👑 (Rudra's Perspective)

The evening air on the rooftop of 'The Celestial' was sharp, but inside my tailored three-piece suit, I felt nothing but a coiled intensity. I had booked the whole damned café-of course, I did. Why would I subject *my* **Ishi**, my **Jaana**, or the privacy of the Rathore name, to the common rabble? This was about merging two vastly different worlds, and it needed my absolute control.

I caught the reflection of my **ocean blue eyes** in the panoramic glass. Cold. Ruthless. That was the mask I wore for the world-for the CEOs, the rivals, the sycophants. But then I saw **her**.

*My Ishita.*

She was standing next to her genuinely terrified-looking family, wearing that simple red kurti. A middle-class girl, a dreamer, a makeup artist... yet she commanded my attention more than any billion-dollar deal. she is my entire world. She was the one crack in my carefully constructed fortress.

I strode across the terrace. My focus tunnelled entirely onto her.

"You look beautiful, **Ishi**." The words were an automatic response, a truth carved into my soul.

I lowered my voice, predatory possessiveness flaring as I noted the delicate artistry hiding the mark I had given her at Vardaan's reception. "Don't hide what's mine, love."

She gave me a nervous, beautiful smile that almost made me forget my public persona. I instantly reverted, offering my hand to her father, a man whose strictness I respected. "Namaste, Papa ji. I appreciate you meeting us."

My father, **Ram Singh Rathore**, the King, gave a small, approving nod from behind me. The rest of my family-Mom (Siya), Chacha (Lakhan), Chachi (Urmila), and the cousins-followed, all radiating a warmth that always baffled me but which I accepted because they accepted **her**.

We were all seated. The two families-royalty and middle-class-at one table, separated by a sea of crystal and my own formidable dark aura.

Ishita's mother, a sweet woman, finally broke the ice, her voice trembling slightly. "Rudra *beta*... this place. It's too much. Too grand."

I picked up my water glass, my face impassive. "Mummy ji, it is merely a formality. The building belongs to my group. We closed the café for the evening to ensure privacy. As future King, discretion is paramount."

I watched her face pale further. I knew I sounded cold, but that was just *me*. I couldn't sugarcoat reality. I was a man who didn't believe in God or sentiment; I dealt in facts and power.

**Akshat**, my CEO counterpart and cousin, thankfully jumped in, leaning towards Ishita's brother. "Bhaiya, don't worry! Rudra Bhai always overdoes everything. For his birthday, he once booked a private jet just to fly his gym equipment to Switzerland."

Ishita's brother stared, speechless. My cousin **Vardaan** chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "It's true! But don't let the seriousness fool you. He's a mush for Ishita Bhabhi. Seriously, she calls the shots now."

I shot Vardaan a lethal glare. He immediately busied himself with the bread basket. My glare, however, softened instantly when I caught Isha's eye. *She does call the shots, damn it.* And I loved it.

My mother, **Siya Rathore**, who possessed the true royal grace, took charge of the conversation. "We are thrilled, Sharmas. Ishita is a diamond. Our only concern is setting a date that respects the traditions of both our families."

Ishita's father cleared his throat. "Mr. Rathore-"

My father interrupted kindly. "Ram only, please. We are family now."

"Ram Singh ji," Ishita's father continued, "we want a simple, beautiful wedding. No dowry. Just our daughter's happiness."

I felt a surge of pride and possessiveness. "There will be no question of dowry, Papa ji. I am a **Top 3 richest man in the world**. My future wife is worth more than all my companies combined." I looked directly at Ishita. **"She is priceless."**

Her cheeks flushed. It was hard to maintain my icy composure when she looked at me like that. I wanted to drag her out of the meeting, kiss the blush onto her skin, and remind her of that hickey again.

Aksat's wife, **Drishti**, leaned in towards my mother. "Maa my *pandit* gave us a highly auspicious date for the Roka. **December 30th.**"

Everyone looked at my father, the King.

He smiled, a rare, formal gesture. "The 30th of December it is. It will be a grand celebration, a small ceremony at the palace to formally mark their commitment. The wedding will follow in the early spring."

*December 30th.* In fifteen days, she would officially be mine. The thought made the adrenaline in my veins roar.

Just as the tension finally eased, a loud *thud* from the far corner broke the quiet. Everyone looked. It was **Oscur's** massive, empty travel crate.

Ishita's father looked bewildered. "What is that... cage?"

"Ah, my apologies," I said, realizing I'd completely forgotten about it. "That is Oscur's travel crate."

Ishita's eyes widened, anticipating the chaos.

"**Oscur**?" her mother whispered.

"My pet," I clarified, without a hint of irony. "A **black tiger**. I had him driven here earlier, but he prefers the estate grounds. I brought him along to ensure he's comfortable with the route for when Ishita moves in. He needs to recognize her scent, too."

The silence that followed was deafening. Ishita's parents exchanged a look of pure, utter shock, quickly followed by resignation. They were marrying their daughter into a family that casually kept a pet tiger named Oscur.

I glanced at Ishita, and she looked back, her eyes full of exasperated love.

*That's my girl.*

I reached under the table, finding her hand and interlocking our fingers. I gave her hand a squeeze-a reassurance, a promise. The **cold, heartless** prince was willing to melt for her, one shocking, magnificent, utterly devoted gesture at a time. My **Jaana**.

💖 (Ishita's Perspective)

My heart was racing a mile a minute. The atmosphere had already been strained, trying to bridge the gap between two worlds-one of royal grandeur and black tigers, the other of simple Delhi life. When **Drishti Bhabhi** suggested **December 30th** for the Roka, I saw the panic flash in my mother's eyes.

Mummy, bless her gentle heart, finally found the courage to speak up. She apologized softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I am so sorry, Ram Singh Ji, Siya Ji... but December 30th is too soon. Our **Bahu (daughter-in-law) is seven months pregnant**, almost eight now. She has been having some weakness. If something were to happen, we wouldn't forgive ourselves if we were away from North Delhi."

The table went silent. I held my breath, glancing at **Rudra**. He was utterly still, his **ocean blue eyes** fixed on his mother, **Siya Maa**. He didn't interrupt, but I could feel the intense, focused energy radiating off his massive frame. He respects my family, but his control is absolute, and any change in plans usually sparks a reaction.

Siya Maa, true to her reputation as a warm, understanding queen, smiled immediately. "Oh, my dear. Please, don't apologize! Family comes first, always."

She turned to my father. " bhai sahab we completely understand. We must prioritize health. Let's look for a date in the new year. I want Ishita to be formally welcomed when her whole family is comfortable."

My relief was immense. Rudra shifted, finally looking at me. That tiny softening around his mouth-the one that only appeared when he looked at me-told me he approved of his mother's decision. He knew I would have felt terrible if we had proceeded while my Bhabhi was anxious.

**Lakhan** piped up, looking through his phone. "Well, if we push it, there are a few auspicious dates in February..."

Then, my sister-in-law, my riva Bhabhi, who was now beaming, spoke up isha di , when is your birthday?"

"February 16th," I answered.

Siya Maa's face lit up. "Perfect! **February 16th** it is! We can host the Roka ceremony on your birthday, Ishita. It will be a double celebration! What do you say, Rudra?"

Rudra's gaze snapped from his phone-where he was likely already restructuring his entire month of December-and fixed on me. He didn't hesitate.

"It is acceptable," he stated, his voice a commanding rumble. Then, his eyes narrowed, and a slow, beautiful, **soft smile** spread across his face-a smile few people on earth ever saw. "My **Jaan** deserves her Roka on her birthday. Every moment of that day will be dedicated to her."

He was still the **cold, ruthless** prince, but with me, he was something else. He was **calm**, he was protective, and he truly treated me like his **baby doll princess**. My heart swelled with love for this man.

My father, relieved and delighted, nodded his agreement. The Roka date was set.

The families exchanged heartfelt goodbyes. The Sharmas, still slightly reeling from the sheer wealth and the mention of **Oscur** the black tiger, were ushered back to their North Delhi home.

Rudra refused to let go of me.

"Ishi," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear as his dark aura encompassed me, "come to my office. Now."

"Rudra, it's late. My family..."

"They understand," he cut in, his voice brooking no argument. "They know their daughter's future husband-the man who will soon be King-cannot wait another minute to hold her."

We drove in his sedan, the privacy screen raised. He didn't speak. He just pulled me to his chest, one large, muscular arm wrapped tight around my **tiny waist**. He smelled of expensive cologne and pure power.

When we reached his company's corporate office in **The Rathors*-the one where he was the CEO under his father's company-he led me straight to his private, sprawling office suite.

He turned, placing his hands on my shoulders and looking down at me, his **ocean blue eyes** intense and possessive.

"Did you really think I would wait until February just to see you?"

"Rudra, you just agreed to the date..."

"The Roka is a formality. But *this*..." He pulled me flush against his hard, **muscular** body, his grip possessive. "This is necessary."

He lowered his head, his lips finding the tender spot just above the fading **hickey mark** I had hidden earlier. He kissed it softly, then firmly.

"My first gift for your Roka-Birthday, **Ishi**. A reminder. I am a health freak, but you are my only addiction. I can't look at you without wanting to possess you, to spoil you."

He lifted his head, that arrogant, beautiful smirk back on his face. "Now, tell me all about what my **Jaana** wants for her birthday Roka. I have two months to plan the greatest surprise any Princess has ever received."

*How was I supposed to stay mad at this cold, heartless man when he turned into this devoted, soft-spoken lover for me?*

👑 (Rudra's Perspective)

The moment the door to my corporate suite ** closed, the weight of being the CEO, the Prince, the **cold, ruthless** machine, simply dropped away. All that mattered was the small, vibrant woman pressed against me.

I held her tight, one hand anchoring her **tiny waist**. I couldn't explain it, but the physical contact with **Ishi** was the only thing that settled the relentless, driving chaos inside me. She was my anchor, my peace. My obsession.

"You should be resting, **Jaana**," I murmured against her hair, inhaling the subtle scent of rose and something uniquely *her*. "It's late. But I couldn't let you go back to **yoour house without this."

I had just officially marked my territory again on her neck, a sweet, fierce reminder that she belonged to me. I knew it made her blush, and that simple, innocent reaction was my favorite thing about her.

She looked up at me, her brown eyes sparkling with that deep, pure love that had stunned me into submission the moment I saved her at Shiv Mandir.

"You really didn't have to book the whole café, Rudra," she whispered, shaking her head. "My family almost had a heart attack when you mentioned Oscur."

I frowned slightly. "I told you, I needed privacy. And Oscur is family. He needs to recognize my Queen." I lifted a curl of her long, dark hair, tracing the line of her jaw with my thumb. "I will not have you worrying about money or logistics. You are a **princess**, Ishi. You worry about your makeup artistry and what designer dress you'll wear for the February 16th Roka. Nothing else."

"But Rudra, that's what I'm trying to tell you," she insisted, placing her delicate hands flat against my chest. I could feel the rapid, strong beat of my own heart beneath her palms-a heart I didn't even know existed until she came along. "I love the grandeur, but I love *you* more. I fell for the man who saved me on the stairs, not the **Top 3 richest man** in the world."

The sincerity in her voice hit me like a physical blow. It was the truth-her pure, honest heart was the reason I, the **heartless, emotionless** man who didn't believe in love, was willing to change.

"I know, **Ishi**," I confessed, my voice rougher than usual. I pulled her hands off my chest and kissed her knuckles. "And that's why I love you **five times more** than you love me."

I stepped back just enough to lean my *** frame down and stare into her eyes, injecting a familiar dose of teasing into my intense confession.

"It drives me crazy, you know. I am a machine of logic and finance. And yet, one look from you, and I forget the quarterly earnings report. I forget I'm a cold, strict **health freak** who should be at the gym right now instead of here, holding you. You are a distraction I cannot afford to lose."

She giggled, her cheeks turning a beautiful shade of pink. *Blushing. God, I love it.*

"You're flirting, **Mr. Rathore**," she accused playfully.

"Guilty," I conceded, lowering my voice to a husky timbre. "I will flirt with you, tease you, and spoil you until the end of time. It's my mission to make you blush every single day, **Jaana**."

I reached out and gently tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

"When I was forced to push you away for those three years," I continued, the memory still a cold poison in my blood, "I was a shell. I was breathing, running the two companies, controlling my father's empire... but I wasn't *living*. I didn't realize how much the world-my world-relied on the light you brought. Now, I can't stand being without you. I need you close. Always."

I kissed her forehead, a sign of reverence and deep affection.

"My heart belongs to you, Ishita Sharma. It was broken, cold, and utterly useless until you claimed it. And now, seeing you happy, seeing you laugh... that is my greatest power. My only power."

She didn't need any grand gestures-no rooftop cafes, no royal titles. She only needed the raw, unfiltered truth from me. And for her, I gave it willingly.

"I love you, Rudra Singh Rathore," she said, her voice full of emotion. "You are not cold to me. Never."

"Good," I replied, a possessive smile curving my lips. "Because for you, and only for you, I am soft."

I scooped her up in my arms-she weighed nothing-and carried her towards the plush sofa, ready to spend the night simply holding my future Queen, the woman who had conquered the **emotionless** King.

💖 (Ishita's Perspective)

Ten days had flown by since the Roka date was set. Ten days of late-night calls, early morning video chats, and occasional stolen hours in Rudra's ** office, where he'd manage his billion-dollar empire while I practiced new makeup looks for his next formal event.

And today was December 30th. My **Rudra Singh Rathore's** birthday.

I knew my man. He was turning **29** today, but he truly was the **cold, heartless, emotionless** man the world saw. He hated grand, flashy gestures, especially concerning himself. He preferred a silent, intense gym session and maybe one perfect, expensive gift rather than a huge party.

Since I couldn't throw him a lavish party, and since my middle-class budget couldn't compete with his world, I decided on something intimate and perfectly *us*. With the stealthy help of his efficient assistant, **Laksh**, I managed to secure and decorate a small, empty garden on the sprawling Rathore Estate grounds.

I kept things **minimal**, just like he liked. Fairy lights woven through the branches, a small table set for two, and soft instrumental music playing discreetly.

I checked my reflection one last time. I felt beautiful, confident, and ready for his reaction. I had traded the traditional Indian wear for something he loved seeing me in: a chic white **crop top** paired with a fitted navy **knee-length skirt**. My legs looked endless in the high heels.

The finishing touches were all for him: my **long hair opened freely**, smelling of jasmine; my nails meticulously done; and the **payal**-the one he had used to propose to me after our mutual friend's wedding-jingling softly around my ankle.

My makeup was soft-just enough to enhance my features-but I made sure the **liner was perfect** and the **lipstick** was a bold, deep red. I knew the moment he saw me, he would ruin it, and I couldn't wait.

Her look

My heart hammered against my ribs. Today wasn't just about his birthday; it was about me finally giving back. He, the man who had the world at his feet, had always sought my permission, respected my space, and even proposed to me with that beautiful payal. I hadn't properly proposed back.

Today, I was going to ask him: *Will you marry me?*

I picked up my phone, took a deep breath, and recorded a voice message. I knew the weakness of **Rudra Singh Rathore** wasn't money or power; it was my **sweet voice**, especially when I lowered it to that tone he found irresistible.

"Rudra," I cooed into the phone, letting a hint of teasing vulnerability creep in. "I need you to come to the small, old garden near the main terrace now. I'm waiting for you. And if you don't come fast, I might get bored... and do something I shouldn't."

I ended the message, knowing that combination of demand, sweetness, and veiled mischief would have him dropping whatever billion-dollar crisis he was handling. He couldn't resist me, and that feeling, that power I held over the **coldest** man in the world, was intoxicating.

I waited, my nervousness turning into excited anticipation.

A few minutes later, I heard the crunch of heavy, decisive footsteps. He arrived like a force of nature, towering and formidable, even in a simple t-shirt and track pants-he must have come straight from his late-afternoon gym session, the **health freak**.

His **dark aura** always preceded him, but when his **ocean blue eyes** landed on me, everything shifted. The cold, ruthless mask fractured.

He stopped dead in his tracks, taking in the scene: the quiet garden, the minimalist lights, and me.

His eyes traveled slowly over my outfit, lingering on the exposed skin of my midriff and the high heels, before settling on my face. That intensity, that sheer, possessive hunger that made my knees weak, was back.

ishi**," he breathed, the sound a low, sensual growl that only I got to hear. "What is this? You sent me that message... you know I can't handle your sweet voice, **Jaana**."

He strode towards me, his long strides closing the distance. He didn't say a word about the lights or the decoration; he was only focused on me.

He reached me and immediately cupped my face with his large, warm hands, pulling me closer. His eyes locked on my lips-my perfect, bold, red lips.

"Happy Birthday, Rudra," I whispered, before he could do anything else.

He ignored my words. "That skirt, those heels, that lip color..." he muttered, his voice thick with desire. "You did this knowing exactly what it does to me."

He lowered his head. My heart hammered. *Now or never.*

I gently placed my hand on his chest, stopping him right before his lips met mine.

"Wait," I whispered, fighting to sound steady. "Before you... ruin my lipstick, I have a question."

He paused, clearly annoyed by the delay, but he always respected my boundaries. "Ask, **Jaana**."

I took a deep breath, looking into those mesmerizing **ocean blue eyes**, and gave him all the courage I had.

"Rudra Singh Rathore," I began, my voice clear and true. "You asked me once, and I said yes, but I want to ask you now. You are my light, my possessive, soft, beautiful beast. **Will you marry me?**"

I waited, my breath hitched, knowing the answer would be yes, but needing to hear it from him, for me.

👑 (Rudra's Perspective)

The world tilted and went utterly silent. The roar of the city, the hum of the cooling systems, the soft music-all vanished. There was only the ringing in my ears and the woman standing before me.

**"Will you marry me?"**

I was **stunned**. Completely, profoundly, and utterly speechless.

My entire life, people had *taken* from me. They had demanded, requested, negotiated, or simply accepted the handouts of money and power that came with the name **Rudra Singh Rathore**. Even when I had proposed to **Ishi**, it was on my terms-my payal, my chosen moment.

But this? This beautiful, audacious girl, in the middle of a garden she had arranged *for me*, on *my* birthday, was asking for my commitment. She wasn't taking; she was giving. She was thinking about *my* feelings, about the balance, about the fact that I had proposed but she hadn't.

It was the first time in my life someone had put my emotional ledger ahead of their own desires.

My heart-the muscle I usually kept cold, encased, and focused purely on business-clenched so hard it hurt. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I was the powerful, **ruthless, emotionless** Prince, reduced to a frozen statue by the purity of her love.

She must have seen the profound shock and confusion in my **ocean blue eyes**. Before I could even manage a grunt, she took the initiative.

She closed the tiny gap between us, wrapping her arms around my neck, pulling my frame down just slightly, and pressing her soft body against my hard, **muscular** chest. She smelled like heaven.

Then, she began to sing, her sweet voice a gentle, melodic stream poured directly into my ear. It wasn't a grand, professional performance; it was raw, quiet, and utterly heartfelt.

*"Humm humm humm humm"*

*"Thoda sa pyaar hua hai, thoda hai baaki."*

*"Thoda sa pyaar hua hai, thoda hai baaki."*

*A little bit of love has happened, a little bit is left.*

The melody washed over me, a physical warmth seeping into the desolate, cold corners of my soul. Every word was a mirror of my own feelings. I, who didn't believe in God or love, felt every molecule of my being vibrating with the love she was singing about.

*"Thoda sa pyaar hua hai, thoda hai baaki."*

*"Thoda sa pyaar hua hai, thoda hai baaki."*

*"Hum to dil de hi chuke oh,"*

*"Hum to dil de hi chuke, bas teri haan hai baaki."*

*I have already given my heart, only your 'yes' is left.*

The irony was staggering. She was singing that *her* 'yes' was left, when it was *my* 'yes' she was waiting for. She had already given me everything-her trust, her warmth, her fierce, unwavering devotion that had rescued me from the darkness.

Her voice continued, slightly teasing, full of that beautiful boldness that had first captivated me:

I felt a violent shudder run through my chest. The carefully constructed walls I maintained-the indifference, the strict control-they were crumbling under the weight of her love. This was not a business transaction; this was a plea from her soul to mine.

I tightened my arms around her. I could feel the delicate frame of her **tiny waist** beneath my hands. My entire body felt heavy with emotion, an unfamiliar and terrifying sensation.

I pulled back just enough to look at her, my **ocean blue eyes** likely betraying the tempest raging inside.

"Ishi," I finally choked out, my voice thick, raw. I was supposed to be a man of thousands of words, yet all I could manage was her name.

I didn't need to speak further. I didn't need a single more word of explanation. She, is, the one true thing in my empty, gilded life, had given me the only gift I ever truly wanted: my own heart, reflected in her unwavering love.

I lowered my head, no longer caring about the red lipstick or the perfect eyeliner. I captured her mouth in a deep, desperate kiss-a kiss of profound gratitude, possession, and absolute surrender.

When I finally pulled back, my forehead resting against hers, I whispered the only answer she needed.

"Yes, **Jaana**. I will marry you. I will marry you a thousand times over."

I was still the cold Prince. But for her, and only her, I was simply Rudra. Her Rudra.