(Ishita's Perspective)

He said yes.

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

Hearing those raw, honest words from the man who once believed only in ruthlessness and logic made the tears sting my eyes. He was mine. My **soft beast**, my possessive Prince.

I pecked his lips quickly, sealing the promise. "Thank you, **Ru**." I loved using that simple, familiar nickname, knowing it was a vulnerability only I was allowed to touch.

Just as our eyes locked in that beautiful, silent communication of intense love, the gentle instrumental music I had arranged with Laksh swelled, and the male voice on the track began to sing the next stanza.

Rudra was still holding me close, his large hands resting possessively on my **tiny waist**. He didn't let go; instead, he began to sway us slowly, an instinctive, soft dance emerging in the intimate setting of the garden.

The soft music wrapped around us like a blanket.

*"Aa aa aa aa aa aa"*

*"Humm humm humm humm humm humm"*

I leaned my head against his hard, warm chest. I could feel the powerful rhythm of his heart beneath my ear. The song articulated the journey we had taken, the collision of our destinies.

*"Kaun sa mod aaya zindagi ke safar mein"*

*"Bas gaya tu hi tu ab toh meri nazar mein"*

*(What turn came in the journey of life)**(Only you have settled in my sight now

I tilted my head back to look at his face. His **ocean blue eyes**, usually so cold and controlled, were now alight with intense, devoted love.

He didn't sing; he *spoke* the lyrics, his deep, resonant voice perfectly matching the timing of the song. He stroked my cheek with his thumb, his gaze unwavering, pouring all his profound feeling into the words.

*"Dil ki har ek dhadkan tujhko pehchaanti hai"*

*"Meri chaahat hai ab kya tu nahi jaanti hai"*

*(Every heartbeat of my heart recognizes you)**(Don't you know what my desire is now?)*

I gave him a playful, loving smile. His desire was me. Purely and completely.

We continued to sway, the **soft dance** becoming a conversation. My **long hair** brushed against his shoulder, and the **payal** around my ankle jingled softly, a beautiful counterpoint to the music.

*"Main tujhe jaan gayi, O, tujhko pehchaan gayi"*

*"Phir bhi teri haan hai baaki"*

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

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

*(I came to know you, O, I recognized you)**(Even then, your 'yes' is left)**(A little bit of love has happened, a little bit is left)*

I knew he had given his 'yes' seconds ago, but singing those lines felt like confirming the acceptance of my own power-the power to melt the **cold, heartless** man.

I felt a sudden rush of recklessness, of pure emotion. I tightened my arms around his neck, pulling his head closer.

*"Aaj yeh kya hua hai dil nahi mera bas mein"*

*"Is liye sochti hoon tod doon saari rasmein"*

*(What happened today, my heart is not under my control)**(That's why I'm thinking of breaking all the customs)*

I was thinking about the long wait until February 16th, the formalities, the distance between **North Delhi** and **South Delhi**. When I looked at him, all the societal rules seemed pointless.

His response was immediate, possessive, and utterly devotional. He pulled me tighter against his **muscular** body, anchoring me to him.

*"Umra bhar ke liye tu aa mera saath de de"*

*"Tera ho jaunga main haathon mein haath de de"*

*(Come and give me your company for the whole life)**(I will become yours, give your hand in my hands)*

He meant it. He wasn't just talking about a Roka or a wedding; he was offering a lifetime of **unbroken love** and devotion.

I reached up and gently took his large, strong hand, pressing it to my cheek.

*"Haathon mein haath sahi, O, tu mere saath sahi"*

*"Phir bhi teri haan hai baaki"*

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

*(Hands in hands is right, O, you being with me is right)**(Even then, your 'yes' is left)**(A little bit of love has happened, a little bit is left)*

He chuckled, a low, warm sound that vibrated deep in my chest. He knew I was teasing him now, relishing the moment I had managed to silence the formidable Rudra Singh Rathore.

He stopped swaying, and his gaze dropped to my lips-my red lipstick, still mostly intact. His eyes promised he was about to fulfill my expectation and completely ruin it.

He lowered his head, his voice a husky whisper right against my mouth.

"The song is wrong, **Jaana**," he murmured. "There is no 'thoda sa pyaar' left. It is all yours. Every single bit of it."

Then, he claimed my lips, kissing me with a fierce, tender hunger that was both the answer to my proposal and the best birthday gift I could ever give him. The rest of the world, and the difference between **my world * and royalty, simply faded away.

👑 (Rudra's Perspective)

The moment her lips met mine, the last threads of my carefully maintained control snapped. Her kiss was soft, a tender seal on the promise she had just extracted from my soul. But my response was anything but soft. It was raw, possessive, and necessary.

I deepened the kiss instantly, my hand leaving her cheek to snake down and cup the back of her head, anchoring her completely to me. I poured every suppressed emotion of the last three years-the fear, the isolation, the sheer, burning love-into the contact.

Her lipstick, that bold, defiant red, smeared beautifully against my mouth, a trophy of her conquest. It tasted like victory and jasmine.

My body, always tuned to peak physical performance, reacted with a devastating force. The kiss wasn't just desire; it was a physical affirmation that she was *safe*, that she was *mine*, and that the world was finally right again. The relentless tension I carried, the perpetual coldness that defined me, dissolved in the heat of her touch.

My hands instinctively moved, one sweeping down to her **tiny waist**, crushing her against my hard, **muscular** frame. I needed to feel every curve, every fragile bone against the bulk of my body, a silent assurance that she was real. The high heels she wore brought her closer to my height, making the embrace perfect.

She tasted like home.

I broke the kiss for a split second, only to breathe a ragged, harsh sound that was closer to a sob than a sigh, and rested my forehead against hers. My chest was heaving, the frantic rhythm mirroring the powerful, irregular beat of my heart-the heart she had resurrected.

"You," I gasped, the sound vibrating deep in my throat. "You are reckless, **Jaana**. Proposing to the **coldest** man in the world on his birthday, knowing I can't say no to you."

Her hands, still wrapped around my neck, stroked the short hair at my nape. That simple, loving touch sent a ripple of absolute calm through my veins, even while my body was burning.

"I needed you to know it wasn't just *your* idea," she whispered, her voice husky from the kiss. "That it was truly *ours*."

I devoured her lips again, gentler this time, a slow, devotional drag of my mouth across hers.

.* My mind, usually running complex financial equations and security protocols, was blank. The only input was her scent, her taste, the feel of her warm skin beneath my hands. I was a man who lived by discipline, but she was the only one who could make me abandon it all.

I moved my hands from her waist, sliding them beneath the crop top, the softness of her skin a shocking contrast to the rough texture of my calloused palms. She was exquisite. She was perfection.

"The **Roka** is too far," I murmured against her skin, pulling back slightly to look at her beautiful, flushed face. Her **brown eyes** were wide and sparkling with love and desire. "February 16th is an eternity, *ishi**."

I lowered my head, my lips trailing fire down her neck, past the sweet spot where the hickey used to be, now leaving a new, burning trail of ownership.

"You gave me the greatest gift a man could ask for today," I confessed, my voice heavy with emotion. "You gave me proof that you love *me*-the man beneath the power, the man who doesn't believe in love or God. You love the part of me that is **soft** only for you."

I gathered her fiercely back into my arms, resting my chin on top of her head. I was still trembling slightly. This tiny woman, this **girl***, had the ability to completely dismantle the **Top 3 richest businessman** in the world.

She was my weakness. And my only strength.

"Happy birthday, **Ru**," she murmured softly against my chest.

I closed my eyes, allowing myself a minute of pure, uncomplicated happiness. This was better than any multi-billion dollar deal.

💖(Ishita's Perspective)

The intensity of his kiss left me breathless, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his chest. His 'yes' still echoed in my ears, and the overwhelming heat of his body pressed against mine made me dizzy with love. He was about to deepen the kiss again-I knew that look in his eyes, that promise of consuming devotion.

But I had a plan, and even the **cold, powerful Prince** needed to follow the rules of a birthday celebration.

As he lowered his head, his lips just inches from mine, I quickly raised my finger and placed it gently against his mouth. His lips were still stained faintly with my lipstick.

"Wait, wait, wait," I whispered, smiling up at him. "Cake first. Then this, okay?"

He stopped instantly, though a deep, low groan of frustration escaped him. His **ocean blue eyes** narrowed slightly, a classic Rudra mix of annoyance and irresistible desire. He was a **health freak**, strict about his routine, and here I was, interrupting absolute bliss for dessert.

"**Jaana**, you are testing my patience," he rumbled, his voice dark and husky. "The cake can wait. I have waited three years for moments like this."

I reached up and softly stroked his cheek, where a hint of stubble was starting to appear. "I know, **Ru**. But it's your birthday. And I took a lot of time to decide what cake I should bring."

I pulled back just enough to gesture towards the small, perfectly set table where a little cake box sat next to two pristine plates.

"I went through every option. I thought of a sugar-free, protein-enhanced, organically sourced, ridiculously expensive cake," I confessed, my smile turning mischievous.

He watched me, his expression softening, the darkness in his eyes receding as he let go of the **cold, ruthless** facade. He was utterly captivated by my silly internal monologue.

"But then," I continued, stepping toward the table, "I remembered something crucial. My man **doesn't eat these things**. Seriously. You treat sugar like a personal enemy."

I picked up the simple, small, beautifully rich **chocolate cake**-my absolute favorite-and turned back to him.

"So," I declared, holding the cake out like a peace offering, "I brought *my* favorite chocolate cake. The kind that has actual butter and real sugar and probably zero nutritional value. It's a risk," I admitted, biting my lip dramatically. "But it's my birthday gift to you, which means... it's really a gift to me."

I tilted my head, looking at him with genuine adoration. "Is it okay for you, **Ru**? Can you just have one tiny bite for me?"

He stared at the cake, then at my face. The sheer honesty and cuteness of my gesture broke him. The corner of his mouth twitched, and then a genuine, tender smile spread across his face-the smile that made me melt every single time.

He took the cake box from my hands and set it gently back on the table.

"You are unbelievable, **Ishi**," he murmured, taking a step forward and pulling me back into his space. His hands rested on my hips, holding me loosely but possessively.

"You plan a surprise proposal, sing to me, and bring a sugar-laden dessert that you know I would never touch, purely because you want to share your comfort with me." He shook his head, looking completely smitten. "Yes, **Jaana**. It is more than okay. Because it is from you."

He leaned down again, this time not to kiss, but to whisper against my ear, his breath hot and causing delightful shivers.

"I will eat the entire cake if you feed it to me. But first," he pulled back, his eyes darkening with renewed hunger, "you already said your rules: **Cake first, then this**. We have to follow the rules of the birthday , don't we?"

👑 (Rudra's Perspective)

She was irresistible. Her blend of middle-class charm and fierce love disarmed every defense mechanism I had built over two decades. I had agreed to eat her 'nutritional nightmare' chocolate cake, but only because she had promised the real reward afterward.

She dragged me gently toward the small table. Her hands were small but strong, leading me forward. I watched as she lit the tiny, single candle she'd brought-minimal, yet perfect.

As she leaned close to the flame, her **long hair**-free, flowing, and magnificent-came dangerously close to the flickering fire. The protector in me, the part that couldn't stand the thought of any harm coming to my **Jaana**, immediately flared up.

I reached out, gently cupping the back of her head, and pulled her curls back over her shoulder, anchoring the beautiful cascade of hair away from the flame.

"Careful, **Ishi**," I murmured, my voice low and protective. "I don't need your hair catching fire. It's too beautiful."

She smiled, a sweet, radiant smile that made my chest ache. She knew my actions were driven by absolute devotion, not just caution.

"Ready, **Ru**?" she asked, picking up the small knife.

I stepped right behind her, my frame enveloping her completely. My hands went over hers, guiding the knife. She was soft, delicate; I was all power, strength, and control. This simple act-my strength guiding her softness-was a perfect metaphor for our relationship.

As our hands sliced through the rich **chocolate cake**, she began to sing, her voice a soft, slightly off-key lullaby meant only for me: *"Happy birthday to you... Happy birthday dear Ru..."*

The sheer cuteness of it almost crippled me. I leaned down and kissed her temple, unable to resist.

She cut a **tiny piece**-the perfect size for her **thin, slim** figure-and, to my utter disbelief, she ate it herself first, eyes closed in pure enjoyment.

"Mmm. So good!" she declared, her brown eyes sparkling when she opened them.

Then, she cut another piece, significantly smaller than the first, and brought it to my lips. She knew I was a **health freak**, strict about sugar, but she also knew I wouldn't refuse her.

I opened my mouth, accepting the offering. It was sweet, cloyingly rich, and completely unnecessary, but because her fingertips brushed my lips as she fed me, it was the best thing I had ever tasted.

She cut another small piece, looked at it, and then quickly ate it herself, giggling.

"Okay, enough standing," I decided, cutting the cake ritual short. I couldn't take the distance anymore.

I pulled out one of the garden chairs and sat down, then, without asking, I reached for her hips and smoothly **pulled her onto my lap**. She settled against me perfectly, her **tiny waist** fitting exactly where my large hands needed to be.

"Better," I sighed, adjusting her so she was comfortable. My **dark aura** may be intimidating, but I was utterly calm with her nestled in my arms.

She didn't miss a beat. She continued eating the cake, completely comfortable sitting on the lap of the world's **Top 3 richest man**. I watched in fascinated adoration as she found the small, crumbly edges of the cake that had **no cream and no chocolate**-the parts she knew I might tolerate-and brought those breadcrumbs to my lips.

"Here, my **cold, ruthless** Prince," she teased, feeding me a plain crumb. "Fuel for your intense gym session tomorrow."

I took the crumb, deliberately brushing my lips against her feeding fingers, eliciting a soft gasp from her.

"You think a crumb is enough for a man who just got proposed to?" I countered, my voice low and teasing.

I leaned down and pressed my lips against the delicate skin of her neck, just beneath her ear, sending shivers through her frame. My hands, still on her hips, began a slow, deliberate **caress**, moving lower down her thighs, then back up to her waist.

"Your reward, **Ishi**," I murmured, my lips trailing heat across her shoulder. "I told you I'd flirt with you and tease you. You are distracting me from every sensible thought I've ever had. And you smell delicious."

I kissed her shoulder, my mouth lingering there. "Tell me you love me, **Jaana**," I commanded softly, the need for vocal affirmation warring with my physical desires. "Tell me you love your possessive, dark-hearted **Ru**."

She stopped eating the cake, resting her head against my chest, her own hands tightening on my neck.

"I love you," she whispered, her voice full of emotion. "I love my **health freak** who will eat plain crumbs for me. And I love my cold-hearted Prince who is the softest man on earth."

*God.* I was completely lost to her. The chocolate cake and the promise of the night ahead paled in comparison to the absolute bliss of holding her in my arms, knowing she was finally, irrevocably mine.

💖(Ishita's Perspective)

The almost a month after Rudra's birthday Roka-proposal was a blur of absolute bliss and routine madness. It was January now, cold and foggy in Delhi, but I was living in a perpetual state of warmth.

Despite being the CEO of his father's company and the President of his own, **Eternity**, and being perpetually busy restructuring the world's economy, Rudra maintained an absolute, non-negotiable routine: **He always picked me up from my makeup studio in Noida and dropped me home in North Delhi.**

No matter what time his last high-profile meeting ended in *companyes*, he was there. If he was late, he'd send Laksh, his assistant, who would simply wait outside my studio, often leaning against the imposing black façade of Rudra's armored car-a silent, powerful guard.

When he was driving me, the car was our sanctuary. He would seamlessly transition from the **cold, ruthless** businessman to my devoted, teasing lover.

"You smell like expensive foundation, **Isha**," he'd murmur, pulling my hand to his lips and kissing my knuckles. "And those long nails? They look very tempting wrapped around my neck. Maybe you should apply your artistry at home tonight, hmm?"

He would **shamelessly flirt**, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, his **ocean blue eyes** locking onto mine in the rearview mirror if he wasn't driving.

"Your **tiny waist** is getting smaller, Princess. Are you eating? I'll have Siya Maa send over a full-time chef to your house if you lose another kilo before the Roka. I need something substantial to hold onto."

I would blush violently, my cheeks burning. This was the man who was **heartless** to the outside world, yet treated me like fragile, precious glass.

"**Ru**!" I'd protest, punching his rock-hard bicep lightly. "Stop being so possessive! And no, you are not sending a chef. Papa is a **gym trainer**; we eat healthy!"

"Possessive is my favorite look, **Jaana**. It suits me." He'd simply grin, that rare, breathtaking smile that belonged only to me.

Sometimes, I couldn't believe it. This man, who was set to be the King of Rajasthan and a global powerhouse, was reduced to a demanding, loving fiancé who teased me about my figure and **caressed my waist** beneath the guise of driving safely. I knew that for the world, he was still the same **emotionless, heartless** monolith, but for me, he was everything soft and warm.

One day I was home after a long day at the **Noida** studio, talking to Rudra on the phone-he was in a late-night conference call at his office.

Suddenly, my brother burst into my room. "Ishu! Riva's water broke! We have to go to the hospital. Now!"

I hung up on Rudra mid-sentence and grabbed my jacket.

The hospital corridors were sterile, cold, and terrifying. My brother was trying to be strong, but his worry was palpable. I was beyond scared.

I've always had a profound, visceral fear of labor. The pain, the vulnerability, the intensity-it paralyzed me. As my Bhabhi was wheeled away, her face contorted in agony, my breath hitched. I found myself huddled in a corner of the waiting room, trying not to cry, the primal sounds of labor echoing down the hall.

*God help me. How will I ever handle that in the future?* The thought of going through that kind of pain, of the uncontrollable physical trauma, left me shaking.

Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Rudra. He had called back instantly after I hung up.

I pressed the phone to my ear, my hand trembling. "R-Rudra," I stammered, my voice thin with fear.

"**Ishi*," his voice was instantly commanding, cutting through the chaos. He must have recognized the panic in my voice immediately. "I got off the call. Laksh told me you're at the hospital. Tell me exactly where you are, and I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"No, don't," I choked out, trying to calm my breathing. "You're too far . It's just Bhabhi's labor. It's... it's just so loud, Rudra. And the pain..."

He didn't argue about the distance or his schedule. He simply started speaking, his voice dropping to that low, hypnotic rumble he used only for me-the voice that calmed the storm in my soul.

"Look at me, **Jaana**. No, you can't see me, but picture me. I'm right there, holding you, right now."

I closed my eyes, picturing his huge, frame, his strong arms, his face of impossible fairness and composure.

"Breathe, **Ishi**. Just breathe with me. Slow. In... out... That pain, that sound you hear? That is not fear. That is the sound of creation. It is the sound of your brother's love becoming tangible. It is the most powerful, necessary sound in the world."

He continued, his words slow and measured, grounding me. "I know you are scared of pain. But listen to me: You are the most courageous woman I know. You stood up to me, you brought me to my knees, you proposed to me in a garden. You are fire, **Jaana**. If you ever have to face that, you will face it with fire."

"And if you are scared," he added, his voice dropping another octave to a fierce, devoted whisper, "I will be there. I will break every rule and bring every doctor in the world. I will be your shield, your strength, and your pain absorber. **I will not let you be scared.** I will never let you be alone. I am your anchor."

His words, his absolute confidence in me and his protective promise, wrapped around me better than any blanket. The trembling subsided. He was still the **cold, ruthless** man, but his love for me was the only thing that made him soft-and devastatingly effective.

"Okay, **Ru**," I whispered, finally able to breathe normally. "Okay. I'm calm. Thank you."

"Good," he said, the tension easing slightly from his voice. "Now put your brother on the line. I'm going to find out which hospital room this is, and I'm sending my security detail. I want a full medical update every thirty minutes. And **Ishi**? Don't leave that hospital until you've met your new nephew or niece. I'll be there as soon as I can close this deal. I need my brave Princess back home."

I had spent what felt like an eternity pacing the antiseptic floor of the hospital corridor, my phone pressed to my ear while Rudra's calming voice guided me through the panic. Then, the crying began-loud, strong, and glorious.

A nurse emerged, beaming. "It's a boy! Both mother and baby are healthy."

Tears sprang to my eyes, but these were tears of pure joy, not fear. "It's a boy! I'm officially a **Bua** (Aunt)! Yes!"

My brother, relief washing over his tired face, rushed inside the room. I quickly snapped a message to Rudra, who was still technically on the phone with me:

**: 🎉 IT'S A BOY, RU! I'M A BUA! I'M SO HAPPY!**

The response was instant, not a text, but a click as he hung up. I knew what that meant. He wasn't waiting for the deal to close; he was coming.

Exactly **thirty minutes** later, a distinct flurry of controlled chaos erupted at the end of the corridor. It wasn't the usual hospital shuffle. It was the movement of highly trained, silent security personnel parting the crowd, followed by a man who moved like a predator: **Rudra Singh Rathore**.

He looked exactly as I had pictured him: tall, formidable, impeccably dressed even in the middle of the night, his **ocean blue eyes** scanning the room with that sharp, proprietary focus. The **cold, ruthless** prince had arrived.

He saw me, and that was it. The dark facade crumbled instantly.

He opened his arms wide.

Usually, I would manage a dignified walk and a handshake or a quick hug, especially in a public space. I was conscious of the attention he drew. But this time, fueled by the exhausting tension and the overwhelming joy, I didn't care.

I **ran** straight into his open arms.

I clung to him like a **koala**, wrapping my arms tight around his neck, my face buried in the expensive wool of his suit jacket.

*Only because Mummy and Papa were inside the room,* I mentally justified to myself, though the truth was, I needed his strength.

The people nearby definitely saw us like **weirdos**-a powerful man in a suit being assaulted by a tiny, emotional girl-but I didn't care. His body was hard, muscular, and instantly grounding.

Then, he did something utterly unexpected. He picked me up.

He hoisted me effortlessly off the ground, one strong arm bracing my **tiny waist** and the other supporting my back. He began to **cradle me like I was a baby**, swaying gently, paying no mind to the stunned nurses or the curious patients.

I was too happy, too relieved, and too safe to protest.

*Ru**!" I babbled into his shoulder, clinging tight. "He is so cute! He's so tiny! His hands are like little flower petals! And he has so much hair! Bhabhi was so brave, and Bhaiya is crying, and I'm a Bua! Can you believe it? My nephew!"

I kept talking, a flood of excited, joyful chatter pouring out. I was vaguely aware of the onlookers, but all my focus was on the powerful man holding me.

He didn't say much; he just held me securely, his deep rumble of a voice occasionally cutting in to acknowledge my enthusiasm.

"Yes, **Jaana**. Our nephew," he confirmed softly, his lips brushing my temple. "You are officially an Aunt. It suits you."

I felt his powerful chest vibrate with a deep, content sigh. He was just listening to me, adoring me, holding me. The **cold, ruthless** Prince was completely and utterly soft.

👑 Rudra's Perspective:

The moment Ishita's panicked call dropped, I knew the severity of the situation. It wasn't a business threat; it was a threat to **her** composure, and that was paramount. I ended the multi-million dollar call and was out the door in sixty seconds.

The drive from **South Delhi** to this North Delhi hospital was a blur. When I arrived, the atmosphere of human frailty and chaos irritated my organized nature, but I forced my gaze past the staff and the onlookers.

Then I saw her. **Ishi**. My **Jaana**.

She looked tired, stressed, but when she spotted me, a wave of pure, unfiltered joy washed over her face. She was frantic, beautiful, and utterly mine.

When she **ran** and launched herself into my arms, the instinct was overwhelming. I caught her, anchoring her to my chest. I didn't just hug her; I immediately lifted her, **cradling her like a baby**, because that's exactly how I saw her right then-my brave, delicate Princess who had faced something scary and needed unconditional comfort.

I ignored the glances of the *weirdos* around us. I was the future King of Rajasthan, the **Top 3 richest man**, and if I wanted to hold my fiancé like a child in a hospital corridor, then the whole world could stare. They were irrelevant.

She buried her face in my neck, clinging to me like a **koala**, and started talking at lightning speed-a breathless, beautiful torrent of joy and relief.

*"...he is so cute! His hands are like little flower petals..."*

I tightened my arm around her **tiny waist**, letting the sheer force of her happiness wash over me. I looked at her, truly seeing the light that danced in her **brown eyes**. This was what I lived for. This joy, which I didn't possess naturally, was something I fiercely protected in her.

"Yes, **Jaan**. Our nephew," I repeated, confirming the kinship. I loved hearing her talk about the baby, about the miracle she had just witnessed, knowing it was easing the fear of labor she had confessed to earlier.

I adored listening to her. I wasn't listening to the facts-I was listening to the musical cadence of her voice, watching the expressions that flickered across her perfect face. She was an open book, wearing her emotions externally, a stark contrast to my internal fortress.

I kissed her forehead, my lips lingering. "You were so brave earlier on the phone, Princess. I am proud of you. Now tell me about his nose. Does he look like your brother, the editor?"

I didn't need to go inside the room with her parents. My place was here, holding my **Ishi**, being her anchor and her soft place to land after the storm.

I continued to cradle **Ishi** in my arms, letting her joyful chatter about the baby wash over me. I was so consumed by her presence that I hadn't realized her hair-her beautiful, long hair-had been thoroughly messed up during her dramatic leap into my arms.

While she babbled happily about the baby's tiny fingernails, I gently lifted one hand and began to **caress her hair**, slowly smoothing the messy strands away from her face and tucking them behind her ear. She was talking about a newborn, but I was simply **adoring her**, memorizing the texture of her skin and the rhythm of her voice.

Suddenly, the hospital room door opened. **Mummy** and **Papa** (Ishita's parents) emerged, looking tired but radiating pride.

I immediately lowered Ishita, setting her gently back on her feet, but keeping one hand firmly planted on the waist** I claimed as mine. Respect was essential, and I knew how important this display was to her traditional family.

I immediately bent at the waist, reaching out to **touch their feet**-the ultimate sign of respect.

"Namaste, Papa ji, Mummy ji," I said, my voice deeply respectful, the King's son showing deference to the gym trainer and the housewife.

They both smiled warmly, their eyes shining with genuine affection for me.

"Jeete raho, beta. Khush raho," Mummy ji blessed me, patting my arm. *"May you live long, be happy."* Papa ji clasped my shoulder firmly. "You came fast, Rudra. Thank you for being here for our Ishita."

"It was necessary, Papa ji," I confirmed, my gaze sweeping over my fiancé. "She is my priority."

Ishita, unable to contain her excitement any longer, spun around. "Mummy, bring the baby na! I want to show him to **Ru**! He's going to love him!"

Mummy ji laughed, a wonderful, hearty sound. "Yes, yes, I'll go tell your brother. **Rishi** is just wrapping him up."

A moment later, Rishi looking completely overwhelmed and utterly blissful, emerged from the room, holding a tiny bundle wrapped in a blue blanket.

"Rudra," Rishi said, a wide grin splitting his face, "congratulations, man. You're almost an uncle now." He reached out for a hug.

I returned the hug, a firm, congratulatory clasp. "Congratulations, Rishi. This is excellent news."

Ishita wasted no time. She practically snatched the baby from her brother's arms, holding the newborn with an instant, natural tenderness that was breathtaking.

She turned, her face radiant, moving toward me. "Look, **Ru**! Look at him! He's so small! This is your nephew!"

She held the tiny, perfectly wrapped bundle up for me to see. I leaned in, my senses instantly hyper-alert. I saw the miniature face, the closed eyes, the faint downy hair. It was a miracle of life, something I, the man who believed only in profit and power, had never paused to consider.

My internal coldness was momentarily stunned by the sight. But my focus immediately went to **Ishita**.

I watched her face as she cradled the baby-the pure, maternal adoration, the way her eyes softened, the instinctive tilt of her head.

A powerful, overwhelming warmth flooded my chest, unlike any sensation a multi-billion dollar deal could ever produce. My mind, the machine that plans every quarter century ahead, suddenly saw a new vision:

*My God. That's how she will look.*

I saw her 2 or 3 years from now, standing in the our bedroom holding *our* child. Her **long curly hair** would be pulled back, her **brown eyes** would hold that same soft light, but the baby would have **ocean blue eyes** like mine. She would be utterly serene, utterly consumed by the child, and I would be utterly consumed by *her*.

I reached out, my large, strong finger gently tracing the curve of the baby's forehead, then shifting my gaze back to Ishita's.

"He is beautiful, **Ishi**," I murmured, my voice low and thick with promise. "Just like his **Bua**."

I took her hand-the one that wasn't supporting the baby-and brought it to my lips, kissing her knuckles slowly.

"You look beautiful with him," I added, my eyes holding hers. "A glimpse of our future, **Jaana**. We have two months until the Roka, but I can't wait."