💖 Ishita's Perspective

The elevator dived straight into the private lobby of Rudra’s penthouse. The moment the doors hissed shut, the "Royal" mask he wore for the public dropped completely.

He didn't even wait to get into the living room. He pinned me against the cool wood paneling of the hallway, his **6'3" frame** completely eclipsing mine.

"Finally," he growled, his voice a low vibration against my skin.

His hands were everywhere—tracing my waist, tangling in my hair, pulling me flush against his **muscular** chest. He kissed me with a hunger that made my knees weak, his tongue dancing with mine in a frantic rhythm of four months of longing.

"**Ru**... wait," I gasped, breathless, my hands clutching his shoulders. "You said... dinner."

"I lied," he murmured, nibbling on my earlobe, making me **moan softly**. "I want you more than food. I want to memorize every inch of you again. I want to make sure you haven't forgotten the way you feel in my arms."

He eventually pulled back, seeing the exhaustion in my eyes from the flight. He sighed, a soft, loving sound, and kissed my forehead.

"Fine. Dinner first. But don't think you're getting away easily, **Jaana**."

He led me to the rooftop terrace. I gasped. The entire space was transformed. Thousands of tiny fairy lights hung from the glass canopy, and the table was set with my favorite North Delhi street food—but served on fine bone china.

"You got me *Golgappas* and *Tikka*?" I laughed, tears pricking my eyes. "In a penthouse?"

"I know my Queen," he said, pulling out my chair. "You've been eating bland salads in Milan. I wanted you to taste home."

We ate under the Delhi stars, the city lights shimmering below us. We talked about everything—the lonely nights, the jealous moments, and the way the **silver bangles** felt like a heavy weight when we were apart.

Time skip

The car slowed to a crawl as we approached the venue. Outside, it was a sea of flashing lights and shouting reporters. This wasn't a private lake or a secret penthouse; this was a **high-profile businessman function**, and the entire **Rathore family** was already making their grand entry.

I looked down at my outfit. I had chosen a stunning, **midnight black chiffon saree** with a heavy diamond-encrusted border that shimmered like stars. It was elegant, bold, and screamed "Rathore royalty."

Her look

As my car pulled up to the red carpet, I saw the rest of the Rathore family—Rudra’s uncles and cousins—already heading inside, posing stiffly for the cameras. But one person wasn't moving.

**Rudra.**

He stood at the top of the steps, looking lethal in a black tuxedo that hugged his **muscular frame**. He was completely **ignoring the media**, his arms crossed over his chest, his **ocean blue eyes** fixed solely on my car. He looked bored by the flashing lights, but the moment he saw me through the window, his entire posture changed.

His look

**Laksh**, his loyal assistant and head bodyguard, stepped forward and opened my door with a respectful bow.

"Good evening, ma'am," Laksh whispered. "He's been checking his watch every thirty seconds."

I stepped out, the cool night air hitting my skin. Before I could even take a step, Rudra was there. He descended the stairs with a predatory grace that made the paparazzi go into a frenzy.

He reached for my hand, his large palm engulfing mine, grounding me. Then, in front of every camera in the country, he leaned down and **kissed my cheek quickly**. It was a soft, lingering brush of his lips that felt like a brand.

The media erupted. Shouts of *"Sir, over here!"* and *"Ishita-ji, a pose with the Prince!"* filled the air, but Rudra didn't give them a single glance.

"You're late, **Jaana**," he murmured into my ear, his voice a low, possessive rumble. "Five minutes. That’s five minutes too long for me to be standing here without you."

I smiled, my hand tightening on his arm. "A Queen has to make an entrance, **Ru**. Don't be so impatient."

"I am always impatient when it comes to you," he countered, pulling me closer to his side.

As we walked up the steps, I noticed the shift. To the cameras, he was the **cold, ruthless CEO**—his face was a mask of stone, his gaze sharp and intimidating. But the way he held me... his thumb was constantly stroking the back of my hand, and he kept leaning in to whisper little things only I could hear.

"You look breathtaking in this saree, **Ishi**," he whispered, his eyes dark with a secret heat. "But I’m already counting down the hours until I can help you unpin it."

"**Rudra!**" I hissed, blushing a deep crimson as we stopped to pose for one "official" photo. "The microphones might pick you up!"

Ignored the clothes plz

Just imagine there looks

He let out a soft, rare chuckle that was captured by a hundred lenses. "Let them. Let the world know that the great Rudra Singh Rathore is completely whipped by his fiancé."

We reached the top of the stairs where his family was waiting. I could feel the judgmental glares from some of his distant aunts, but with Rudra’s hand firmly on my **tiny waist**, I felt invincible.

"Stay close to me tonight," he commanded softly as we entered the grand ballroom. "There are a lot of sharks in here, but you're with the King. No one touches you. No one even looks at you for too long. Understood?"

I leaned my head against his shoulder for a brief second. "Understood, my **Maaal**. Now, let's show them why they should be afraid of the Rathores."

👑 Rudra’s Perspective

I stood in the center of the grand ballroom, my hand resting possessively on the small of **Ishi’s** back. To the five hundred CEOs and politicians in the room, I was a wall of ice. My face was a mask of cold, calculated indifference. But every few seconds, I would lean down, my nose brushing against her temple just to catch the scent of the jasmine in her hair.

She was stunning in that black saree. It hugged her **tiny waist** in a way that made my jaw tighten every time a man’s gaze lingered on her for a fraction of a second too long.

We were near the champagne fountain when **Meera Oberoi** sashayed toward us. She was the daughter of one of my biggest rivals, a woman who had spent years trying to get into the Rathore inner circle—and my bed. She looked at Ishita with a disdain that made my blood boil instantly.

"Rudra, darling," Meera drawled, completely ignoring Ishita. "The gala is magnificent. But I must say, I was surprised to see you bringing... *work* to such a high-profile event."

I felt Ishi stiffen beside me. I didn't move, but the air around us seemed to drop ten degrees.

"Work, Meera?" I asked, my voice a low, dangerous silk.

Meera let out a high-pitched, fake laugh, looking Ishita up and down. "Well, I mean, she *is* a makeup artist, isn't she? Or a model? It’s so hard to keep track of the... service staff these days. I assume she’s here to touch up the family’s faces for the photos?"

The circle of socialites around us went dead silent. Ishita started to open her mouth—probably to give a polite, dignified response—but I wasn't going to let her say a word. I don't let my Queen fight with peasants.

I stepped forward, my **6'3" frame** looming over Meera until she had to tilt her head back in fear. The "Ice King" was out, and I wanted blood.

"Meera," I said, my voice cutting through the room like a blade. "Let me clarify something for your very limited intellect. This woman is not 'service staff.' She is **Ishita Singh Rathore**, the future matriarch of this empire."

I reached out and took Ishi’s hand, lifting it so the light caught the massive diamond and the **silver bangles** on her wrist.

"And as for 'keeping track,'" I continued, my **ocean blue eyes** narrowing to slits. "I suggest you keep track of your father’s shares. Because if I hear you speak to my fiancé with that tone again, I will buy Oberoi Group by Monday morning, liquidate it by noon, and ensure your family never sees the inside of a gala like this again. Do I make myself clear?"

Meera turned a ghostly shade of white. Her champagne glass trembled in her hand. "R-Rudra, I was just—"

"**Leave**," I commanded. It wasn't a request.

She scurried away into the crowd, her heels clicking frantically. I turned back to the room, my gaze sweeping over the guests until every single person looked away, terrified to meet my eyes.

I turned back to Ishita. The ice melted instantly. I cupped her face with both hands, ignoring the hundreds of people watching us.

"Did she hurt you, **Jaana**?" I whispered, my voice thick with concern.

She looked at me, her eyes shining with a mix of shock and adoration. "Ru... you just threatened to destroy a billion-dollar company over a comment about my job."

"I’d burn the whole world down if they made you feel small," I said, leaning down to press a firm, lingering kiss on her forehead. "You are the only person in this room who matters. Everyone else is just background noise."

I pulled her closer, my arm wrapping around her waist so tightly she was practically fused to my side.

"Now," I murmured, my voice returning to a flirtatious drawl. "I think we’ve given the media enough 'ruthless' behavior for one night. How about we find a balcony where I can tell you exactly how incredible you look in this black saree without an audience?"

💖 Ishita's Perspective:

The silence of the balcony was a physical relief after the suffocating tension of the ballroom. Behind us, the sounds of the gala—the clinking of glasses, the hum of business deals, and the whispers about the "Meera incident"—were muffled by the heavy glass doors.

The cool Delhi breeze played with the loose curls of my hair and tugged at the pallu of my **black chiffon saree**.

Rudra didn't say a word. He just led me to the stone railing, his hand never leaving my **tiny waist**. He stood behind me, his **muscular** frame acting as a shield against the rest of the world. He wrapped both arms around me, pulling my back flush against his chest. I could feel the steady, powerful thud of his heart.

"Are you okay, **Ishi**?" he murmured into my ear, his breath warm and comforting. "I shouldn't have let her get that close to you."

"I'm fine, **Ru**," I whispered, leaning my head back against his shoulder. "Actually, I was a little impressed. I’ve seen you close deals on the news, but seeing you defend me like that... it was a bit hot."

I felt his chest vibrate as he let out a low, dark chuckle. He turned me around in his arms, trapping me between the railing and his body. His **ocean blue eyes** were no longer cold or ruthless; they were swirling with a deep, liquid heat that was reserved only for me.

"Only 'a bit' hot, **Jaana**?" he teased, his voice dropping to that seductive whisper that always made my stomach flip. "I think I deserve a better review than that for saving your honor."

I smiled, my hands reaching up to play with the lapels of his tuxedo. I noticed his **lips** were slightly curved—a look he never, ever showed the media. To the world, he was a stone statue. To me, he was everything.

"Thank you, my **Maaal**," I said softly, standing on my tiptoe to reach him.

I gave him a **soft, sweet** kiss, but Rudra had other plans. He groaned into the kiss, his hands sliding down to my hips, pulling me firmly against him. He deepened it instantly, his tongue claiming mine with a possessive hunger that told me exactly how much he’d hated sharing me with the crowd tonight.

We stood there for a long time, lost in each other, the silver bangles on my wrist chiming softly against his suit.

"Every day," he whispered against my lips, "I find a new reason to be obsessed with you. Tonight, it’s the way you stood your ground. Tomorrow, it’ll be the way you wake up in my arms."

He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small, velvet pouch. "I didn't want to give this to you inside. It's too personal for those vultures to see."

He opened it, revealing a delicate silver braclet with a single, tiny blue diamond—the exact color of his eyes.

"To remind you," , "he make me wear in my wrist

You aren't just joining the Rathore family, **Ishi**. You are the heart of it."

Tears pricked my eyes.

"I love you, **Rudra**," I breathed.

He  wipe a stray tear from my cheek with his thumb. "And I love you. Now, let's go back in for ten more minutes of 'Royal' duty, and then I’m taking my Queen home."

The moment was perfect. The air was thick with romance, the blue diamond on my wrist felt like a warm promise, and Rudra was looking at me like I was the only girl in the universe. He began to lean in again, his gaze fixed on my lips, when the heavy glass doors creaked open behind us.

"Oh, look at that! The Glacier is melting! Get a room, you two!"

I jumped, nearly tripping over my saree, as **Aditi** marched onto the balcony with a mischievous grin. **Veer** followed behind her, looking apologetic but clearly amused, holding two glasses of champagne.

Rudra didn’t move. He didn't even flinch. He just let out a long, frustrated sigh, his hands staying firmly on my **tiny waist** as he glared at his best friend over my shoulder.

"Veer," Rudra growled, his voice like rolling thunder. "I pay for your security detail. Can none of them keep your wife away from me for five minutes?"

Veer laughed, handing a glass to Aditi. "Sorry, Ru. When she heard you almost liquidated the Oberoi Group over a comment about makeup, she insisted on coming out here to give you a 'High-Five' for being a Wattpad hero."

Aditi bumped my shoulder playfully, her eyes twinkling. "Seriously, Ishu! That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Meera Oberoi is currently in the powder room crying her fake eyelashes off. You’ve officially been crowned the 'Scariest Bhabhi' in Delhi."

"I didn't do anything!" I laughed, finally relaxing against Rudra's chest. "Rudra just... went into Prince mode."

"He went into 'Don't-Touch-My-Woman' mode," Aditi corrected, teasingly poking Rudra’s muscular arm. "So, Mr. CEO, now that the world knows you're a softie for Ishu, does this mean you're going to stop being so grumpy at our Sunday brunches?"

Rudra tightened his grip on me, his **ocean blue eyes** softening just a fraction as he looked at me, though his voice remained stiff for them. "I’m only 'soft' for one person, Aditi. For the rest of you, I’m still the man who can buy your favorite shopping mall and turn it into a parking lot."

"Classic Rudra," Veer chuckled, clinking his glass against an imaginary one. "But seriously, guys. The media is going crazy. They’re calling you 'The Dark Prince and his Diamond.' You’re the most searched couple on the internet right now."

I looked at Rudra, a bit worried. "Is that okay, **Ru**? I don't want to cause trouble for the companies."

Rudra leaned down, ignoring our friends for a second to press a quick, possessive kiss to my temple. "The companies are fine, **Jaana**. If anything, the stocks went up. People like a King who knows how to protect his Queen."

"Ugh, stop it!" Aditi groaned, though she was beaming. "You guys are so gross and cute. Come on, Veer. Let’s leave them to their balcony romance before Rudra actually fires us from his life."

"Wait," I called out, smiling at them. "Let's all go grab some actual food after this? I'm starving, and I know a place in Old Delhi that stays open late."

Rudra looked at me, horrified. "Old Delhi? In this saree? In my car?"

"Yes, **Maaal**," I teased, reaching up to boop his nose. "Unless the King is afraid of a little street food?"

Rudra looked at Veer, who shrugged, and then back at me. He surrendered with a smirk. "Fine. But Laksh is bringing two extra cars for security. I’m not having the Future Queen of the Rathores standing in a queue for *kebabs* unprotected."

"And that," Aditi laughed, dragging Veer back toward the ballroom, "is the most 'Rudra' answer ever. See you at the car!"

As they left, Rudra pulled me back into his space. "Now... where were we before we were so rudely interrupted by my best friend's lack of boundaries?"

The gala was winding down, but the energy outside was even more intense than when we arrived. As we walked toward the grand exit, the wall of paparazzi went into a complete frenzy. The flashes were so bright I had to squint, my hand instinctively tightening on Rudra’s muscular arm.

"**Ma'am! Ishita-ji!** One photo, please! Just one solo pose!" the photographers shouted, their voices echoing off the marble pillars.

I stopped and looked up at Rudra. I didn't want to do anything that would upset him or his family’s image. He looked down at me, his **ocean blue eyes** softening instantly. He gave me a small, encouraging nod, his hand giving my waist a gentle squeeze before he stepped back to give me the spotlight.

I walked to the center of the red-carpeted area, smoothing down my **black chiffon saree**. I turned to give them a graceful profile shot, but as I moved, I felt a sharp tug.

*Tch.*

My heart nearly stopped. The delicate diamond-encrusted border of my **pallu** had caught on a sharp edge of the floral decoration stand. I was stuck. If I moved, the expensive fabric would tear, or worse, the whole stand would fall.

I froze, my face heating up. *Please, not a wardrobe malfunction in front of the entire world,* I prayed.

Before I could even call for Laksh or a stylist, a shadow fell over me.

The crowd went dead silent. I heard the collective gasp of five hundred people.

**Rudra**—the man who never bows to anyone, the man who treats kings like subordinates—was **bending down**. Without a second thought for his multi-thousand dollar tuxedo or his royal dignity, he knelt on one knee at my feet.

His large, powerful hands were incredibly gentle as he worked the delicate fabric free from the metal scrollwork. I looked down at him, my breath hitching. From this angle, I could see the sharp line of his jaw and the focused intensity in his eyes. He wasn't doing this for the cameras; he was doing it because I needed him.

"Got it, **Jaana**," he whispered, so low only I could hear. He stood up, smoothing the saree pallu back over my shoulder, his fingers lingering on my skin for a second too long.

The paparazzi went absolutely wild. The sound of a thousand shutters clicking at once was like gunfire. They had just captured the "Ice King" serving his Queen.

I was **blushing so hard** I felt like I was glowing. I looked at him, my heart overflowing with so much love it felt like it would burst. As he stepped back into the shadows to let me finish, I couldn't help myself. I looked straight at him and **blew him a kiss**.

The media erupted in cheers.

I turned back to the reporters, composed myself, and **thanked them with folded hands**, a traditional *Namaste* that showed them I was still the same middle-class Ishita at heart.

"Thank you, everyone. Goodnight!" I said softly.

As I began stepping down the grand stairs in my **high heels**, Rudra was already there at the bottom, his hand extended. I placed my hand in his, feeling the familiar spark of electricity. He helped me down each step as if I were made of glass.

"That was quite a performance, **Miss Sharma**," he teased as we reached the car, his voice full of dark, flirtatious pride.

"You're the one who knelt in front of a thousand cameras, **Mr. Rathore**," I countered, leaning into him as Laksh opened the door. "You’ve officially broken the internet."

"I don't care about the internet," he murmured, pulling me into the backseat and immediately drawing the tinted curtains. "I only care that my Queen is safe. Now... about that kiss you blew me? I think I’d like to collect the real version now."

He didn't wait for an answer. His lips found mine in the dark of the car, and for the first time that night, the world truly disappeared.

Next day

I was sitting right where I belonged: on Rudra’s lap.

His massive mahogany desk was covered in legal documents, but I was much more interested in my phone. I leaned back against his **muscular** chest, my **long curly hair** spilling over his arm, and played a video at full volume.

The song *'Satranga'* blasted through the quiet, prestigious cabin just as the reel showed Rudra fixing my saree pallu.

"Look, **Ru**!" I giggled, tilting the phone screen so he could see. "They used a slow-motion filter on you. You look so dramatic. One comment says, *'If he doesn't kneel like Rudra Rathore, I don't want him.'*"

I felt his chest vibrate with a groan. His left arm was wrapped firmly around my **tiny waist**, holding me in place, while his right hand tried to move the computer mouse.

"**Ishi**, I am in the middle of a very important email to the London board," he muttered, his voice deep and gravelly right against my ear. "And that song is incredibly distracting."

"Is it the song?" I teased, turning around in his lap so I was facing him. I draped my arms around his neck, my **silver bangles** clinking softly. "Or is it me?"

I started tracing the sharp line of his jaw with my finger, then moved down to the top button of his shirt. I could see his pulse jumping in his neck.

"You know exactly what you're doing," he rasped, his **ocean blue eyes** darkening as they dropped to my lips. "You're being a very bad distraction, **Jaana**."

👑 Rudra's Perspective:

I had three spreadsheets open and a conference call in ten minutes, but my brain was currently at 0% capacity for business.

How was I supposed to focus on "Eternity Company's" quarterly growth when the woman I worshipped was squirming on my lap, smelling like jasmine and mischief?

"Ishi, sit still," I commanded, though my grip on her waist only tightened. I tried to type with one hand, but she reached out and pressed the 'backspace' key, deleting half my sentence.

"Oops," she whispered, a cheeky smile playing on her lips.

I stopped trying to work. I leaned back in my leather chair, pulling her flush against me. "You want my attention that badly? You want to see what happens when I stop being the President of this company and start being your **Maaal**?"

"Maybe," she challenged, her **brown eyes** dancing. She leaned in, her nose brushing mine, her breath hitching. "What are you going to do about it, **Mr. Rathore**?"

I didn't say a word. I reached over with my free hand and slammed the laptop shut.

The silence in the cabin was sudden and heavy. I spun the chair away from the desk so we were facing the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Delhi skyline.

"The board can wait," I growled, my hand sliding up to the back of her neck, my fingers tangling in her curls. "The world is already watching us on their phone screens, but right here? In this office? No one is watching but me."

I captured her lips in a kiss that was anything but 'soft' or 'sweet.' It was a possessive, hungry claim. I tasted her laughter and her surrender. My hands mapped her body, reminding her that while the world saw a Prince, she was the only one who owned the man.

"You're mine," I murmured against her lips, my voice thick with heat. "Viral videos or not, don't ever forget whose lap you're sitting on."

She **blushed harder** than she had at the gala, hiding her face in my neck, her small hands clutching my shoulders.

"I couldn't forget if I tried," she whispered.

I smirked, leaning back and resting my chin on her head. "Good. Now, stay right there. I have to finish this email, and if you move again... I’m locking the cabin door and we aren't leaving until tomorrow morning."