Ishita's Perspective

I smiled at Urmila Chachi, feeling a little flutter of excitement. "No, Chachi, please don't send them to the penthouse. Send them to my house. My younger sister has this whole elaborate plan for a 'grand entry' with the rings at the engagement. If Rudra has them, she’ll lose her mind."

Chachi let out a warm, tinkling laugh. "Ah, the sisters always have the best plans! Don't worry, beta, I'll have them delivered personally to your home."

Rudra sighed, a playful grumble in his chest, as he slid the platinum band off his finger. I did the same with the heavy blue diamond. Giving them back to Chachi felt like giving away a piece of my heart, but the tradition mattered to me.

As Chachi walked toward the vault, I felt the weight of the silence in the room. I reached for my phone, my thumb hovering over the screen. My smile didn't just fade; it dropped, crumbling slowly until my face felt heavy. I checked my notifications. Nothing. No missed calls, no messages, not even a "Seen" on the last text I’d sent months ago.

*Where are you, Shifa?*

"Ishi? **Chalein?**" (Shall we go?)

Rudra’s voice broke through my trance. I blinked, forcing a bright, brittle smile onto my face as I looked up at him. "Yes! **Yes, chalo.**"

We walked out of the showroom, but my mind was thousands of miles away in Dubai. I was lost in a memory of us—me and Shifa, my best friend, my soul sister. I could almost hear her laugh, the way we used to share a single plate of biryani and dream about our weddings. We were supposed to be each other's bridesmaids.

But a man—her ex, a person who never deserved her—had spun a web of lies. He had made her believe I had betrayed her, and in her heartbreak, she had chosen to believe the lies over our fifteen years of friendship. She had moved to Dubai after her marriage, cutting me out of her life like I was a stranger.

I missed her so much it felt like a physical ache in my chest, especially now, with my engagement just days away.

As we reached the Rolls Royce, Rudra stopped, his hand on the door handle. He didn't open it. Instead, he turned to me, his **ocean blue eyes** narrowing as he searched my face. He’s the "Ice King"; he notices the slightest change in temperature, and right now, I was freezing from the inside.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice low and concerned. "One minute you’re claiming my soul with a ring, and the next, you look like you’ve lost the world. Did Chachi say something? Or are you still worrying about the 'budget'?"

I looked at him, the man who would burn the world to see me smile, and for a second, I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell him that my heart was incomplete without Shifa there.

But I didn't want to ruin this moment. I didn't want to bring the ghost of a broken friendship into our happy day.

"It's nothing, Ru," I said, letting go of the memory with a forced exhale. I stepped closer, straightening his tie. "Just wedding jitters. The rings made it all feel very... real. Now, take me home? I think I need some of my Mom’s tea to settle my nerves."

Rudra didn't look convinced. He tracked the slight tremor in my fingers, his jaw tightening. He knew I was lying, but he also knew when to push and when to hold me. He grabbed my waist, pulling me into a firm, grounding hug right there on the sidewalk.

"Okay," he whispered into my hair. "But remember, Ishi... if someone is making you sad, whether they are in Delhi or across the ocean, they have to deal with me. And I don't play fair."

I shivered, knowing he meant every word.

👑 Rudra’s Perspective

I watched her walk toward her front door, the lavender hoodie swallowed by the shadows of her porch. Usually, she’d turn back and blow me a kiss or give me one last cheeky wave, but today, she just disappeared inside.

My hands tightened on the steering wheel of the Rolls as I pulled away. Something was wrong. The "Ice King" in me was screaming. That wasn't a "budget" worry or "wedding jitters." That was the look of a woman mourning someone who was still alive.

Was she scared? Did the kidnapping leave a deeper scar than I realized? Was she looking at that ring and seeing a golden cage instead of a promise? The thought made my blood run cold.

By the time I reached the glass towers of **Rathore Industries**, I wasn't in the mood for mergers. I walked straight past my secretary into my private office and dialed a number I knew by heart.

"Veer," I barked the moment the line picked up.

"Rudra? Everything okay? You sound like you're about to declare war," Veer’s voice came through, calm and steady. Veer was one of the few people who didn't flinch at my tone. He was my childhood friend, and more importantly, he was married to **Aditi**—Ishita’s other best friend since they were kids.

"I need to talk to Aditi," I said, pacing the length of my office, my **6'3" frame** casting a long, restless shadow against the city skyline. "Now, Veer. It’s about Ishi."

"Hold on, let me put her on speaker. We're just having lunch."

A moment later, Aditi’s voice filled the room. "Rudra? Is Ishita okay? Did something happen with the dress?"

"She’s fine physically," I said, my voice dropping into a low, protective growl. "But we were at the jewelry store, and she just... checked out. She was staring at her phone like she was waiting for a ghost to message her. Her smile didn't just fade; it died. Aditi, be honest with me. Is she second-guessing this marriage? Is it the kidnapping?"

There was a long pause on the other end. I heard Aditi sigh.

"It’s not you, Rudra," Aditi said softly. "And it’s not the kidnapping. It’s September. It’s the month Shifa got married and moved to Dubai."

I froze. **Shifa.** I’d heard the name in passing—the "traitor" best friend.

"She misses her, doesn't she?" I asked, my jaw clenching.

"More than she’ll ever admit," Aditi explained. "They were inseparable. But that misunderstanding with Shifa’s ex... it destroyed everything. Shifa blocked her on everything. Ishita has been sending her updates about the engagement, hoping for a single 'congratulations' or even a 'seen' receipt. But she gets nothing. It breaks her heart every time she realizes her soul sister won't be there to see her wear your ring."

I stood silent, looking out at the horizon. My **ocean blue eyes** turned dark and calculative. I hated that another woman had the power to make my Ishi feel small. I hated that she was hurting for someone who didn't have the grace to see the truth.

"Where in Dubai?" I asked, my voice dangerously calm.

"Rudra, what are you planning?" Veer’s voice came back, laced with a warning. "You can't force a friendship to fix itself with money or power."

"I don't plan on buying the friendship, Veer," I said, a cold, predatory smirk touching my lips as I looked at my platinum ring. "I plan on bringing the truth to Dubai’s doorstep. If Ishi wants her 'sister' at the engagement, she’ll have her. One way or another."

I hung up and pressed the intercom. "Laksh! Get the private jet ready. And find me the current address of one Shifa Malik in Dubai. I want her husband’s business portfolio on my desk in twenty minutes."

If a man's lies tore them apart, the Prince of Rajasthan was about to tear those lies to shreds.

I sat in the plush leather seat of my private jet, the engines humming as we climbed through the clouds, leaving the twinkling lights of Delhi behind. My laptop was open, but I wasn't looking at spreadsheets. I was looking at the folder Laksh had compiled on Shifa Malik and her husband.

Earlier, I had called **Ishi**. My heart felt like it was being squeezed when I heard her voice—still soft, but with that lingering shadow of sadness I had detected at the jewelry store.

*"I have to make a quick trip to Dubai, Jaana,"* I had lied, my voice smooth and professional. *"Some urgent 'Eternity' business with a diamond supplier. I’ll be back before you even miss me."*

She hadn't questioned me. She never did. She trusted me blindly, which only made me feel more like a predator for hiding the truth. *"Okay, Ru. Stay safe. Come back soon,"* she had whispered.

I closed my laptop and stared out into the blackness of the night.

"You're doing a lot for a friendship that isn't yours, sir," **Laksh** remarked, sitting across from me.

"I’m not doing it for the friendship," I replied, my **ocean blue eyes** turning as cold as the high-altitude air outside. "I’m doing it because my woman is mourning a living person while she should be celebrating her life with me. If this Shifa is the key to Ishita’s smile, then I will bring that key back to Delhi, even if I have to drag it.

The report showed that Shifa’s husband, a mid-level businessman in Dubai, was currently looking for investors for a new luxury development. He was desperate. And I? I am the man who could make his entire career with a single signature—or end it with a phone call.

But that was for the husband. For Shifa, I had something better: the recorded confession of her ex-boyfriend, the one Veer had helped me track down through his old contacts. The man had admitted to framing Ishita to save his own skin.

"Land the plane," I commanded as the pilot announced our descent into the desert city. "And have the car ready. I want to be at their villa before they finish dinner."

I wasn't going to her house as a friend. I was going as **Rudra Singh Rathore**, the man who was about to show Shifa Malik that she had thrown away the most loyal heart in the world for a lie—and that she had exactly twenty-four hours to make it right before I made her life very complicated.

I stepped out of the black SUV, the humid Dubai heat hitting my face, but my expression remained frozen in a mask of pure ice. The villa was expensive, but in my eyes, it was a cage built on a foundation of lies. I walked up the marble steps, my **6'3" frame** casting a shadow that seemed to darken the entire entryway.

I pressed the bell. Once. Sharp.

The door swung open, and a woman stood there. She was beautiful, but her eyes were tired—haunted by a bitterness that didn't belong on a face so young. She looked at me, blinking at the sight of a man who looked like he owned the skyline behind him.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice wary.

"Shifa Malik?" I asked, my **ocean blue eyes** pinning her to the spot.

"Yes. Who are you?"

"I am the man who is going to marry the girl you abandoned," I said, my voice a low, dangerous vibration. "I am **Rudra Singh Rathore**, Ishita Sharma’s fiancé."

The moment I said her name, Shifa’s face turned into a stone wall. The softness disappeared, replaced by a cold, jagged edge. "Then we have nothing to talk about. I don't have a relationship with her anymore. You can leave now."

She started to swing the door shut, but I didn't move. I didn't even use my hand. I simply placed the toe of my polished leather boot in the doorframe, stopping it with effortless strength.

"I didn't travel three thousand miles to be dismissed by a girl who doesn't know the difference between a lie and a sister," I hissed, leaning into her space until she was forced to take a step back.

"Get out before I call my husband," she threatened, her voice trembling—not with anger, but with the fear that I was about to break the fragile reality she had built.

"Call him," I challenged, a dark, predatory smirk touching my lips. "Call Zaid. Ask him how the meeting went with his potential investors this morning. Then tell him that the man who just pulled the funding from his entire project is standing at his front door because his wife is too stubborn to look at the truth."

Her eyes went wide, her hand flying to her mouth. "You... you're that Rathore? Why would you do this? Just for her?"

"Not just for her," I corrected, stepping into the foyer without an invitation, my presence filling the room with a suffocating power. "For me. Because I don't like seeing my woman cry over a ghost. And you, Shifa, are the ghost that’s haunting my penthouse."

I pulled a sleek, silver tablet from my inner pocket and tossed it onto the glass console table.

"Before you say another word," I commanded, "watch that video. It’s a confession from your ex. It’s the truth about the night you think Ishita betrayed you. Watch it, and then decide if you want to spend the rest of your life being wrong, or if you want to be on a plane to Delhi by tomorrow morning."

I crossed my **muscular** arms over my chest, looking down at her like a judge. "The clock is ticking, Shifa. Your husband’s career and your only friendship are both on the line. Which one do you want to save first?"

I walked past her into the living room, my presence like a dark cloud in the middle of her pristine, white-marbled house. I sat on the center of her velvet couch, sprawling my **6'3" muscular frame** across it, and gestured to the chair opposite me.

"Sit," I commanded. My **ocean blue eyes** were devoid of any warmth. "I’m a very busy man, Shifa. I don’t like repeating myself. Tell me exactly what happened between you and Ishita. From the beginning."

She stood there, trembling, her hands balled into fists. "I told you, it's none of your—"

I didn't let her finish. I picked up a crystal vase from the side table—a piece that probably cost more than most people's cars—and dropped it. It shattered into a thousand jagged shards on the marble floor. I didn't even blink.

"The next thing to break will be your husband’s bank account," I said, my voice dangerously soft. "Talk."

Pale and shaking, she finally sat. The story poured out of her like a poisoned river. She told me about being 19, about her boyfriend, and how Ishita had constantly warned her that he was a predator.

"She was just jealous," Shifa spat, though there was a hint of doubt in her voice. "She wasn't into guys then, and she hated that I wasn't giving her all my time. Then... I told her that he and I... we had spent a night together." She looked away, her face flushing with embarrassment. "She got so angry. She called it wrong. A week later, he dumped me. And then, my elder sister found out about the relationship. My family was shamed. They forced me to marry Zaid and move here."

She looked at me, her eyes filling with tears of rage. "Ishita told my sister. She destroyed my freedom because she couldn't handle me having a life outside of her!"

I sat in silence for a long beat, the air in the room turning frigid. Then, I let out a dry, chilling laugh that made her flinch.

"You really are a fool, aren't you?" I leaned forward, my shadow looming over her. "You think you knew Ishita? You think the girl who grew up in a middle-class home with those 'soft' parents—the girl who literally cries when she sees a hurt bird—would rat you out to your family?"

"She was the only one who knew!" Shifa screamed.

"No," I hissed, standing up and towering over her. "There was one other person who knew. Your 'boyfriend.' The man who used you. The man who tried to extort Ishita for money, threatening to leak the video he secretly recorded of you that night."

Shifa froze. "Video?"

"Yes," I growled, pulling out the tablet and hitting play. "He didn't leave you because of Ishita. He left because Ishita threatened to go to the police if he didn't delete that footage and stay away from you. She fought him alone, Shifa. She took his threats, his insults, and his stalking for *months* just to protect your reputation."

I stepped closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. "And your sister? She didn't find out from Ishita. She found your boyfriend's hidden phone. Ishita never said a word. She took the blame. She let you hate her. She let you walk away and block her life out just so you wouldn't have to know that the man you 'loved' was a monster."

Just then, the front door slammed open. A man in an expensive suit—Zaid—walked in, looking panicked. "Shifa! What’s going on? My investors just pulled out—"

He stopped dead when he saw me. His eyes went wide with terror. "R-Rathore? What are you doing in my house?"

I didn't even look at him. I kept my eyes on Shifa, who was now staring at the tablet screen, watching her ex-boyfriend laugh as he admitted to a hidden camera how he had fooled "that stupid girl Shifa" and tried to blame it all on Ishita.

"I’m here to collect a debt," I told Zaid, my voice cold as ice. "Your wife owes my fiancée an apology that has been three years in the making."

I looked back at Shifa, who had collapsed onto the floor, sobbing into her hands as the weight of her mistake finally crushed her.

"The jet leaves at dawn," I said, adjusting my cuffs. "You can either be on it to stand by her side at the engagement, or you can stay here in your palace of lies. But if you choose to stay, Zaid... I hope you like the taste of bankruptcy. Because by tomorrow afternoon, you won't own the shoes on your feet."

Zaid didn’t know when to stay quiet. Instead of reading the room—instead of seeing his wife shattered on the floor—he stepped forward, trying to puff out his chest to match my **6'3" frame**.

"Now hold on a minute, Rathore!" Zaid shouted, his voice cracking with a mix of fear and misplaced ego. "I don’t care how much money you have. You can't just barge into my home, break my things, and threaten my wife! Shifa has been through enough because of that girl. Get out before I call the authorities!"

The air in the room didn't just turn cold; it turned lethal. I slowly turned my head, my **ocean blue eyes** locking onto him with a predatory stillness that usually made seasoned CEOs tremble.

"Authorities?" I repeated, a dark, humorless smirk spreading across my face. I took a single step toward him, and he instinctively stumbled back, hitting the wall. "You want to talk about the law, Zaid? Let’s talk about the 'law' of my world."

Before he could blink, I reached out and grabbed him by the collar of his expensive silk shirt, bunching the fabric in my fist and slamming him against the wall. The impact made the paintings rattle. I leaned in, my face inches from his.

"You are a small man in a very big desert," I hissed, my voice vibrating with a **ruthless** power. "You think you’re protecting her? You’ve spent three years living with a woman who was mourning a sisterhood you weren't man enough to help her fix. You watched her wither away in this house, and you did *nothing*."

"I... I provide for her!" Zaid gasped, clawing at my **muscular** arm, which felt like a bar of iron.

"You provide her with walls!" I roared, my voice echoing through the villa. "I am the Top 5 businessman in the world because I destroy anyone who touches what is mine. Ishita Sharma is mine. Her peace is mine. Her smile is mine. And your wife’s silence has been stealing that smile for three years."

I tightened my grip, lifting him slightly off his feet. "By the time I get back to the airport, I can have every asset you own frozen. I can make sure no bank in the Middle East or Asia touches you. You’ll be a beggar by sunrise. Is that the 'protection' you want to offer your wife?"

Zaid’s face went pale. The bravado vanished, replaced by pure, unadulterated terror. He looked at Shifa, who was still sobbing on the floor, and then back at me. He realized then that I wasn't just a businessman—I was a force of nature he had no hope of stopping.

"I... I'm sorry," he stammered, his legs shaking. "Please... don't."

I let go of him abruptly, and he slumped to the floor like a discarded rag. I didn't even give him a second glance. I pulled a clean handkerchief from my pocket and wiped my hand as if I had touched something filthy.

"The jet leaves at 5:00 AM," I said, looking down at Shifa. She looked up at me, her eyes red and swollen, her whole body trembling with the weight of the truth. "If you're not at the terminal, don't bother ever saying her name again. I’ll make sure she forgets you existed."

I turned on my heel and walked out of the villa, the desert wind whipping at my hair. I pulled out my phone and dialed Laksh.

"Get the guest suite at the penthouse ready," I commanded. "And tell the caterers to add one more plate to the engagement dinner. We’re bringing a ghost back to life."

I looked up at the Dubai stars, my heart finally settling. I had lied to my **baby doll** about why I was here, but for the first time in days, I knew that when I put that blue diamond on her finger, her heart would finally be whole.

💖 Ishita’s Perspective:

I stood in front of the ornate full-length mirror in the bridal suite, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. It was October, the air outside was finally crisp, but inside this room, everything felt like a fever dream.

I was draped in the gown **Reet** had designed—the heavy, burnt orange silk with the 24-karat gold zardosi that Rudra had insisted on. My **brown skin** looked radiant, highlighted by the soft glow of the chandeliers. My **long curly hair** was half-tied, cascading down my back like a dark waterfall, and around my ankles, I felt the familiar, comforting weight of the **silver anklets** (payal) he had used to propose to me.

"You look like a literal doll, Ishu," **Riva Bhabhi** whispered, adjusting the fall of my dupatta. She looked beautiful herself, but her focus was entirely on me.

On the velvet ottoman sat my 10-month-old nephew, **Purav**. His big, innocent eyes were fixed on me, his tiny mouth slightly open as he watched the light catch the gold on my dress. He reached out a chubby hand, gurgling as if he recognized that his 'Bua' was transforming into a queen today.

I smiled, but as I looked at the **mehndi** on my palms—intricate patterns where 'Rudra' was hidden in a dozen places—a sharp pang of loneliness hit me. The henna was dark, a sign of deep love, yet my heart felt a hollow space.

*I wish you were here, Shifa,* I thought, my throat tightening. *I’m about to start my life, and the one person who knew all my childhood secrets is a world away, hating me.*

I had sent her a photo of the invitation last week. No reply. Not even a 'Seen' blue tick. I wiped a stray tear before it could ruin my makeup. I couldn't be sad today. Rudra had been so busy this past week, flying to Dubai and back, working late nights. He was doing everything for our future. I had to be strong for him.

👑 Rudra’s Perspective:

The heavy doors of the venue swung open, and I stepped into the ballroom, the sound of the shehnai and the chatter of Delhi’s elite fading into the background as I scanned the room.

I was a vision in grey 3 piece suit that accentuated my **6'3" muscular frame**. My **fair skin** looked sharp against the dark fabric, Beside me stood **Krishiv**, looking like the Dark Lord himself in a black bandhgala, with **Chavvi** glowing in a regal saree on his arm.

"You look like you're about to lead an army, not an engagement," Krishiv muttered with a smirk.

"In a way, I am," I replied, my **ocean blue eyes** cold and focused. I glanced toward the hidden door near the stage where my security was stationed.

I had been playing a dangerous game for the last week. I had brought **Shifa and Zaid** to Delhi under total secrecy. I had kept them in a private wing of my guest house, ensuring Ishita didn't suspect a thing. I had seen Shifa’s transformation over the last few days—the way she had wept when she saw the evidence of Ishita’s sacrifice, the way she had practically begged me to let her see her best friend.

But I told her she had to wait. Today wasn't just about a ring; it was about giving Ishita back the piece of her soul she thought was lost forever.

"Is everything ready?" I asked **Veer**, who had just joined us.

"They're in the holding room downstairs," Veer whispered. "Aditi is with them. Shifa is a nervous wreck, Rudra. She’s terrified Ishita won't forgive her."

"She will," I said, my voice certain. "Because Ishita has a heart that doesn't know how to hold onto hate. But Shifa needs to earn it."

I looked up at the grand staircase. She wasn't down yet. My heart did that strange, violent thud it only did for her. I could feel her presence above me—my **brown beauty**, my dreamer.

"Rathore!" my father called out, gesturing toward the stage. "The guests are waiting. It’s time for the ring ceremony."

I nodded, stepping toward the stage, but my mind was already imagining the look on Ishita's face. Most men give their fiancées diamonds. I was giving her a miracle.

"Let’s start," I murmured, my hand subconsciously touching the velvet box in my pocket. "But first... bring my Queen down."

Her look

His look

Venue