Rudra's Perspective

The pasta was long gone, the plates were messy, and the kitchen was a disaster zone of flour and spilled wine, but I didn't care. For the first time in my life, the "Ice King" felt like he was burning with a different kind of fire.

The speakers in the penthouse were softly playing the melody I’d been humming, and as I started clearing the counter, I looked at **Ishi**. She was glowing, her **long curly hair** a bit wild, her eyes sparkling with a mischief that made me want to give her the world on a silver platter.

I didn't let her pick up a single plate. Instead, I grabbed her **tiny waist** and pulled her into the center of the kitchen.

"**Ru**, the dishes!" she laughed, but I just tightened my grip.

"They aren't going anywhere, **Jaana**. But I am," I rasped, my voice dropping into that deep baritone. I started to sway, leading her into a slow, rhythmic dance amidst the mess.

I leaned into her ear, my voice low and **shameless**, starting the lyrics as I spun her around:

**[Dil leke dard-e-dil de gaye... Tum jaan jaan keh ke... Meri jaan le gaye...]**

I felt her breath hitch against my chest. I let out a soft laugh, my **ocean blue eyes** locked onto hers.

**[Pa pa sa re ni sa... Pa pa sa re ni sa... Heyyyy hey...]**

I pulled her flush against my **muscular** frame, my hands mapping the curve of her back. "You did, didn't you? You took my identity, Ishita Sharma."

**[Humse humari pehchaan le gaye... Hmmm humse humari pehchaan le gaye... Tum jaan jaan keh ke meri jaan le gaye]**

She looked up at me, her **brown eyes** swimming with a mix of love and playful defiance. She took the lead, her voice sweet and melodic as she sang back:

**[Humne to socha na tha... Tum yun karib aaoge... Jaane yun anjaane mein... Tum mere ban jaoge]**

I grinned, lifting her slightly so her feet barely touched the floor. I felt like a teenager, not a billionaire.

**[Tu ne cheede taar dil ke... Aa chale hum saath mil ke... Aa chale hum saath mil ke mere sanam]**

She rested her head on my shoulder for a second, her **silver bangles** jingling against my neck, before pulling back to finish the verse with a gorgeous smile:

**[Tum dil se khaawbon ka... Jaahan le gaye ho o ho... Humse humari pehchaan le gaye... Tum jaan jaan keh ke... Meri jaan le gaye]**

The music swelled—**[Pa pa sa re ni sa... Pa pa sa re ni sa]**—and I spun her out, then snapped her back into my arms so hard she gasped. I pinned her gently against the refrigerator, my hands framing her face.

I wasn't acting anymore. Every word I sang next was the absolute, terrifying truth of how I felt about the girl in front of me.

**[Teri mohabbat mein hum... Had se guzarne lage... Khud ko to roka bahut hmmm... Per tujhpe marne lag gaye]**

I saw her eyes soften, her hand coming up to touch my jaw, her thumb tracing my lower lip. Her voice was a mere whisper, yet it felt louder than the music.

**[Aa tujhe mein dil mein rakh lu... Dhadkano mein qaid kar lu... Dhadkano mein qaid kar lu... Mere sanam]**

"Qaid kar lo (Prison me), **Ishi**," I groaned against her forehead. "I'm already your prisoner anyway."

She smiled, leaning in to brush her lips against mine as we finished the song together, our voices blending in the quiet, flour-dusted kitchen.

**[Tum dil ke saare armaan le gaye... Tum dil ke saare armaan le gaye... Tum jaan jaan keh ke... Meri jaan le gaye...]**

I took over the final lines, my gaze turning dark and possessive as I leaned down to claim her properly.

**[Dil leke dard-e-dil de gaye... Tum jaan jaan keh ke... Meri jaan le gaye]**

The music faded into the background—**[Pa pa sa re ni sa... Pa pa sa re ni sa...]**—but I didn't let her go. I stood there in the middle of my messy kitchen, holding the only woman who had ever seen the man behind the Prince.

"You really did take my life, didn't you?" I whispered, my nose brushing hers. "And the worst part is... I don't ever want it back."

I didn't give her a choice. With one swift movement, I hooked my arm under her knees and lifted her off the flour-dusted floor.

"Rudra! The mess! The dishes!" she squealed, her small hands clutching my shoulders for balance.

"The dishes aren't going anywhere, but I’ve had enough of this kitchen," I growled playfully, my **ocean blue eyes** dark with a heat that usually made boardrooms tremble. I carried her through the penthouse, my boots thudding against the marble until we reached the master suite.

I set her down on the edge of the massive, silk-sheeted bed, but I didn't step back. I leaned over her, my **6'3" frame** casting a shadow, trapping her between my arms. The air in the room was thick, charged with the song we had just danced to.

"Now," I murmured, my voice a low, dangerous vibration. "Where were we before we were interrupted by pasta?"

Ishi looked up at me, her **long curly hair** fanned out against the pillows. For a second, I thought I had won. But then, a slow, wicked smirk spread across her face. She placed her palms against my **muscular chest**, not to pull me closer, but to hold me at a very specific distance.

"We were at the part where you remember the rules, **Mr. Rathore**," she whispered, her **brown eyes** dancing with pure, unadulterated mischief.

I narrowed my eyes. "Rules?"

"No sleeping together. Not until the *Pandit-ji* says so on December 20," she reminded me, her voice as sweet as honey and as sharp as a blade. She poked my chest with one finger. "You might be the King of the business world, but in this bedroom, I’m the one holding the contract. And I haven't signed the 'Overnight Stay' clause yet."

I let out a frustrated groan, leaning my forehead against hers. "Ishi, I just spent thirty days in London sleeping in a bed that felt like ice because you weren't in it. You’re really going to make me go to the guest room tonight?"

"Aww, is the big, bad Prince pouting?" she teased, her hands sliding up to my neck, playing with the hair at my nape just enough to drive me insane. She leaned in, her lips almost brushing mine, making my heart hammer against my ribs. "You can stay... for five minutes. To say goodnight. Like a gentleman."

"I’m not feeling very 'gentlemanly' right now, **Jaana**," I rasped, my hand sliding to her **tiny waist**, pulling her an inch closer.

"Too bad," she giggled, suddenly ducking under my arm and scrambling to the other side of the bed. She grabbed a decorative pillow and held it up like a shield. "Back off, Baazigar! Go take a cold shower. It’ll help with the 'Ice King' persona you’re losing."

I stood there, my shirt unbuttoned, my sleeves rolled up, looking like a man who had been through a war and won, only to be defeated by a 5'3" girl with a pillow.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" I asked, a reluctant smile breaking through my frustration. "Teasing me until I lose my mind."

"It's my favorite hobby," she chirped, blowing me a **shameless kiss** from across the room. "Now, be a good boy and go to the guest wing. I need my beauty sleep for those exams you were so worried about."

I pointed a finger at her, my gaze possessive and intense. "December 20, Ishita. I’m marking every second. And when that day comes... there won't be enough pillows in Delhi to save you."

She laughed, a bright, beautiful sound that made the frustration worth it. "I’ll count on it, **Maaal**. Goodnight!"

I walked out of the room, shaking my head. I was the most powerful businessman in the country, yet I was currently being exiled from my own bedroom by a girl in a messy bun. And the worst part? I loved every second of it.

The penthouse was silent, save for the hum of the air conditioning and the rhythmic sound of my own breathing. I had been up since 5:00 AM. A month of restless nights in London had turned my body into a machine that didn't know how to shut down, but this morning felt different.

I finished a brutal hour in my private gym, my muscles aching in that satisfying way, and showered quickly. By 6:30 AM, I was in the kitchen.

I had given the entire staff the day off. I didn't want the clinking of silver or the quiet chatter of servants in the hallways. Today, I didn't want to be the "Prince" or the "Boss." Today, I was just a man who wanted to spoil his woman.

I had my Bluetooth headset on, my eyes scanning a contract on my tablet as I stood at the stove.

"Yes, Vikram," I said, my voice low and authoritative, even while I was expertly flipping a pancake. "Tell the Singapore team if they don't agree to the 12% margin by noon, the deal is off. I don't negotiate with people who waste my time. No, don't call me back. Just send the confirmation."

I tapped the headset to end the call and tossed the tablet onto the counter. I looked at the spread I had prepared: fresh blueberries, organic honey, fluffy pancakes, and a cup of perfectly brewed ginger tea—exactly how she liked it.

I checked my watch. 8:30 AM.

I knew my **baby doll**. She was a deep sleeper, especially after the emotional rollercoaster of yesterday. She’d probably stay buried under those silk sheets until noon if I didn’t intervene.

I picked up the tray, my **muscular** arms steady, and walked toward the master suite. I pushed the door open with my shoulder.

The room was bathed in the soft, golden light of the August sun filtering through the sheer curtains. **Ishi** was a mess of beauty in the middle of the massive bed. Her **long curly hair** was fanned out like a dark cloud over the white pillows, and she was hugging one of my spare pillows tightly—the same one she had used as a shield last night.

She looked so peaceful, so innocent, that for a moment, I just stood there watching her. This was the girl who had screamed at me, hit my chest, and then teased me into a frenzy, all within twelve hours.

I set the tray down on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. I leaned over, my shadow falling over her face.

"Ishi..." I whispered, my voice sounding like gravel. I reached out, my thumb tracing the soft line of her jaw. "Wake up, **Jaana**. Your personal servant is here with breakfast."

She didn't move. She just let out a tiny, adorable hum and buried her face deeper into my pillow, inhaling my scent even in her sleep.

I leaned down further, my lips brushing against her ear, my voice dropping to a **shameless** silkiness. "If you don't wake up in three seconds, I might have to forget about being a 'gentleman' and find a more... creative way to get your attention. And remember, the servants aren't here to save you today."

One...

Two...

I saw her eyelashes flutter, and a small, sleepy smile began to form on her lips.

💖 Ishita’s Perspective:

I was swimming in a dream filled with the scent of sandalwood and the sound of a deep, rumbling voice. It was so warm, so cozy, that I didn't want to open my eyes. I felt a soft pressure on my jaw and a warm breath tickling my ear.

*"If you don't wake up in three seconds, I might have to find a more... creative way to get your attention..."*

The voice was like dark chocolate—smooth and intoxicating. I knew that voice. My brain slowly registered the words. *Creative way? Personal servant?*

I peeked through one eye, my vision blurry. **Rudra** was hovering over me, his **ocean blue eyes** glowing with a mixture of tenderness and that dangerous, **shameless** mischief I’d seen last night. He was dressed in a simple black t-shirt that stretched over his **muscular** chest, and he smelled like fresh soap and expensive coffee.

"Three," he whispered, his lips literally grazing my earlobe.

Instead of jumping up, the sleep-deprived, hormonal version of me decided to be bold. I let out a tiny moan, and before he could react, I reached up, wrapped my arms around his thick neck, and **pulled him down** with all my strength.

"Oomph—"

He wasn't expecting it. He lost his balance, his large frame crashing onto the mattress beside me. I didn't let go. I scrambled over, tucking my head into the crook of his neck and draping my leg over his hip, effectively pinning the "Top 5 Businessman in the World" to the bed.

"Five more minutes, **Ru**," I mumbled against his skin, breathing in his scent. "Your 'baby doll' is still tired."

👑 Rudra’s Perspective:

I was supposed to be the one in control. I was supposed to be the one teasing *her*. But as Ishita pulled me into the tangle of silk sheets, my brain completely short-circuited.

Her **long curly hair** was everywhere—across my face, tickling my nose, smelling like the jasmine shampoo I loved. Her small, soft body was pressed flush against mine, and the way she had her leg hooked over me... let's just say my "cold shower" from earlier was officially a waste of time.

"Ishi..." I rasped, my voice sounding more like a growl than I intended. My hands instinctively found her **tiny waist**, holding her close. "I have a tray of hot pancakes and tea sitting right there. And I have a billion-dollar merger confirmation waiting on my tablet."

"The pancakes can wait," she whispered, her voice thick with sleep. She nuzzled my neck, her lips accidentally—or maybe purposely—brushing against my pulse point. "And your merger can go to hell. You said you were my servant today."

I let out a low, breathy chuckle, my grip on her waist tightening. I shifted slightly, rolling onto my side so I could look at her. Her eyes were still half-closed, her brown skin glowing in the morning light. She looked so edible, so perfect.

"You’re playing with fire, **Jaana**," I murmured, my hand sliding up to cup her face. I leaned in, my nose brushing hers. "You remember your 'no chance' rule from last night? Because right now, you’re making it very, *very* hard for me to be a gentleman."

I started kissing her face—her forehead, her closed eyelids, the tip of her nose—while whispering **shameless** things into the quiet room.

"If I stay in this bed for five more minutes, we aren't leaving this penthouse for the rest of the week. I’ll cancel the wedding and just keep you here. Is that what you want? To be a prisoner in the Ice King’s castle?"

She giggled, finally opening her **brown eyes** fully. She looked at me with so much love it made my chest ache. "Maybe. Would you feed me pancakes every morning?"

"I’d feed you the moon if you asked for it," I said, my voice dropping to a serious, possessive register. I leaned down and captured her lips in a soft, lingering morning kiss that tasted like the promise of forever.

I pulled back just an inch, smirking. "Now, get up. Before I decide that breakfast is actually... *you*."

💖 Ishita’s Perspective:

I was melting. I was literally a puddle of happiness in his arms, soaking in the warmth of his chest and the protective way he held me. But as his face drifted closer, his **ocean blue eyes** darkening with that intense, romantic look, reality hit me.

I realized I had "morning breath."

As his lips were just a millimeter away from mine, I suddenly panicked. I jerked my head back, pressing my palms against his jaw to keep him at a distance.

"Eww! **Ru**, no!" I squeaked, my eyes wide.

He froze, his expression a mix of confusion and wounded pride. "What? Did I lose my 'Maaal' status that quickly?"

"Don't kiss me!" I hid my face in my hands, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. "I didn't brush my teeth yet! Please... I probably smell like sleep and last night’s garlic pasta. It’s gross. Stay away!"

Rudra let out a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a laugh. He grabbed my wrists, gently pulling my hands away from my face so he could look at me.

"Ishita Sharma," he said, his voice dropping into that **shameless**, velvety tone. "I have stayed in the middle of jungles for business deals. I have dealt with the grittiest parts of the world. Do you really think a little 'morning breath' is going to scare me away from my fiancé?"

"Yes! It should!" I protested, trying to squirm away, but he pinned me down with his weight, his smirk growing wider. "It’s not romantic, Rudra! This isn't a Wattpad story where the heroine wakes up smelling like strawberries!"

"To me, you smell like everything I’ve ever wanted," he whispered, being intentionally difficult. He leaned in, sniffing my neck playfully, making me shiver and giggle at the same time. "Hmm... definitely a hint of garlic. My favorite."

"You are disgusting!" I laughed, hitting his shoulder. "Let me go brush, and then we can do the whole 'romantic billionaire' thing, okay?"

"No," he said, his voice full of mock authority. He reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a strawberry from the breakfast tray, holding it to my lips. "Eat this. It’ll neutralize the 'eww' factor. Then I’m getting my kiss."

I bit into the strawberry, the sweetness bursting in my mouth, while he watched me with a gaze so hungry it had nothing to do with food.

"Better?" I mumbled, chewing quickly.

"Much better," he murmured. He didn't wait for another excuse. He claimed my lips in a soft, sweet kiss that tasted like strawberries and pure devotion.

👑 Rudra’s Perspective:

After I finally let her out of bed to "fix her face" (even though she looked perfect to me), we settled down on the silk duvet with the breakfast tray between us. I had my tablet out, but for once, it wasn't displaying stock market graphs.

I swiped through a gallery of high-definition images.

"Look at this, **Jaana**," I said, leaning back against the headboard and pulling her into the crook of my arm. I pointed to a sketch of a grand, open-air mandap draped in white orchids and gold silk. "The decorators sent this over this morning. It’s for the palace in Jaipur. Do you like the floral arrangement, or is it too much?"

Ishi took a sip of her ginger tea, leaning her head on my **muscular** shoulder. She scrolled through the designs, her **brown eyes** lighting up. "It’s beautiful, Ru... but it looks like a set for a movie. Are we sure we want something this big? My family’s side is so small..."

I kissed the top of her head, my grip on her **tiny waist** tightening. "I don't care about the size of the crowd. I care about the scale of the memory. You’re becoming a Rathore, Ishi. The world needs to know that when I claim something, I do it with everything I have."

"You and your 'claiming,'" she teased, popping a piece of pancake into her mouth. "What about the guest list? I saw your assistant's draft. Why are there three former Prime Ministers on there? I won't even know what to say to them!"

"You won't have to say anything," I smirked, scrolling to the next page which showed jewelry designs for the *Sangeet*. "They’ll be too busy being blinded by your diamonds to notice if you’re nervous. Now, pick a necklace. I want the emeralds to match your eyes when you’re angry at me."

She laughed, the sound echoing through the quiet penthouse, making my heart feel fuller than any bank account ever could.

💖 Ishita’s Perspective:

The humidity of the August night hung heavy over the film set. I was exhausted; my feet were throbbing from standing in five-inch heels for a twelve-hour modeling shoot. All I wanted was to go back to the penthouse, crawl into **Rudra's** arms, and forget that the rest of the world existed.

As I walked toward the parking lot, the clicks of my heels echoed against the asphalt. About ten feet behind me, I could hear the steady, heavy footsteps of the security team Rudra had assigned to me. He was extra paranoid after the London trip, insisting that I never move an inch without his hand-picked guards.

"Almost there, Ma'am. The car is just around the corner," one of the guards, Vikram, called out softly.

I offered a tired smile, clutching my designer bag closer to my **tiny waist**. The parking lot was dimly lit, the yellow streetlamps flickering as a hot breeze blew through the trees. I reached into my bag to grab my phone—I wanted to text my **Maaal** that I was finally on my way home.

Suddenly, the air felt different. It was too quiet.

The heavy footsteps behind me seemed to double. Before I could even turn my head to look, a hand—gloved and smelling of chemicals—clamped firmly over my mouth.

"Mmph!"

My heart lunged into my throat. I tried to scream, to call for Vikram, but the grip was like iron. My **brown eyes** widened in pure terror. In the peripheral of my vision, I saw a flash of silver—a needle.

A sharp, stinging pain erupted in the side of my neck.

"Sleep, Princess," a cold, unfamiliar voice hissed in my ear.

The world began to spin instantly. My knees turned to water. The phone slipped from my numb fingers, clattering onto the pavement. I tried to fight, to claw at the arm holding me, but my strength was being sucked out of my body by a dark, heavy tide.

*Rudra...* His name was the last thing that flickered in my mind. I thought of his **ocean blue eyes**, his protective growl, and the way he had promised me just yesterday that he would never let me go.

My vision blurred into black. My head fell back, and as my consciousness slipped away, the last thing I felt was the rough fabric of a jacket as I was hauled into the shadows.

👑 Rudra’s Perspective:

I was sitting in my study, the amber liquid in my scotch glass glowing under the lamp. I kept glancing at the clock. 11:45 PM. **Ishi** should have messaged me by now. She knew I didn't sleep until I knew she was safe within the penthouse walls.

I picked up my phone to call her, but before I could dial, it vibrated with an incoming alert from her GPS tracker.

**[SIGNAL LOST: LAST KNOWN LOCATION - SECTOR 5 STUDIOS]**

My heart stopped for a split second. Then, it began to thrum with a violent, primal rhythm. I dropped the glass; it shattered against the marble floor, but I didn't care.

"Laksh!" I roared, my voice echoing through the mansion like a thunderclap.

I didn't wait for him. I grabbed my car keys and my Glock from the desk drawer, my **ocean blue eyes** turning into shards of ice. The "Ice King" was gone; in his place was a monster whose only reason for living had just been snatched away.

My phone rang. It was Vikram, the lead guard. His voice was shaking—something a Rathore guard should never do.

"Sir... Sir, we were ambushed. They used smoke... she's gone. They took her."

I didn't scream. I didn't yell. A terrifying, deathly calm settled over me—the kind of calm that precedes a massacre.

"Vikram," I said, my voice a low, lethal whisper that sounded like it came from the depths of hell. "If a single hair on her head is harmed, I will make sure you and everyone involved begs for the mercy of death. Get the jet ready. Trace every CCTV in a five-mile radius. Now."

I walked out of the house, the August rain starting to pour, drenching my shirt. Whoever took her didn't realize they hadn't just kidnapped a girl. They had declared war on a man who had nothing left to lose but her.

"I’m coming for you, **Jaana**," I hissed into the dark night. "And God help anyone who stands in my way."