Ishita’s Perspective

He deepened the kiss, his control absolute, demanding every ounce of my attention. His **lips and tongue** moved with a relentless certainty, asking for **entire** access to my mouth. I resisted initially, clinging to the last shred of modesty, but that only lasted a moment.

The hand clamped around my **bare waist** suddenly **pinched** my delicate skin tightly. A sharp, involuntary **gasp** ripped from my throat, and in that split second of shock and surrender, **he got the opportunity**. His tongue **pushed its way into my mouth**, instantly claiming the space. He explored my mouth thoroughly, the intimate friction dizzying, before he began to **suck my tongue** with slow, deliberate possession.

A loud, uncontrolled **moan** broke from me, echoing softly in the empty corridor.

He finally broke the mouth-to-mouth connection, only to latch immediately onto my **neck**. His mouth was hot and demanding against my skin, **sucking** intensely and possessively. I felt a sharp, localized sting followed by a rush of heat—the unmistakable sensation of him **giving me the first hickey of our love**, a dark, visible mark of his claim. I tilted my head back instinctively, my soft, uncontrolled **moans** now a steady plea against his relentless passion.

My hands, now completely lost to pleasure, **fisted his hair** tightly, pulling him closer, as my **eyes closed in pleasure**. His hands never stopped tracing my **waist and back in the loose blouse**, mapping every curve, reminding me of the sheer vulnerability of my attire and the fierce protection of his touch.

Then, the private bubble shattered.

A mocking, jarring sound of applause cut through the sensual haze.

**A man was there, clapping his hands** slowly, leaning against the far wall of the corridor. He looked expensive, arrogant, and carried a clear air of malicious pleasure.

**The Man:** "Oh my God! The **ruthless, emotionless, heartless, denominator man** is in love! And he’s *eating* his girl like a teenager! What a show, Rudra!"

Rudra froze instantly, the blood-red rage replacing the passion in his **ocean-blue eyes**. He abruptly **pulled me behind him**, shifting his **muscular body** to shield me completely, his breath ragged with sudden, blinding fury.

**Rudra:** (His voice was a low, vibrating snarl of absolute danger.) "**Get lost.** Now."

The man laughed, ignoring the threat, and I instantly understood **they both didn't like each other**—the enmity was thick and palpable.

**The Man:** "Why should I, Rathor? She’s a beautiful piece of work. Just look at that back. You really found yourself a sweet little thing. Tell you what, I’d love to **taste her, too**. Why don't you **give your girlfriend to me for one night**, huh? I'm sure she's not picky."

**That was it. Rudra lost his control.**

I didn't even try to stop him. The transition from possessive lover to **ruthless tycoon** was instantaneous and terrifying. He shoved me fully against the wall, taking one primal stride toward the man, and launched himself.

**He hit him brutally, nonstop.** Fists flew with sickening force, the sound of bone meeting flesh echoing off the marble walls. The other man crumpled almost instantly, but Rudra kept beating him, fueled by a terrifying, primal rage that was completely out of control.

Within seconds, the commotion drew attention. **His family men came** running from the reception hall. **His father, Ram Singh Rathor, his Chacha, Lakhan Singh Rathor, then his younger sibling, Jay, and another younger cousin brother, Akshat,** all arrived, shouting, trying to intervene.

**All was stopping him, but he is not in control.** He was a force of nature, his **muscular body** tensed and straining, **veins popped out from everywhere** on his arms and neck, showing the brutal intensity of his rage.

Everyone looked towards me. **Jay said, "Bhabhi, please!"** He knew, as did I, that only I could penetrate the wall of his protective fury.

I pushed myself off the wall, stumbling slightly, and **went forward**. I didn't reach for his face; I reached for his raw power. I **held his bicep**, my hands trembling against the brutally **tensed, muscular body**.

**Ishita:** (My voice was shaky, desperate, but clear.) "**Rudra, listen. Look at me.** Let him go."

He didn't listen. His gaze was fixed on the crumpled man beneath his fists.

**Ishita:** "Ru, **please**!"

The man below him **laughed**, a weak, spiteful sound. **Rudra got more angry**, hitting him **more brutally**.

There was only one way left. I didn't care about the family, the public, or the reception.

**Ishita:** "**Love, please, stop it. Aapko meri kasam, please!**"

As I said the sacred promise, **my first tear slipped**. It tracked a clear, hot path down my cheek, landing on his dark tuxedo sleeve.

He **stopped immediately**. The massive, brutal force of his body went from coiled violence to sudden, absolute stillness. He didn't even look at the man he had been destroying. His head lifted slowly, his **ocean-blue eyes** finally shifting from the red haze of his rage to the single tear on my cheek.

He **can handle anything except my tears**. His hands fell away from the beaten man, trembling with the violence he had contained. He was breathless, his chest heaving under the tuxedo, his focus now solely, intensely, on me.

👑 Rudra’s Perspective:

The silence was deafening, thicker and colder than the chaos had been. The only sound was my ragged breathing and the faint, rhythmic chime of **Ishita's Payal** as her body trembled against the wall.

My entire world had narrowed to the sight of that single, hot **tear** tracking down her cheek. The rage that had boiled through my **muscular body**—the pure, violent need to annihilate the creature who dared to profane my **Jaana**—vanished as if struck by lightning. I felt the adrenaline crash, leaving me hollow and shaking.

I dropped my hands, ignoring the throbbing pain in my **knuckles** where the skin was **split open** and bleeding.

**Jay and Akshat** seized the opportunity, moving swiftly to **drag that man away**, presumably to eject him from the premises and ensure his silence.

**Meanwhile, my father, , and my Chacha,  kept saying things**—admonishing me about the scandal, the lack of control, and how I **should not do that** in the family function. Their voices were harsh, authoritative, and completely irrelevant.

But **me, Rudra Singh Rathor, doesn't care about anything except Ishita.**

I turned my back fully on them and the dying echo of the fight. I reached up with my bloodied hand—the one that had just delivered brutal justice—and very gently, with profound tenderness, **I kept wiping her tears which is falling**. The rough skin of my **split-open knuckles** brushed her delicate cheek.

**Rudra:** (My voice was low, raw, and completely devoted, ignoring my father and chacha.) "Shh. Stop, **Jaana**. Don't cry. Don't look at me. Look at me. Breathe. It’s over. I am sorry, I am so sorry I let that animal touch you even with his words."

**Ram Singh Rathor (Papa):** "**Rudra!** Are you even listening to what your Chacha and I are saying? This is unacceptable!"

**Rudra:** (I didn't even glance at him. My **ocean-blue eyes** were locked only on Ishita’s tear-filled **brown eyes**.) "No, **, I am not.** I **can't hear anything** right now except the sound of her crying. Do you understand? I am deaf to everything except hearing her voice

I brushed my thumb over the hickey I had just given her, my rage instantly transforming into fierce, possessive regret.

**Rudra:** "That bastard dared to breathe those words about you. He dared to think he could even look at you. If you cry again, I will go back and kill him this time. No, don't look at me like that."

I leaned down, pulling her close into my chest, cradling her head against my shoulder.

**Rudra:** "I will **kill every damn man in this world** if anyone looks at my girl or speaks those filthy words to her. **Got it?**"

The finality and pure, lethal conviction in my voice were undeniable. **My father and Chacha shut up.** They knew this side of me—the side that didn't care about the Rathor reputation, only about the safety of my one fragile emotional anchor. **The whole Rathor family knows my anger**, but more importantly, they know the absolute devotion that fuels it.

I pulled back slightly, my hands still on her **bare waist** and the exposed skin of her **back** where the blouse was loose. I ignored the sting of my knuckles, focusing entirely on the aftermath of my violence and her terror.

**Rudra:** "Look at me, **Ishita**. Tell me you are not scared of **me**."

**Ishita:** (She sniffled, shaking her head vehemently, clutching the lapels of my tuxedo.) "No, **Ru**. I'm scared *for* you. You lost control. You could have been seriously hurt."

**Rudra:** (I tightened my embrace, the relief almost buckling my knees.) "I am never hurt when I defend what is mine. Now, we are leaving. This reception is over for us. I am taking you somewhere safe, somewhere quiet. You need to adjust that loose tie, and I need to... remind you of the better kind of chaos."

**Rudra:** "Come, **Jaana**. We need to get away from here

Ishita's Perspective

He was pulling me, his large, solid hand gripping my arm with protective force, leading me away from the stunned silence of the corridor. His tux was stained, his knuckles were bleeding, and his breathing was still too ragged. **He was about to take me, I don't know where**, but I knew his intention: to isolate me, calm me down, and then resume his furious, possessive passion.

But not this time.

**He always does what he wants, but not always.** My fear for him was now greater than my fear of the consequences of stopping him. He was ready to face the wrath of his father, the media storm, and the police, but he would not let me cry. I had to use that anchor to secure *him*.

I planted my feet firmly on the polished marble floor.

**Ishita:** (I pulled back, my voice firm despite the lingering tremor.) "**Rudra.** Stop. Not yet. We are not leaving. Your hands are bleeding."

He paused instantly, surprised by the resistance. His **ocean-blue eyes**, still clouded with lingering violence, fixed on me.

**Rudra:** "I don't care about my hands, Ishita! I care about getting you away from here! This entire wing saw—"

**Ishita:** "Exactly. They saw the **ruthless tycoon** lose control, and now they will see the woman who brings him back. We are going to the nearest room. Now."

I tugged his arm gently, leading him not toward the exit, but toward a small, private drawing-room near the corridor. He resisted for only a second, his ingrained habit of commanding clashing with his desperate need to obey my distress. Love won. He followed.

The room was silent, dim, and mercifully empty. I immediately sat him down on a velvet chair. I quickly grabbed a clean handkerchief from my small purse and reached for his hand.

His **knuckles** were a mess—swollen and **split open**. I held his hand gently, carefully, and began to clean the drying blood away.

**Ishita:** (I spoke softly, focusing entirely on his hand, not looking at his face, keeping my tears firmly locked away.) "I **took him to the room**. Your hands are freezing, **Ru**. **I cleaned his knuckles so softly**, dabbing away the blood, **like I always do** when he gets into a fight, only this time the stakes are much higher."

I gently **blew** on the wound, a simple, childish gesture that had always soothed him, before resuming the cleaning.

**Ishita:** "This is what scares me, **Ru**. Not the man he called names. Not the media. *This* scares me."

Once the worst was cleaned, I dropped his hand and **cupped his face** between my palms. My **Mehendi is so dark** on my hands—the symbol of our permanent bond was now framing his angry, gorgeous face.

**Ishita:** "**Listen.** I know your anger. I know you **can't control** it **when it comes to me**. You are my fierce protector, and I love you for it. But **please, whatever situation, just don't injure yourself** like this. I can't bear it."

I leaned my forehead against his, speaking the absolute truth of my heart.

**Ishita:** "**Like you can't see my tears, I can't see your injuries, Ru. Please. For me, love.**"

He didn't speak. He just stared into my eyes, the last vestige of the red haze dissolving, leaving behind only profound, exhausted **unbroken love**. He gave a slow, definitive **nod**. The King had submitted to the Queen's plea.

I pulled back just enough to look at his lips, which had been so cruel and so passionate moments ago. **I leaned in and kissed him so softly**—a gentle, feather-light brush of my lips against his, a promise of peace and a silent thanks for his immediate surrender.

The gentle kiss was meant to be brief, a simple seal on our agreement, but the moment our lips touched, the quiet intensity in the room flared into life. He instantly responded, his arms coming up to wrap around my waist, pulling me tighter against his body. The kiss deepened, moving from soft reassurance to demanding possession, a promise that the **ruthless tycoon** would always fight fiercely, but he would always, always return to the gentle care of his **middle-class dreamer**.

The kiss was everything I needed it to be: intense, possessive, yet ultimately gentle, confirming that his rage was tethered only to his **unbroken love** for me. When he finally let go, his eyes were clear, focused only on my face.

I pulled back, slightly breathless, but fully in control of the situation again. The urgent task was to cover the evidence of his violence and get him back to the reception before the whispers turned into headlines.

**Ishita:** (I straightened his tuxedo collar, my voice now brisk and commanding.) "Right. That suit is ruined, **Ru**. It’s stained with blood and your own *Haldi* smudge."

I **got up** immediately and walked over to the nearest discreet cupboard, knowing the Rathor mansions were stocked with emergency wardrobes. I rummaged quickly and **took out a new coat suit for him**—a crisp, dark charcoal one that was thankfully his size.

**Ishita:** (I turned back, holding the clothes, pointing toward the still-bleeding hand.*order him to remove that one**).

We don't need the stains, or the witnesses."

To my relief, **he got up** without protest, his usual, inherent arrogance replaced by an easy compliance that always melted my heart. He started to **obey what I said**, beginning to unbutton the ruined tuxedo jacket.

**I help with the buttons slowly**, my movements careful because I didn't know **where he hurt** himself—his ribs, his shoulder, somewhere hidden beneath the fabric. **Meanwhile, this man** couldn't resist the temptation of my close proximity, especially with my **bare back** exposed.

**Rudra:** (He leaned down, whispering near my ear as I struggled with a cuff button.) "You know, **Jaana**, the *Haldi* mark on your waist is definitely still visible. And the hickey you’re trying to hide is beautiful. If you keep helping me undress, I might forget about the reception entirely. This new suit might not make it past the collar."

**Ishita:** (I glared at him over my shoulder, though a blush was already creeping up my neck.) "**Rudra, shut up.** Focus. We have a reception to attend, not a wrestling match."

I finally finished with the jacket. I **took a step forward**, moving to drop the ruined coat, when the disaster struck. My **high heel**—the one I wore to conquer his height—chose that precise moment to **twist** on the thick rug beneath the chair.

I cried out, losing my balance completely. I **stumbled on him**, throwing my arms out to catch myself.

Instead of catching me with his usual effortless strength, **he was busy in my eyes**, caught in the sudden intimacy, distracted by my nearness.

The result was inevitable: we **both fell on the bed**—a massive, forgotten daybed hidden in the corner of the drawing-room.

I landed heavily. I was **on top of him**, cushioned by the plush velvet and his hard, **muscular as hell body** beneath me. He was now **shirtless, of course**, having managed to discard the tuxedo jacket and vest. The crisp white shirt was gone, leaving his sculpted chest exposed.

My **blue and pink *dupatta*** billowed around us, settling like a delicate, shimmering **veil**, covering our faces and the top of his chest. My **lehenga** flowed elegantly on the bed and **on us**, a beautiful, colorful mess.

I was pressed against the unyielding strength of his bare chest, the rhythmic thump of his heart right beneath my ear. The metallic scent of his blood and the rich cologne of his skin filled my senses.

I looked up, the fine chiffon of the *dupatta* slightly blurring my vision. **Thoes ocean-blue eyes** were wide, dark with surprise, amusement, and a sudden, fierce flare of desire.

**Rudra:** (His voice was a low, shaky whisper, his hands immediately coming up to grip my waist beneath the flowing fabric.) "Well. This is certainly a more efficient way to secure my attention, **Jaana**. And a much better use of a reception night."

He didn't move to push me off; he simply locked me in place, enjoying the accidental intimacy.

👑 Rudra’s Perspective:

Her sudden firmness was intoxicating. She was fierce when she cared for me. She had hauled me into this room, tended to my self-inflicted wounds, and was now issuing orders like a commanding officer. **I help with the buttons slowly**, but I couldn't resist the teasing, watching the faint **blush** creep up her **bare back**.

**Rudra:** "The looseness is intentional. It's a risk I want to manage, personally."

She looked adorable when she glared, demanding I **shut up**. I was enjoying the respite, preparing to submit to her command to get dressed, when the world tilted.

She **took a step forward** and, with a sudden, beautiful clumsiness, her **heel twisted**.

I saw the accident coming, but I was **busy in my eyes**, caught in the proximity of the woman who held my heart. My reflex was a second too slow. Instead of catching her mid-air with one hand, we both went down.

We **fell on the bed** with a soft, velvet *thump*. The air was knocked out of me, but the pain was instantly replaced by raw, absolute pleasure.

I was **shirtless, of course**, and she was beautifully **on top of me**, the weight of her **muscular as hell body** a perfect, delicious pressure. Her **blue and pink *dupatta* covered us like a veil**, an impromptu canopy over my chest. Her **lehenga** spilled over me, the smooth silk feeling decadent against my skin.

My breath hitched. The heat radiating off her **thin, slim** body was electric, and my **ocean-blue eyes** immediately locked onto hers, burning with the sudden, fierce escalation of intimacy.

**Rudra:** (My voice was a low, shaky rumble, pure satisfaction.) "Well. This is certainly a more efficient way to secure my attention, **Jaana**. And a much better use of a reception night."

I ran my hands up her **bare waist**, ignoring the ruined tuxedo lying on the floor. I pulled her down until our foreheads touched.

**Rudra:** "I told you that those **high heels** were a distraction. They are clearly trying to sabotage the reception. We should punish them. Tell me, Queen. Did you trip on purpose, for giving us a better view?"

**Ishita:** (She laughed, a breathless, sweet sound that was muffled by the *dupatta*.) "It was an accident, **Ru**! Get up! My parents are downstairs, and your father is probably still furious!"

**Rudra:** (I closed my eyes, inhaling the scent of her hair, tightening my hold.) "My father is dealing with the consequences of not respecting my claim. And your parents are talking to my mother. They are fine. But *we* are definitely not fine. You are lying on a **ruthless tycoon** who has been desperately craving this quiet, shirt-off moment for hours."

I opened my eyes, letting the full force of my possessive desire hit her.

**Rudra:** "This is better than any grand entrance, **Jaana**. A private moment of **unbroken love** amidst the chaos. Now, tell me, where should I start cleaning the reception off of you? Or should we just stay here and let the world wait?"

The laughter died in her throat as I pulled her closer. Her refusal to get up, even if accidental, was my victory. Her **small body * felt perfect pressed against my bare chest, the silk of her **lehenga** a soft barrier.

**Rudra:** (I didn't give her a chance to speak; I captured her mouth immediately.)

The kiss was deep, slow, and consuming, erasing the lingering stress of the fight and the presence of my father's disapproval. This was the only vow I cared about—the constant, furious affirmation of our **unbroken love**.

Then, she stiffened.

She **pulled back quickly** just as I was about to deepen the kiss. Her eyes, wide and alarmed, flickered toward the entrance of the room.

**Ishita:** "**Rudra!** The **door was open!** Someone will walk in! We have to get up!"

She **was ready to get up**, scrambling slightly against my chest, but I was not ready to relinquish this moment of perfect, private possession. My hands tightened instantly around her **bare waist**.

**Rudra:** (My voice was a low, possessive growl, utterly unconcerned with the door.) "Let them. They will see the King and his Queen. They will see my claim."

I **hold her waist tightly** with one hand, anchoring her to me, while the other hand started to **trace her bare back in the backless blouse**—deliberately, slowly, charting the smooth, delicate skin. I was **intentionally teasing her skin**, reminding her that I was the only one allowed this intimate touch.

She responded instantly, the faint line of goosebumps breaking out under my fingertips. **She shivered** violently, a small, choked sound escaping her lips.

**Ishita:** (Her voice was a breathless plea, her face flushed.) "**Rudra, please!** I'm serious! Someone will see!"

**Rudra:** (I pulled her back down until our noses were touching, my **ocean-blue eyes** blazing with possessive fire.) "Good. Then they will see the evidence of where my attention has been focused all night."

I kissed her **lips again**, silencing her protest. The kiss was sharp and possessive, a quick reminder of my dominance. Then, I broke contact and moved my gaze and lips to her neck, right where the delicate skin of her collarbone met the curve of her throat.

I located **that first hickey mark which I gave her when we were in the corridor when that man came**—the one left during the furious, interrupted passion earlier.

I pressed my lips firmly against the dark, blooming bruise, lingering there, **sucking** gently, reinforcing the claim.

**Rudra:** (I whispered against the bruise, my voice dark and laced with lethal certainty.) "**Vikram**."

The sound of his name—**that men bastard Vikram**—brought back the cold, brutal rage. It had been Vikram's slimy words that drove me to violence, and I would ensure that mark on her neck was the visible consequence of his interference.

**Rudra:** "Look at this, **Jaana**. This is my answer to **Vikram**. This mark is mine. The name inked on your palm is mine. And the fierce woman lying on me in this blue and pink mess is absolutely, entirely mine. He lost more than his teeth; he lost his right to even exist in your orbit. Don't worry about the door. I will lock it later. For now, you just focus on me, on the fact that I am **shirtless** and you are perfect."

I ran my hand down the length of her spine, feeling the shiver that ran through her. The need to fully claim her, to make the internal vow external, was overwhelming. The entire world, the reception, the furious family—they could all burn. My world was here, on this velvet bed, under a **dupatta** canopy.

I pulled her mouth back to mine, demanding a deeper, more committed surrender.