Ishita's Perspective:

"Liar! You are a cold-hearted, arrogant liar, Rudra Singh Rathore!"

My voice bounced off the walls of my small apartment, sharp and jagged. I didn't care if the neighbors heard. I didn't care about royal decorum. I grabbed a cushion from the sofa and hurled it at his **6'3" muscular frame**. It thudded harmlessly against his chest, falling to the floor like my pride.

"Thirty days! I lived like a ghost for thirty days because I thought you were in some high-security danger! And you walk in here like you just went to the grocery store?" I was screaming now, my throat raw, my **long curly hair** sticking to my face because of the heat and the tears I refused to let fall.

Rudra didn't move. He stood there like a statue carved from midnight stone. His **ocean blue eyes** weren't icy anymore—they were burning with a dark, suppressed fire. His knuckles were white as he clenched his fists at his sides. I could see the muscle in his jaw jumping rhythmically.

He was holding back. I knew that look. That was the look he gave people before he destroyed their entire careers.

"Say something!" I provoked, stepping right into his chest, poking a finger into his hard pectoral muscle. "Yell at me! Tell me I'm being 'irrational' or 'childish'! Use that cold, ruthless voice of yours that everyone is so afraid of! Why are you so quiet?"

"**Ishi**, stop," he said, his voice a low, vibrating warning. It wasn't loud, but it carried the weight of a mountain.

"I won't stop! I hate you right now! I hate that I love someone who treats my heart like a business transaction! Go back to London! Go live with your 'network issues'!"

I saw his eyes flicker—a flash of pure, unadulterated rage. For a split second, I thought he was going to roar back, to be the "Beast" the world knew him to be. I took a step back, my breath hitching. I knew that if he raised his voice even an octave, I would shatter. The dam would break, and I’d be a sobbing mess at his feet.

And he knew it too.

Rudra closed his eyes tight, taking a deep, ragged breath. He looked like a man trying to hold back a hurricane with his bare hands. He didn't yell. He didn't snap. Instead, he turned on his heel without a single word.

"Where are you going? Rudra!"

He didn't look back. He marched out of the apartment, the door swinging wide. I stood there, trembling, my chest heaving, expecting to hear his car roar away. But instead, the hallway remained silent.

I crept toward the open door, my heart hammering against my ribs. I saw him standing in the corridor, leaning his forehead against the cool concrete wall, his back to me. His shoulders were shaking with the effort of his breathing.

I heard him muttering, a low, gravelly sound that broke my heart into a million pieces.

"Calm down, Rudra..." he was whispering to himself, his voice sounding broken and strained. "She’s your **baby doll**. She’s your **Jaan**. You cannot take this anger out on her. You can't hurt her, you monster. Just breathe. She’s just hurt... she’s your angel..."

He slammed his fist once, softly, against the wall. "Don't scare her, Rudra. Don't let her cry. You can't bear her tears. Just... be the man she needs, not the man you are."

I leaned against the doorframe, the anger suddenly draining out of me, replaced by a suffocating wave of guilt and love. He was fighting his own nature—his own ruthless, dark temper—just to protect me from himself. Even in his fury, his priority wasn't winning the fight; it was making sure I didn't cry.

I watched his broad back, seeing the way he was literally struggling to remain the "calm" version of himself for me. My **silver bangles** chimed as my hand went to my mouth to stifle a sob.

He thought he was the monster, but in that moment, seeing him talk to himself just to keep me safe from his shadow... I realized he was the only man who could ever truly own me.

"Ru..." I whispered, my voice no longer screaming, but small and trembling.

👑 Rudra’s Perspective:

I walked out of that studio because I felt the beast in me clawing at the surface. My blood was boiling, my vision was blurring with a dark, possessive rage, and the only thing that kept me from roaring back at her was the thought of her tears.

I’m a **ruthless** businessman. I’ve broken empires without blinking. But if a single tear falls from **Ishi’s** eyes because of me? I become a ghost.

I spent the rest of the night in my SUV, parked just two blocks away from her building. I didn't go to the mansion. I couldn't. I just sat there in the dark, my knuckles bruised from where I’d punched the steering wheel, staring at her window until her lights went out.

"Control yourself, Rudra," I rasped to my reflection in the rearview mirror. "She’s your life. You can’t let your darkness touch her."

The next morning, I was at the office by 7:00 AM. I had a back-to-back schedule—mergers, acquisitions, board meetings. I looked like the **Ice King** again, dressed in a sharp, three-piece charcoal suit, my **ocean blue eyes** cold and unreadable. But inside? I was hollow. Every time my phone didn't buzz with a text from her, a piece of me withered.

I was in a high-stakes meeting with the Japanese delegates, but I wasn't hearing a word. I was just staring at the door of the conference room, wishing—hoping—that my **Jaana** would walk through it.

💖 Ishita’s Perspective:

I didn't sleep. Not for a minute.

Every time I closed my eyes, I heard Rudra’s voice in the hallway—the way he was whispering to himself, calling me his **baby doll**, struggling to stay calm just so he wouldn't scare me.

I felt like the world’s worst person. He had been working for a month, probably exhausted and stressed, and I had welcomed him home with screams and flying cushions. I was so caught up in my own hurt that I didn't see the exhaustion in his eyes.

By 10:00 AM, I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't care about my exams or my pride. I grabbed my bag and drove straight to **Eternity Company**.

"Ma'am, you can't go in! Sir is in a very important meeting!" the receptionist called out, but I ignored her. Everyone in the building knew who I was. I was the girl who had changed their boss. I was the girl who could walk into the lion’s den without being eaten.

I stood outside the heavy mahogany doors of the boardroom. Laksh saw me and immediately stood up, his eyes widening. He went to speak, but I held up a hand, my eyes fixed on the door. My heart was thumping so hard I thought it would beat out of my chest.

Ten minutes later, the doors opened.

The Japanese delegates walked out first, looking impressed. And then, there he was. **Rudra**.

He looked devastating. His suit was perfect, his hair was slicked back, but his face... it was a mask of pure, cold stone. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week. The moment his gaze landed on me, he froze. His **ocean blue eyes** searched mine, full of a guarded, desperate hope.

I didn't say a word. I walked straight up to him, my vision blurring with fresh tears.

**SLAP!**

I hit his **muscular chest** with my palm, the sound echoing in the silent corridor. The delegates stopped. Laksh went still. But Rudra didn't move an inch. He just stood there, letting me hit him.

"I hate you!" I sobbed, hitting him again, and again, my small hands feeling like nothing against his hard frame. "I hate you so much, Rudra Singh Rathore! Why do you always do this? Why do you always make me feel like I’m the crazy one?"

I was crying openly now, my **long curly hair** messy, my face red. I kept hitting his chest, my strength failing as the guilt overwhelmed me.

"Why did you walk out? Why didn't you just yell at me? Why do you have to be so perfect and protect me even when I’m being a monster?"

Suddenly, his large, warm hands caught my wrists. He didn't pull away. He stepped into my space, his **6'3" frame** towering over me, and before I could say another word, he pulled me into his arms.

He tucked my head under his chin, his arms wrapping around my **tiny waist** so tightly I could barely breathe. I felt his heart—it was racing just as fast as mine.

"Shh... **Jaana**, shh," he murmured into my hair, his voice raw and broken. "Don't cry. Please, don't cry. I’m right here. Your **Maaal** is right here."

"I was so mean to you," I choked out against his expensive shirt, my tears soaking the fabric. "And you were just trying to be calm... I'm so sorry, Ru."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he rasped, his hand cupping the back of my head, holding me like I was the most precious thing in the world. He ignored the staff, the delegates, and the flashing cameras of the security team. "I’d let you hit me every day if it meant you’d stay in my arms. Just don't say you hate me, Ishi. That’s the only thing I can’t handle."

I pulled back just enough to look at him, my **brown eyes** swimming with love. "I don't hate you. I love you so much it scares me."

👑 Rudra's Perspective

I watched her—my small, fierce, beautiful **Ishi**—collapsing against my chest, her sobs echoing through the corridor of my own empire. Each one of those tears felt like a jagged blade twisting in my heart. I didn't care that my top executives were staring. I didn't care that the Japanese delegates were whispering about the "Ice King" melting in the middle of a hallway.

I only cared about the girl in my arms who was breaking apart because of my mistakes.

I swept her up into my arms, her **long curly hair** cascading over my arm like a silk waterfall. I didn't say a word to anyone as I kicked open the doors to my private cabin and locked them behind us. The silence of the room was immediate, heavy with the scent of her jasmine perfume and the salt of her tears.

I sat down on the large leather sofa, keeping her tucked firmly on my lap. She was still trembling, her small hands clutching the lapels of my tuxedo like she was afraid I’d disappear again.

"Look at me, **Jaana**," I whispered, my voice thick and raw.

I used my thumb to tilt her chin up. Her **brown eyes** were red and swollen, and seeing her like this made the guilt in my gut grow ten times heavier. I leaned down, pressing my forehead against hers, breathing in the scent of her that I’d starved for during that month in London.

"I am so sorry," I murmured, my voice a soft, low vibration against her skin. "I was a fool, Ishi. I thought I was protecting you by keeping the 'business' and 'security' separate from our world. I thought if I didn't tell you about the risks, you’d stay safe. But I ended up hurting the only person I’ve ever sworn to protect."

I trailed my lips across her damp cheeks, kissing away every single tear with a tenderness I didn't know I possessed.

I rasped, my hand sliding into her hair, cupping the back of her head. "I spent thirty days in that cold city, and every night, I’d look at your photo just to remember what it felt like to be human. You are my home, **Ishi**. And I forgot to check in at my own home."

She let out a small, shaky breath, her fingers tracing the button of my shirt—the same button she was playing with before the fight.

"And last night..." I continued, my **ocean blue eyes** searching hers with desperate sincerity. "I walked out because I was terrified of my own darkness. I was so angry, not at you, but at the situation, and I knew if I stayed, I might raise my voice. I can't bear the thought of scaring you, **baby doll**. I’d rather walk through fire than see you flinch because of me."

I captured her hand, pressing a deep, lingering kiss into the center of her palm.

"Forgive your **Maaal**, please? I promise, from now on, even if the world is ending and there’s no network in the entire universe, I will find a way to reach you. I’ll fly a jet, I’ll sail a ship, or I’ll walk a thousand miles just to tell you I’m okay. Because I’m not okay if you’re not."

I saw a small, wobbly smile finally break through her sadness, and the weight on my chest lifted just a fraction. I pulled her closer, burying my face in the crook of her neck, my arms wrapping around her **tiny waist** like a shield.

"I love you so much it's a sickness, Ishi," I whispered against her skin. "Don't ever doubt that you are the most important part of my life. More than the Rathore name, more than this company, more than my own breath."

I pulled back just an inch, my gaze dropping to her lips, my possessiveness flaring up again as the apology turned into a soft, romantic heat.

"Now... stop crying," I commanded softly, my thumb tracing her lower lip. "Because if you cry one more tear, I’m going to cancel every meeting for the next month and keep you locked in this cabin until you’re smiling again. And you know I’m crazy enough to do it."

I pulled her even closer, if that was even possible, burying my face in the crook of her neck. The scent of her—that sweet mix of vanilla and jasmine—was the only thing that could ground me after the chaos of the last month.

I felt her small hands stop trembling, her fingers now tracing the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine that had nothing to do with the office air conditioning and everything to do with her touch.

"I mean it, **Ishi**," I whispered, my voice sounding thick even to my own ears. "The world thinks I’m the 'Ice King.' They think I don't have a heart. But the truth is, my heart isn't even in my chest anymore. It’s in your hands. And when I saw you crying out there... I felt like I was dying."

I pulled back just enough to look at her. I reached out, my large, calloused thumb gently wiping away the last stray tear from her cheek. I hated that I was the cause of that tear. I hated that my silence had made her doubt her place in my life.

"I was so focused on being 'The Great Rudra Rathore' in London, closing deals and crushing rivals, that I forgot the only thing that actually matters," I murmured, my **ocean blue eyes** locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. "I’ve spent 29 years of my life alone, believing that love was a weakness. But you... you made it my greatest strength. And I promise you, I will spend the rest of my life making up for this month."

I took her hand, the one wearing the **silver bangles** that chimed softly with every movement, and I pressed my lips to her knuckles.

"You aren't just my fiancé, **Jaana**. You are my soul. From this moment on, there are no 'network issues' between us. If I can't call you, I’ll send a private messenger. If the phones are down, I’ll buy the satellite company. I will never, ever leave you in the dark again."

She sniffled, her **brown eyes** finally softening, a tiny, shy smile playing on her lips. "You’re such a dramatic billionaire, Ru."

I let out a low, genuine chuckle—a sound only she ever heard. I stood up suddenly, lifting her effortlessly in my arms. Her **long curly hair** spilled over my shoulder like a silk curtain.

"Rudra! What are you doing?" she gasped, her arms instinctively locking around my neck.

"I’m done for the day," I stated, my voice returning to that commanding, possessive tone she loved. "Laksh!" I barked toward the door.

The door opened instantly. Laksh didn't even look at us; he kept his eyes on the floor out of respect. "Yes, sir?"

"Cancel everything. The 2 PM, the 4 PM, and the dinner with the bankers. I’m taking **Ishita** home. And by home, I mean a place where no one can disturb us for the next 48 hours."

"Understood, sir. The car is downstairs."

I looked down at the girl in my arms. She was blushing, that beautiful pink hue spreading across her fair skin.

"Now," I whispered, leaning down so my lips were brushing her ear. "We’re going to go home. I’m going to cook for you—even if I burn the kitchen down—and I’m going to spend every second reminding you exactly who you belong to. Are you still angry with your **Maaal**?"

She hid her face in my chest, her voice muffled but sweet. "A little bit. You still have a lot of apologizing to do."

I smirked, my grip on her **tiny waist** tightening as I walked toward the elevator. "Challenge accepted, Princess. I have all night to make sure you forget why you were ever mad in the first place."

💖 Ishita's Perspective

The penthouse smelled like expensive sandalwood and silence, but the moment **Rudra** stepped inside with me, the whole vibe changed. This was his sanctuary—the only place where the "Ice King" truly let his guard down.

He led me to the massive Italian leather sofa and handed me the remote. "Sit. Watch whatever you want. I’m going to make dinner."

I blinked, looking from the remote to his towering **6'3" frame**. "You? Cooking? **Ru**,  Let me help you."

He paused, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Your choice, **Jaana**. But don't complain if it gets too hot in there."

We walked into the ultra-modern kitchen. I leaned against the marble island, watching him. Without a word, Rudra reached for his tie, loosening it with one hand before pulling it off completely. Then, his large hands moved to the buttons of his suit jacket.

He shrugged the heavy charcoal coat off his broad, **muscular shoulders** and tossed it onto a nearby chair. My breath hitched. Then, he started unbuttoning his silver cufflinks, slowly rolling his white shirt sleeves up to his elbows, revealing his tanned, powerful forearms—the kind with the veins that made my heart do a literal somersault.

"W-what... what are you doing?" I stuttered, my face turning a bright shade of tomato red. My mind was suddenly racing through every romantic scene I’d ever read. *Is he... is he starting the 'apology' already? Right here next to the induction stove?*

Rudra stopped, a silver cufflink still in his hand. He looked at me, his **ocean blue eyes** twinkling with a sudden, wicked amusement.

"**Khana kya coat suit pehen ke banaun, hmm?**" (Should I cook while wearing a suit, hmm?) he asked, his voice dripping with a dry, flirtatious humor.

I froze. My mouth formed a perfect **"O" shape**. I felt like the world's biggest idiot. *Of course* he was just taking his coat off to cook. Why was my brain wandering into the X-rated section of a library?

"Oh," I squeaked, quickly looking away and pretending to be very interested in a bowl of lemons on the counter. "Right. Obviously. The steam... and the oil... yeah. Makes sense."

I could hear the soft *thud* of his footsteps as he walked around the counter. He didn't stop until he was standing right behind me, his chest inches from my back. I could feel the heat radiating from him.

"**Ishi...**" he whispered, his voice vibrating right against my ear.

I didn't turn around. I couldn't. "Yes?"

"What exactly were you thinking I was doing?"

"Nothing! I wasn't thinking anything!" I said, a bit too loudly.

He leaned in closer, his hand coming to rest on the marble counter on either side of me, effectively trapping me against his chest. I could smell his cologne—dark, spicy, and completely intoxicating.

"Really?" he teased, his voice dropping to a low, **shameless** growl. "Because you looked disappointed for a second there. Were you expecting something else, **baby doll**? Did you think I was going to skip dinner and go straight to dessert?"

"Rudra! Stop it!" I hissed, finally turning around, only to realize that was a mistake because our noses were practically touching.

He didn't back away. He looked down at me, his gaze dropping to my lips and then back to my blushing face. "You have a very dirty mind for such a sweet girl, **Miss Sharma**. Maybe I should be the one worried about *my* safety tonight."

"You are literally the least 'in danger' person in India," I muttered, trying to push him away, but my hands just ended up resting on his firm, warm chest.

He let out a dark, velvety chuckle and finally stepped back, but not before giving my **tiny waist** a possessive squeeze. "Stay right there and look pretty. And try to keep your thoughts 'shuddh' (pure) for at least ten minutes while I chop these vegetables. Can you manage that, or do I need to get you a glass of cold water?"

I grabbed a kitchen towel and threw it at him. "Just cook, you arrogant Prince!"

He caught the towel mid-air, winked at me—*actually winked!*—and started humming a song while reaching for a knife. I stood there, my heart hammering, realizing that a "domestic" Rudra was ten times more dangerous than the "business" Rudra.

I hopped onto the marble counter, my legs swinging back and forth, watching him skillfully mince garlic. The guilt from our fight had fully evaporated, replaced by that familiar, sparky tension that only we had.

I leaned forward, a mischievous glint in my eyes. "Aur agar mere khayal 'shuddh' nahi rahe toh kya karoge, Mr. Rathore?" (And if my thoughts don't stay pure, what will you do?)

Rudra paused, the knife hovering over the cutting board. He didn't look up, but I saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

"Jabardasti karoge?" (Will you use force?) I teased, my voice dropping to a playful whisper. I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, feeling bold. "Par ek baat samajh lo... shaadi se pehle no chance, meri jaan!" (But understand one thing... no chance before marriage, my life!)

Rudra slowly set the knife down. He turned toward me, wiping his hands on a towel with a slow, deliberate grace that made my heart do a frantic dance. He stepped into the space between my knees, forcing me to look up at him.

"No chance, huh?" he repeated, his **ocean blue eyes** darkening with a **shameless** heat. He leaned in until his face was inches from mine, his hands resting on the counter on either side of my hips. "You think I need to use 'jabardasti' to make you lose your mind, Ishita?"

He leaned even closer, his nose brushing against mine. "I'm a businessman, remember? I know how to make a deal so sweet you won't be able to refuse. And trust me, I have a lot of patience for the things I want."

Then, to my absolute shock, he didn't kiss me. Instead, he started to hum. His voice was a deep, gravelly baritone that vibrated right through my bones.

*"Dil leke... darde dil de gaye..."* he sang softly, his voice full of a playful, flirtatious rasp.

I gasped, my eyes widening.

He didn't stop. He leaned in, whispering the next line against my lips, his breath smelling like mint. *"Tum jaan jaan kehke... meri jaan le gaye..."*

He finished the line and let out a low, dark chuckle, his gaze dropping to my mouth. "Don't look so shocked, **Jaana**. You’re the one who turned a cold-hearted Prince into a Bollywood hero. ,' it’s only because you already took mine the moment you stepped onto those temple stairs."

"You are so **shameless**!" I laughed, pushing against his shoulders, but my face was burning with a blush. "Where did you even learn that song? I thought you only listened to Italian opera and stock market news!"

"I have my ways," he murmured, his hand sliding up to my neck, his thumb tracing my jawline. "And don't worry about your 'no chance' rule. I'm a man of my word. But that doesn't mean I can't make the wait... *exorbitantly* difficult for you."

He leaned in and nipped the shell of my ear, making me let out a **soft moan** that I immediately tried to cover with a cough.

"Rudra! The pasta!" I squeaked, pointing toward the boiling pot.

He smirked, stepping back just an inch, looking completely pleased with himself. "The pasta can wait. But your face right now? That’s a view I’d pay billions for."

He turned back to the stove, still humming that song, leaving me breathless and dizzy on the counter. He was being so playful, so open—it was like he was making up for every second of silence from July in a single night.