjjjjjiiiiiiijjjuuuuuu!** Didi, aapne mujhe pehle kyun nahi bataya?! Yeh galat baat hai!" (WHAT! BROTHER-IN-LAW! Didi, why didn't you tell me first?! This is wrong!)

**Ishita** closed her eyes in pure frustration, then looked at me, offering a quick, exhausted summary.

**Ishita:** "Rudra, meet my younger cousin sister, **Kriti**. Pet name, **Bitto**."

I stood there, momentarily stunned. After navigating the high-stakes interrogation of her father and the scrutiny of the Rathor family, I was now facing the sudden, screaming chaos of a teenage cousin. I hadn't prepared for this level of uninhibited enthusiasm. I felt a slow, amused smile spread across my face.

She was absolutely right. This was her life. And now, it was mine.

**Rudra:** (I extended a hand towards the screaming girl, my voice low and dry) "It's a pleasure, Kriti. And yes, your sister is correct. I am your future Jiju. Now, perhaps you could stop screaming and close the door before you alert the entire media to my location?"

💖 Ishita’s Perspective:

The moment Rudra extended his hand and, with his usual dry authority, requested **Kriti (Bitto)** to stop alerting the media, the dynamic shifted from chaos to a calculated, theatrical performance from her.

She didn't stop screaming, but she lowered the volume slightly to a high-pitched squeal. She completely ignored Rudra's hand, opting instead to launch herself at me, clinging dramatically to my arm.

**Kriti (Bitto):** (She was practically vibrating with excitement, shaking my arm wildly) "Didi, seriously?! The **King of Rajasthan** is going to be my **Jiju**?! I knew it! You were always looking too pretty when you left for work, and now I know why! But why didn't you tell me? I could have planned a whole welcome party!"

I rubbed my temples, fighting the urge to tell her to sit down and breathe. I looked at Rudra, who was watching the scene with a detached, yet deeply amused, expression—the same way he probably watched volatile market data.

**Ishita:** (I tried to pry her off, speaking through gritted teeth) "Kriti! Relax! I told you just now because everything was officially confirmed last night! And stop calling him the **King of Rajasthan**; it’s embarrassing!"

**Kriti (Bitto):** (She released me only to whirl around and point an accusing finger at Rudra) "You! **Jiju**! You are so **tall and muscular**! And Didi is so small and thin! You are going to hide her behind you all the time, just like you hide your money! That is so unfair!"

Rudra raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the unexpected attack on his physique and financial habits.

**Ishita:** (I groaned, pulling Kriti back) "Kriti, stop talking about his height and his money! You are embarrassing me! And he does not hide me!"

**Kriti (Bitto):** (She ignored me, leaning forward conspiratorially toward Rudra, her eyes twinkling with pure mischief) "Is it true, **Jiju**? That you have a pet tiger? Didi told me he’s black with **ocean-blue eyes**! Can I come and meet him? I promise I won't scream if he tries to eat me!"

My heart sank. *The Oscur Rule!* We were *never* supposed to mention the tiger to the extended family, especially not the teenagers.

**Ishita:** (I grabbed Kriti's shoulder, pulling her away roughly) "**Kriti!** That's enough! Stop harassing **Rudra** about his... pets! Go and put your bag down and don't come back in here until you learn how to knock!"

**Kriti (Bitto):** (She pouted dramatically, but the gleam in her eyes didn't fade. She knew she had struck gold.) "Fine! But I'm telling **Papa** that **Jiju** is secretly a superhero who owns a giant cat! And I want all the wedding photos first, Didi! All of them!"

She stuck her tongue out quickly and finally bolted out of the cabin, leaving the door slightly ajar again.

I let out a long, shaky breath and immediately turned back to Rudra, my face contorted in a mask of mortification.

**Ishita:** (I rushed to him, grabbing his arm) "Rudra, I am so sorry! I told you, she’s chaos incarnate! Please ignore everything she said! Especially the part about the... the *giant cat*! We will talk to my mama later, I promise!"

Rudra didn't look annoyed at all. In fact, he looked utterly entertained, a deep, slow chuckle rumbling in his chest. He reached up, cupped my cheek, and wiped away a smudge of makeup that had transferred from my frantic palm to my forehead.

**Rudra:** (His **ocean-blue eyes** were soft with amusement) "She’s certainly... enthusiastic, **Jaana**. And why should I ignore her? She’s right about the height, and she's right about the tiger. And she’s right about you being small and thin—which only makes my need to protect you more acute."

He pulled me back into his arms, kissing the top of my head.

**Rudra:** "Don't worry about the noise, my love. After dealing with the Rathor board, your *Bitto* is a delightful distraction. Now, shut the door properly this time. I need to make up for the time she stole."

Rudra Singh Rathor perspective

Life since the **Sharma House** encounter—and the subsequent chaos caused by **Kriti (Bitto)**—had been a gratifying blur of possessive happiness and official planning. We were now completely public. My parents were preparing for a small, highly vetted formal meeting with the Sharmas, and the clock was ticking down on our four-month wedding deadline.

Now, however, a new layer of familial chaos had descended: my younger cousin brother **Vardaan**'s wedding functions had officially kicked off. Vardaan was marrying his longtime girlfriend, **Reet**, who, conveniently, was a burgeoning fashion designer.

This meant **Ishita** was not just invited as my future wife, but was professionally entangled: Reet had insisted on having Ishita handle all her bridal makeup and styling for the primary events.

And today, right this very moment, **Ishita** was downstairs in the grand salon, surrounded by the entire female contingent of the Rathor clan—my mother, sisters, chachis, and now Reet—sifting through mountains of couture for the various functions.

I was holed up in my study, trying to focus on a new acquisition, but the background hum of female voices and high-pitched laughter drifting up the staircase was a persistent distraction. Mostly, I was preoccupied by one specific piece of intelligence: Reet was not happy with Ishita.

I had heard through my sister, Ahana, that **Reet** was angry because they had been friends for nearly **four years**, collaborating professionally, and yet **Ishita** had never breathed a word about our relationship—not even during the three years we were apart, or in the initial stages of our reconciliation. The professional and personal lines were colliding messily.

My meeting finally concluded. The silence in the study was unnerving. I tossed my pen onto the desk. No amount of financial domination could distract me from the drama unfolding downstairs. It was time to intervene—not to solve the problem, but to assert my claim.

I strode downstairs, my boots echoing slightly on the marble. As I entered the grand salon, the scene was exactly as I had pictured: a dazzling, overwhelming display of silk, gold, and jewels.

**Ishita** was standing slightly apart, looking beautiful but overwhelmed, holding up a heavy, ruby-colored *lehenga* against herself. **Reet**, the bride-to-be, was seated nearby, looking distinctly displeased and refusing to make eye contact with Ishita.

My sister, Ahana, immediately saw me and gave me a knowing look—*rescue mission needed, Bhai.*

I walked straight past the racks of clothing and the assembled ladies, heading directly for Ishita. I wrapped my arm firmly around her waist, pulling her flush against my **muscular body**—a clear, silent declaration of ownership for the benefit of the room.

**Rudra:** (My voice was low, for her ear only) "You didn't answer my text an hour ago, **Jaana**. I assume the commotion rendered your phone useless again?"

**Ishita:** (She leaned into my strength with a visible sigh of relief, whispering back) "Ru, I'm trying to work. And **Reet** is mad at me. She won't talk to me about the sangeet color palette because I didn't tell her I was engaged to her cousin! It's an entire mess."

I shifted my gaze to **Reet**, the furious bride.

**Rudra:** (My tone was calm, yet carrying the subtle authority of the **ruthless tycoon**) "Reet. I need to borrow Ishita for a moment. And Ishita didn't tell you about our relationship because *I* insisted on privacy until the arrangement was formalized with her parents. Her silence was *my* order, not a slight against your friendship. Direct your anger towards me."

Reet blinked, momentarily stunned by the sudden, possessive defense. No one in the family dared to argue when I used that tone.

**Rudra:** (I gave Ishita a possessive kiss on her temple, ignoring the gasps of the older ladies) "Come. You need a break. Let the tailor handle the final assault on the fabric."

I didn't wait for her to gather her thoughts. I simply turned and led my future wife out of the salon and up the grand staircase. The **ruthless tycoon** had secured his precious asset, removing her from the battlefield and reminding everyone present that her primary loyalty—and concern—lay only with me.