Rudra’s Perspective:

The laughter died in her throat as I pulled her closer. Her refusal to get up, even if accidental, was my victory. Her **muscular as hell 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 under 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.

💖 Ishita’s Perspective:

His kiss, fueled by the cold fury toward **Vikram** and the overwhelming passion, was consuming. He had just reinforced his claim, his lips leaving my neck throbbing, and my mind was spinning with the dangerous intimacy of the moment. I was perfectly pinned, my **bare back** arched slightly, my **blue and pink lehenga** draped gloriously over his **muscular** frame.

I pulled back a moment later, my breath catching, and rested my **elbows on his hard chest**, my **chin resting on my palms**. I was on top of him, savoring the feeling of his skin against mine, his ocean-blue eyes dark with possessive desire.

It was exactly at that perfect, private, completely compromising moment that the silence was shattered by a collective clearing of throats right at the door.

**Jay, Akshat, and Ahana came** into the room.

My heart leaped into my throat, crashing back down onto his chest in a wave of sheer, blinding **panic**. I scrambled instantly, my elbow digging into his **hard chest** as I tried to roll off him.

**Ishita:** (I muffled a small shriek as my face **fell on his chest in panic**.)

I got up **quickly**, my movements frantic. The first thing I saw was his discarded white shirt. I snatched it up and, in a desperate, purely instinctual move, **threw his shirt on his face** to cover his exposed, **shirtless** state. My **lehenga** flowed everywhere as I stumbled upright, frantically trying to adjust my tangled hair and my loosened blouse tie.

He pushed the shirt off his face and sat up, his **ocean-blue eyes** instantly giving me a **hard look**—a swift, severe glance that spoke volumes. It said: *You can do whatever you want at alone, but not in front of them. I have a reputation, **Jaana**!* The **ruthless tycoon** was back, mortified by the exposure.

**I gesture him to wear** the shirt, pushing the new coat suit toward his lap, while I simultaneously started frantically **to set my hair** and tighten the loose tie on my back.

My three younger siblings-in-law, however, were not apologetic. They were thoroughly enjoying the spectacle.

**Ahana:** (She put her hands on her hips, her smile wide and wicked.) "Well, well, **Bhabhi**! I told you your tie was loose, but I didn't mean *this* loose! We were worried about you after Bhai dragged you upstairs!"

**Jay:** (He smirked, leaning against the door frame.) "**Gysss**! **Vardaan Bhaiya and Reet Bhabhi  reception is this**, not your honeymoon, **Bhaiya Bhabhi**! We were just downstairs explaining that Bhai had a sudden, emergency accounting meeting in the drawing room."

**Akshat:** (He was already pulling out his phone, pretending to take a video.) "Yeah, Bhai, we had to fend off Papa's questions. But seriously, getting a hickey in the corridor and then moving to the daybed? I didn't think the **heartless, emotionless man** knew how to move that fast!"

My face was on fire. The blush was so intense it probably matched the pink of my **lehenga**. I avoided Rudra's eyes, knowing he was struggling between his reputation and his sheer possessive amusement.

**Ishita:** (I finally managed to speak, my voice a strained whisper.) "It was an accident! I tripped! We were just... fixing my dress!"

**Ahana:** "Fixing your dress with your entire **lehenga** covering him like a tent? Bhabhi, don't lie. But don't worry, we are your security detail. We are just here to deliver a message: Papa wants you two to make a grand entrance in the next five minutes, or he is sending the entire security team."

I looked at Rudra, who was now slowly, regally, buttoning the new white shirt, his movements radiating cold annoyance, but the dark glint in his **ocean-blue eyes** told me he was savoring the domestic embarrassment.

**Rudra:** (He finally looked up, fixing his siblings with a glare that should have turned them to stone, but his voice was completely calm.) "We are coming. Tell Papa the **ruthless tycoon** has simply been dealing with the unfortunate side-effect of a *shoe-stealing* ritual that required temporary, private re-adjustment. Now leave. Before I calculate the cost of your disruption."

**Jay:** (He chuckled, unbothered.) "Calculated cost, noted, Bhai. But seriously, **Bhabhi**, that  **lehenga** is dangerous. Maybe we should hide all the daybeds before you trip again."

They finally backed out, still laughing. I sighed in exhaustion and relief, smoothing down the flowy fabric of my dress.

**Ishita:** (I walked over to Rudra, finishing the last button for him.) "See? This is why you shouldn't get into hallway brawls. It ruins the reception and subjects us to endless teasing. We are supposed to be the most dignified couple here, **Ru**."

**Rudra:** (He caught my hands, his tone instantly possessive.) "Dignity is overrated, **Jaana**. Passion is not. Now, stand still. I need to make sure this new shirt is completely secured, unlike the last one. And you know what the payment is for cleaning my shirt, don't you?"

He didn't wait for an answer, leaning in to claim a quick, fierce kiss, a silent promise that the "honeymoon" was only delayed, not cancelled.

I finished the last button on his new shirt, smoothing the dark fabric over his broad, **muscular chest**. The danger of the fight and the embarrassment of the interruption had passed, leaving behind a charged, private heat. We had wasted enough time; we needed to get back downstairs. But there was one vital piece of unfinished business.

**Ishita:** (I took a deep breath, trying to sound casual, but my voice was barely a whisper.) "Rudra... I, uh, can you **please tie my blouse knot**? It’s still **loose**. Ahana was right, I can’t risk it coming undone."

The request hung in the air—a simple, practical necessity that was loaded with intimate suggestion, especially after the way we'd just been lying on the bed.

A slow, devastating **smirk** curved his lips. He knew exactly what he was doing to me.

He didn't answer with words. He **pull me close**, so close that the crisp fabric of his new suit was pressed against my chest, and our **lips again inch apart**. His **ocean-blue eyes** burned with triumphant mischief.

He slowly **wrapped his arms around my waist**, his large, warm hands anchoring me to him. Then, with deliberate slowness, his hands **trailed up on my back to find the knot**. The movement was agonizingly sensual—his fingers tracing the length of my **bare back** beneath the gaping space of the blouse.

The moment his fingers brushed the skin near my spine, searching for the delicate knot, a wave of **goosebumps** erupted all over my body. The sensation was overwhelming. I squeezed my eyes **closed**, clutching the front of his coat to steady myself, my breath catching in my throat.

He finally located the small, loose strings. He started **tying my blouse knot tightly**, his fingers strong and sure, pulling the silk strings until the blouse was secured to his exacting standard.

He pulled the knot so **tightly** that the fabric pressed firmly against my ribs, making me **gasp** slightly under the unexpected pressure.

He immediately stopped, his lips now resting right against mine, his eyes concerned but still fiercely possessive.

**Rudra:** (His voice was a low, concerned rumble, right on my **lips**.) "Is it too tight, **Jaana**? I need it secure. I don't want any more 'accidents' tonight."

**Ishita:** (I could barely get the words out, my lips brushing his with every syllable.) "**Little loose, please**."

He obeyed instantly, releasing the tension slightly. **He did** and then waited, his hands resting on my waist, ready for confirmation. I slowly **nodded**. It was secure now, but still comfortable enough. **He finally tied it**.

The job was done. The practical reason for our isolation was resolved. There was no need to stay a second longer.

But the moment he finished, the formality of the task was discarded.

He pulled me back against his chest, his hands sliding possessively from my waist down to the flowing skirt of my **blue and pink lehenga**. His eyes darkened, moving from my eyes to my lips.

**And he again started doing romance.**

**Rudra:** (His voice was thick with desire, the **ruthless tycoon** completely replaced by the ardent lover.) "Perfect. Now that your defenses are properly secured, we can return to the part that matters. You owe me one full, uninterrupted minute for every minute that bastard **Vikram** stole from us. And I am collecting."

He tilted my chin up, his lips finding mine with a devastating blend of intensity and profound relief. The kiss was a silent vow that no amount of family, media, or violence could ever truly interrupt the fierce,

The minute of intense, desperate romance had stretched just long enough to reaffirm our connection, and Rudra finally agreed to leave the sanctuary of the drawing room. We quickly fixed the last details—a touch-up of lipstick, a final pat to his hair—and made our way downstairs.

We are now standing at **Vardaan and Reet’s reception party**, an overwhelming spectacle of opulence and power.

**All media with camera, of course, why not?** The reason for the intense scrutiny stood right next to me: **Rudra Singh Rathor**, the man who is the **top 3 richest man in the world**, the powerful **President of Eternity**, and the dominating **CEO of the Rathor's company**. This wasn't just a wedding; it was a corporate summit in disguise, all centered around **his younger cousin brother, Vardaan’s, who is a lawyer**, marriage reception.

And here I am, **standing beside Rudra Singh Rathor**, the infamous **heartless, ruthless, emotionless** man.

The physical contrast between us was stark, and I felt it keenly. His **big arms** were wrapped possessively **around my tiny waist**, holding me securely against his side. My **thin body** felt so **softly fit in his big, tall, muscular body**, a perfect jigsaw piece that was unmistakably claimed.

He wasn't just holding me; he was performing an act of constant maintenance. While we stood there, accepting greetings and enduring the blinding flashes of the cameras, he kept gently **adjusting my hair**—a stray curl from the bun, a loose strand near my ear. It was a private, constant touch that felt immensely protective.

The atmosphere around us was electric. **Everyone is shocked.** I could feel their collective double-take: the most formidable man in India was not just *with* me, but publicly, intimately attending to me like a treasured possession.

I met the eyes of a few surprised society matriarchs, and then, inevitably, I met the eyes of my parents across the hall. They gave me a nervous, loving smile—the proud parents of the **middle-class dreamer** who had successfully, and violently, integrated herself into a dynasty.

**Ishita:** (I leaned into his side, whispering against his tuxedo.) "Ru, stop adjusting my hair. Everyone is looking. You're going to make me blush again."

**Rudra:** (He didn't stop, his fingers tracing the curve of my ear before pulling his hand back to rest on my back, right where the knot was tight.) "Let them look, **Jaana**. I am ensuring that the one spot on your body that caused me trouble tonight is secure. Besides, I enjoy watching them realize the **cold-hearted prince** cares more about one curl of your hair than he does about the quarterly reports."

He squeezed my waist slightly, his gesture both possessive and reassuring.

**Ishita:** "And what about the one spot on my neck that is turning a spectacular shade of purple? Are you going to adjust that, too, **Ru**?"

He just smirked, his eyes dark with the memory of the corridor. The heat of his body was my constant, undeniable reminder of who I was standing beside—not the tycoon, but the fierce, possessive lover who would burn down the world for my sake.

The reception was finally, mercifully, **over**. The flashbulbs had stopped, the formal smiles had dropped, and the sheer exhaustion of navigating a royal event after a violent brawl and multiple interrupted make-out sessions finally hit me. Rudra and I had driven back to the **Rathor Mansion** in a blessed silence, the quiet roar of the engine a soothing change from the media circus.

As soon as we reached the safety of the private wing, I stripped out of the elaborate **blue and pink lehenga** and into the most comfortable pair of pajamas I owned. Dignity was out the window; carbs were in.

I found **Ahana** already settled in the small, modern **kitchenette** near the master suites. She was dressed in an absurdly oversized t-shirt, looking equally drained.

**Ahana:** (She shoved a huge forkful of noodles into her mouth.) "Oh, Bhabhi, thank God. Did you get caught on the way back? I swear I saw a drone hovering over your car."

**Ishita:** "Worse. I saw a salad bar. I need real food."

We both dug into enormous bowls of instant **noodles**, the salty, savory flavor a perfect antidote to the night's stress. We were bent over the counter, happily slurping, while gossiping about the most shocked faces at the reception.

**Me and Ahana eating noodles while talking** about a particularly stuffy aunt who had tried to corner Rudra about an investment.

It was exactly at that moment of blissful, junk-food-fueled communion that **Rudra** walked in. He had changed into simple black sweatpants and a T-shirt, looking impossibly broad and handsome, even while smelling slightly of antiseptic and violence. He stopped dead when he saw our dinner choice.

**Rudra:** (His **ocean-blue eyes** narrowed slightly, instantly judging our life choices.) "What is this?"

**Ahana:** "Emergency post-reception rations, Bhai. Try some; it's delicious."

**Rudra:** (He shook his head, the definition of a **health freak man**.) "No. That is processed garbage, full of sodium and artificial flavorings. It's not food, Ahana. And **Jaan**," he focused his intense gaze on me, disappointment radiating off his **muscular body** like heat, "**eat less junk food, please. It's not good for your health.**"

I sighed dramatically, rolling my **brown eyes** at Ahana. **Of course, he will say this.** This was the man who kept a personal trainer on retainer and probably ate quinoa for breakfast.

**Ishita:** (I placed my bowl down with exaggerated care, trying to hold back a laugh.) "Rudra, my love. I just spent twelve hours in high heels, fended off a media frenzy, watched you start a bar brawl, and endured five rounds of family teasing. My soul requires this salty, unhealthy comfort. This is self-care, not a health crime."

**Rudra:** (He walked over to me, ignoring my protest, and gently took the bowl away from my hands, replacing it with a bottle of mineral water.) "Self-care involves adequate hydration and nutrients, not monosodium glutamate. You are a **model**; you need to maintain proper dietary discipline."

**Ishita:** (I pouted, batting my eyelashes.) "But **Ru**! It was only one bite! I'll eat a kale salad tomorrow, I promise!"

He simply smirked, leaning down to kiss my forehead, a silent reminder that he was in charge of my well-being, even if it meant dietary dominance.

👑 Rudra’s Perspective:

*The Next Day | Morning | Rathor Mansion Living Room*

The morning after the reception was, predictably, pure, unadulterated chaos. Despite the exhaustion, none of the younger generation could resist reliving the spectacle.

We were all gathered in the main living room, sprawled across the immense sectional couch. **Akshat and Drishti** were sharing a small loveseat, trying to keep their son, **Krish**, from snatching the remote. **Vardaan and Reet** were huddled together, looking exhausted but blissfully married, laughing over photos from the *Laavan Pheras*. And of course, **Jay and Ahana** were predictably **fighting** on the floor over who looked better in the *Haldi* photos.

It was a family portrait of affectionate dysfunction.

**We all youngserts in the living room couch looking at whole wedding and functions photos videos**. I could hear the constant giggling, the shouted critiques, and the occasional blast of a *sangeet* track.

And me? **Rudra Singh Rathor, not interested in it.** My attention and focus—the kind that built empires—could not be wasted on reviewing already-concluded events.

I was **sitting beside Ishita**, my posture straight and imposing even on the plush couch, my custom-built **laptop** open on my knees. I was **working** on the pending acquisitions from the Dubai office, fully immersed in the world of high finance.

But being *beside* her was the essential part.

My physical presence was a constant, silent tether. My thigh was pressed against hers, and even as my eyes scanned stock options, my hand would occasionally shift, resting heavily and possessively on her thigh beneath the blanket we shared.

She, however, was completely absorbed, her head bent close to Ahana and Jay as they scrolled through pictures.

**Rudra:** (I leaned in, my voice low and dry, distracting her from the latest photo of my spectacular public display of rage.) "**Jaan**. That Dubai portfolio is more exciting than Ahana’s hair extensions. Pay attention."

**Ishita:** (She nudged me gently with her elbow, her **brown eyes** sparkling.) "No, **Ru**. This is more important. We are analyzing the flaws in your public posture during the *Mehendi* function. Besides, my focus is currently on the one man who looked ready to kill another guest."

I simply squeezed her thigh, ignoring the criticism. My attention, though mostly on the laptop, tracked the affection she received from my family.

I leaned back, finally closing the laptop, the sudden sound drawing everyone's attention.

**Rudra:** (I gave a subtle, possessive smile, watching Ishita nestle closer.) "The analysis is concluded. Now, before we subject ourselves to any more family reviews, I need a word with my fiancée. Privately."

I scooped my arm around her shoulder, pulling her firmly against my side, ensuring the entire room—and the cameras that might be lurking—saw the complete ownership.

**Rudra:** (I looked directly at my brothers and sister.) "Don't think just because the wedding is over, the rules of possession are relaxed. My **Jaana** is exhausted and needs rest and proper, non-noodle nutrition. The photo review can continue without the main subject."

💖 Ishita’s Perspective:

The atmosphere had been dangerously close to peaceful, but then **Ahana**, ever the instigator, decided to take the familial bonding to a new, terrifying level.

**Ahana:** (She snatched the remote and expertly navigated to Instagram.) "Okay, people, enough of the professional photos. We need to see the *real* **Bhabhi**! The model, the artist, the famous reel creator! Ishita has hundreds of viral videos!"

**Jay:** (He instantly cheered.) "Yes! We need the gossip! Show us the makeup tutorials! And the singing ones, I heard she has a great voice!"

Panic seized me instantly. My professional reels were fine, but the others? The goofy ones? The ones that were *too* revealing?

**Ishita:** (I whined, pushing myself deeper into Rudra’s side.) "**No, no, please!** Stop! Don't you dare, Ahana! I'll buy you that designer bag you want! **Please!**"

**But no one listens.** They were too delighted by the prospect of embarrassing the dignified new *Bhabhi*.

I had only one sanctuary. I instantly burrowed, seeking cover from the incoming digital onslaught. **I hide myself in his chest**, tucking my face firmly against his crisp white T-shirt. He chuckled, his large arms tightening around my waist, his **muscular body** my fortress, even if he was clearly enjoying my distress.

**Rudra:** (He whispered against my hair, amused.) "You are safe, **Jaana**. I will ensure they only see the best angles of your talent, not your questionable taste in choreography."

The first reel started, and my shame spiraled as Ahana narrated the content with ruthless enthusiasm.

---

### **My Reels: A Public Exposure**

* **Professional Reels:** The first few were manageable—slick, high-production videos of me as a **beginning model**, posing with high fashion, or showcasing dramatic makeup looks. Vardaan nodded approvingly: "*See? Told you she’s professional, Rudra.*"

* **Dance Reels:** Then came the dance ones. Fun, energetic Bollywood sequences with my friends. The entire room started clapping, and even **Reet** started tapping her foot. My parents-in-law, **Maa** and **Papa**, watched with quiet, approving smiles.

* **Singing Reels with Guitar:** Ahana skipped to a personal favorite. It was a soft, acoustic cover of an old romantic song. **Rudra taught me how to play** the initial chords during our courtship, and the video was dedicated to 'My favorite teacher.' I buried my face deeper into his chest.

    **Ahana:** (Teasingly.) "Oh, look! She’s singing about *love*! I wonder who her 'favorite teacher' was?"

* **Reels with my German Shepherd, Kira:** The volume went up as the cutest star took the screen. Videos of me wrestling gently with my large, beautiful **German Shepherd, Kira**, on the beach, doing funny voiceovers. **Krish**, my nephew, started pointing and screaming, delighted.

* **Reels with my Friends on Trips:** These were the most embarrassing—us crammed into cars, trying to cook instant noodles on a portable stove (a clear indictment of my dietary habits, which Rudra noted with a low hum), and looking generally silly.

* **Funny Ones:** And **many more funny ones also**—me attempting fitness challenges and failing spectacularly, or applying absurd face masks.

---

But then, Ahana paused one specific video—a compilation of scenic drives and coffee dates.

**Ahana:** "Wait! Stop, zoom in! Who is that **super tall** shadow in the corner of this mirror selfie? The one with the **muscular** arm reaching for the coffee?"

I went rigid. **Some reels in which Rudra is hidden because that time our relationship was hidden!**

In my panic to keep our secretive dating phase hidden from the public eye—especially the one that knew the **ruthless tycoon** was supposed to be **emotionless**—I had always tried to crop him out or disguise him. But I was not as ruthless as he was at hiding things.

**Jay:** (He peered closer.) "That arm is huge. And look at the wrist—is that a Rathor watch?"

**Ahana:** "I knew it! You were dating him while telling us you were just 'networking' with clients! You were hiding the **cold-hearted prince**!"

**Ishita:** (I lifted my head slightly, my voice strained.) "No! That's... that's my cousin! He's tall, too!"

**Rudra:** (He laughed—a deep, booming sound that completely overwhelmed my protest. His arm tightened around me.) "Don't lie, **Jaana**. That's me. That's my watch, and that's my hand trying to steal the coffee she was so determined to photograph. Yes, family. We broke all the rules, and we kept the best parts secret until the final reveal. Now, if you are done invading my fiancée's privacy, I have a sudden and urgent need to review all of her dance choreography. Privately."

He grabbed the laptop with a mock-serious glare, signaling the end of the public viewing, pulling me off the couch and into his side, ready to drag me away from the well-meaning but utterly exhausting Rathor chaos.