Ishita's Perspective

The room was spinning, or maybe it was just the way Rudra was holding me. We were locked in a kiss that felt like a battle-a desperate, beautiful struggle for air and dominance. Every time I tried to catch my breath, he claimed it back, his tongue swirling against mine with a hunger that was terrifying and addictive.

I let out a broken **moan** that was swallowed by his mouth as his head dipped lower. He found that sweet, sensitive spot right below my ear and began to **suck on my neck** with a relentless intensity.

"Ru... ahh... Rudra," I gasped, my fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders. I could feel the sting and the heat-he was marking me, claiming me in a way that wouldn't fade by morning. He wanted the world to know I was his, even under the silk of my clothes.

His large, calloused hand slid up the hem of my charcoal dress, his palm searing against the skin of my leg. He **held my thigh tightly**, his grip so firm it was almost bruising, pinning me to him. I felt every inch of his **6'3" frame**-the hardness, the heat, the sheer power of a man who had finally snapped.

"You're mine," he growled against my skin, his voice vibrating deep in his chest. "Say it, Ishita. Tell me you aren't going anywhere."

"I'm... mmh... I'm yours," I whimpered, my head lolling back as he continued to mark my throat.

Just as the world was about to go completely dark, a sharp, piercing sound broke the silence.

*Ring. Ring. Ring.*

Rudra ignored it, his hand moving higher on my thigh. But the phone on the nightstand was persistent. It stopped for two seconds and then started again, the vibration rattling the wood.

"Ru... the phone," I breathed, trying to push against his chest, though my body wanted to do the opposite. "It might be important."

"Forget the phone," he rasped, his lips moving to the hollow of my collarbone.

It rang a third time. And a fourth. The caller ID was flashing brightly in the dim room. I glanced over his shoulder and saw the name: **MAA**.

"Rudra, it's your mother!" I said, my voice finally finding some strength. "Rudra, stop! It's Mom!"

Rudra stiffened. He buried his face in my neck for one long, frustrated second, his breath coming in ragged hitches. Finally, he pulled back just enough to look at the screen. When he saw the caller ID, his jaw clenched so hard I thought it might break.

"**Bhencho-!**" he hissed under his breath, a raw, **Hindi curse** slipping out in his pure frustration. He let out a sharp, jagged exhale and sat up on the edge of the bed, running his hands through his dark, messy hair. "**Abhi kyun? Maa ?**" )

"Rudra! Don't say that!" I whispered, sitting up and trying to fix my tangled hair and the strap of my dress. My heart was still hammering, and I could feel the pulse in the marks he'd just left on my neck.

"**Dimaag kharab kar diya,**" (She's ruined my mind/mood,) he muttered, grabbing the phone with a violent jerk. He looked at me, his eyes still dark and predatory, scanning my swollen lips and flushed skin. He looked like he wanted to throw the phone across the Alps.

He swiped to answer, his voice returning to that cold, "Ice King" tone, though it was still thick with suppressed desire.

"Haan, Maa? Everything alright?" he snapped into the phone.

I watched him, my heart slowly returning to a normal rhythm. He was standing by the window now, his back to me, the silhouette of his **muscular shoulders** looking tense against the moonlight. I could hear his mother's frantic voice on the other end, talking about wedding dates and "shubh mahurat."

He looked back at me over his shoulder, his gaze lingering on my messy state, and he mouthed one word: "**Sorry.**"

But the way he was looking at me told me this "interruption" only meant the fire was going to burn longer once he hung up.

Rudra stood there for a moment after ending the call, staring at the phone like he wanted to crush it in his bare hands. He let out one final, frustrated sigh before tossing the device onto the armchair. The "predator" hadn't fully left his eyes, but the "responsible Prince" had taken the driver's seat again.

He walked back to the bed where I was still sitting, looking like a complete wreck-my hair a bird's nest and my neck blooming with the dark marks he'd just gifted me. He sat down beside me, his weight sinking the mattress, and reached out to gently **adjust my dress**, pulling the strap back over my shoulder with a tenderness that made my heart ache.

He leaned in, giving me a soft, lingering **peck on the lips**-a stark contrast to the fire from moments ago.

"We need to sleep, Ishita," he murmured, his voice still a bit husky. "The pilots just confirmed the weather window. We need to leave for the airport early tomorrow morning to head home."

I pouted, leaning my head against his shoulder. "Already? I feel like we just got here."

"I know," he said, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. "But duty calls. And..." He paused, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips. "I forgot to tell you-**Diwali is the day after tomorrow.**"

My eyes widened. "**Kya?** (What?) Diwali? Already?" I sat up straight, the "Model" brain switching off and the "Indian Girl" brain switching on at full speed. "Rudra! I have nothing ready! I don't have a new outfit for the Puja, I haven't bought gifts for my cousins, and-oh my god-**I need to go shopping with Mummy!**"

Rudra let out a genuine laugh, the sound deep and rich in the quiet room. "I'm a billionaire, Ishi. I could have a designer boutique delivered to your doorstep by sunrise."

"No!" I said, poking his chest. "You don't understand. Shopping with Mummy in the Delhi markets for Diwali is a ritual! The lights, the crowd, the bargaining... you wouldn't get it, Mr. Private Jet."

He pulled me into his arms, tucking me under the duvet as he lay down beside me. He held me close, his **muscular frame** acting as my favorite pillow.

"I get that it makes you happy," he whispered, kissing my temple. "So, the moment we land in Delhi, I'll have the car drop you at your house. Spend the day with your mom. Buy the whole market for all I care. Just... make sure you're ready for the evening. The Rathore Diwali Puja is legendary, and this year, you're the guest of honor."

"I'll be there," I promised, snuggling into his chest. "But you have to promise me one thing."

"Anything."

"Don't be a 'Grumpy Tiger' if I'm late because of the traffic. Delhi traffic during Diwali is even more possessive than you are."

He chuckled, his grip tightening around my waist. "I make no promises about my temper, but for you... I'll try. Now sleep, Baby Doll. Tomorrow, we go back to reality."

I closed my eyes, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. Switzerland was a dream,

The chaos of Delhi during Diwali was a complete 180-degree turn from the silent, snowy peaks of Zermatt. The air was thick with the scent of marigolds, burning ghee, and the frantic energy of shoppers.

I was currently standing in the middle of a high-end boutique in South Extension, surrounded by mountains of silk and zardosi. **Mummy** was sitting on the velvet sofa, a tissue clutched in her hand, while **Riva Bhabhi**-looking elegant as ever-was helping me sort through a pile of heavy lehengas.

"Ishi, look at this emerald one! It would match Rudra's eyes perfectly," Riva Bhabhi teased, winking at me.

I laughed, but then I caught Mummy's reflection in the mirror. She wasn't looking at the clothes; she was looking at me with eyes that were brimming with tears.

"Mummy? Kya hua?" (What happened?) I asked, stepping off the pedestal and sitting at her feet.

"Nothing, beta," she sniffled, stroking my **long curly hair**. "It's just... this is your last Diwali in this house. Next year, you'll be the 'badi Bahu' of the Rathore family. You'll be lighting diyas in a palace, not in our small balcony."

The weight of her words hit me. My middle-class dreamer life was about to transform into a royal reality. I leaned my head on her lap, feeling like that little girl again, not the model who just conquered the Alps.

"I'll always be your Ishu, Mummy. Even if I'm wearing a crown, I'm coming back here for your handmade gujiya," I whispered.

"Achha, emotional drama band karo dono!" (Okay, stop the emotional drama, you two!) Riva Bhabhi intervened with a playful smile, though her eyes were soft. "We have three more shops to visit. And Ishita, why are you wearing that heavy silk scarf in this heat? You're sweating!"

I stiffened, instinctively clutching the scarf tighter around my neck. Underneath that fabric, the **dark marks** Rudra had left in the Swiss villa were still very much visible-a purple-red "confession" of how much he'd missed me.

"Oh, this? It's... uh... it's for the pollution! My skin is very sensitive after the cold weather," I lied through my teeth, my face turning a shade of red that outdid any lehenga in the room.

Riva Bhabhi arched an eyebrow, a knowing, **mischievous** smirk spreading across her face. , she knew exactly what those "pollution" scarves were for. "Sensitive skin, huh? Or is the 'Ice King' of Rajasthan actually a secret volcano?"

"Bhabhi!" I hissed, blushing furiously while Mummy looked on, confused.

"Chalo, chalo," Mummy said, standing up and wiping her eyes. "Let's find the most beautiful outfit for my daughter. I want Rudra to forget how to breathe when he sees her tomorrow night."

I smiled to myself, thinking of Rudra. He was probably stuck in a boring board meeting right now, but I knew his mind was exactly where mine was-counting down the hours until the Diwali lamps were lit and we were back in each other's arms.

The Rathore Mansion felt like a dream sequence from a Bollywood movie. Everywhere I looked, there was gold, marigolds, and the scent of expensive incense. I took a deep breath, smoothing down my peach Anarkali, and stepped forward to fulfill my duties as the future daughter-in-law of this royal house.

Her look

I walked toward **Maa and Papa** (my future in-laws). As I leaned down to touch their feet, Maa caught my shoulders before I could fully bend, pulling me into a warm, fragrant hug. "Sada suhagan raho, beti," she whispered, her voice full of genuine affection.

I then moved to **Chacha and Chachi**, and finally to **Bebe**, the matriarch of the family. Her eyes were sharp but kind as I touched her feet. She blessed me with a heavy gold coin and a pat on my cheek that felt like a seal of approval.

"Rudra has good taste," Bebe remarked loudly enough for the whole room to hear, making me blush.

"Bhabhi!" A voice chirped, and suddenly I was enveloped in a group hug. **Drishti and Reet**, my future devranis, were beaming at me.

"You look so pretty, Ishu Bhabhi!" Reet whispered, adjusting my dupatta. "But wait... why the dupatta? Is it a new Delhi trend?" She gave me a playful nudge, her eyes twinkling with mischief. She knew exactly what was under there.

"Reet, let her breathe!" **Ahana**, my future nanad (sister-in-law), laughed as she joined us. We stood there for a while, talking about the wedding prep and the Diwali plans. It felt so natural, like I had known them my whole life. The warmth of the Rathore women was slowly melting away my middle-class nervousness.

"Photos! We need photos for the 'Gram!" Drishti announced, pulling us all toward a grand floral backdrop.

We spent the next ten minutes posing and giggling. I was sandwiched between the girls, laughing at Reet's jokes, while the cameras flashed. For a moment, I forgot I was a model" and just felt like a girl celebrating with her sisters.

While we were busy, I glanced over at the sofa. **Bebe was deep in conversation with my Mummy**. They were sitting close, sharing a plate of dry fruits. I saw Mummy smile-a real, relieved smile-as Bebe held her hand. It warmed my heart to see them bonding. Bebe was probably telling Mummy how they would cherish me, and Mummy was likely telling her about my childhood tantrums.

Throughout all this, I could feel a heavy, burning gaze on me. I didn't even have to look to know where it was coming from. **Rudra** was standing near the grand staircase, a glass in his hand, ignoring everyone else. He was watching me interact with his family, his **ocean blue eyes** dark and unreadable.

Every time I laughed or tossed my hair, his grip on his glass tightened. He looked proud, yes, but also intensely **possessive**, as if he wanted to snatch me away from the girls and keep me all to himself in a corner.

I caught his eye for a split second and gave him a tiny, shy smile. He didn't smile back, but he tilted his head slightly, his gaze dropping to the scarf around my neck. The message was clear: *You can play with them now, but you're still mine.*

I could feel Rudra's gaze like a physical touch, tracking every move I made. The more I laughed with Reet and Drishti, the more the air in the room seemed to crackle with his silent impatience. He was done sharing me with the family.

I was in the middle of listening to Ahana talk about a designer lehenga when I felt a large, warm hand settle firmly on the small of my back. That familiar scent of sandalwood and expensive cologne washed over me, and I didn't even need to turn around to know the "Ice King" had arrived.

"If you're done with the photoshoot," Rudra's deep, gravelly voice cut through our conversation, "I need to show Ishita the arrangements for the terrace fireworks. Now."

"Oho, Rudra Bhaiya! Fireworks or a secret Diwali gift?" Reet teased, wiggling her eyebrows.

Rudra didn't even blink. He just tightened his grip on my waist, pulling me into his side. "Both. Excuse us."

He didn't wait for a reply. He led me away from the bright lights of the hall, through a side corridor, and up the grand marble staircase. His pace was hurried, his **6'3" frame** moving with a restless energy. The moment we stepped out onto the secluded terrace, away from the prying eyes of our families, he spun me around and pinned me against the stone railing.

The cool night air hit my face, but I was burning up from his proximity. The entire city of delhi was glowing below us, but Rudra wasn't looking at the view. His **ocean blue eyes** were fixed on me, dark and hungry.

"Finally," he breathed, his hands sliding up from my waist to cup my face. "**Tumhe andaza bhi hai main wahan khada kya soch raha tha?**" (Do you have any idea what I was standing there thinking?)

"What were you thinking, Ru?" I whispered, my breath hitching as he leaned in close.

"I was thinking about how much I hate that Anarkali because it covers too much," he growled, his thumb tracing my lower lip. "And I was thinking about how much I want to take you back to Switzerland right now so I don't have to wait for a 'shubh mahurat' to have you to myself."

"Rudra! My parents are downstairs!" I gasped, though my hands were already tangling in the fabric of his velvet bandhgala.

"They're busy with Bebe. We have five minutes," he muttered. He reached out and tugged gently at the dupatta around my neck, pulling it down just enough to see the fading marks he'd left. A **possessive** smirk touched his lips. "Still there. Good. A reminder of who you belong to."

He didn't give me a chance to argue. He claimed my lips in a kiss that was anything but 'Choti Diwali' sweet. It was raw, demanding, and full of the dark promise of our future together. Just as a stray firework exploded in the sky behind us, lighting up the night in gold and red, Rudra pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against mine.

"Happy Diwali, Ishita," he rasped, his eyes burning into mine. "This is the last year you go back to that house. Next year, you'll be lighting the diyas in my bedroom."

I felt my heart hammering against my ribs, the sound almost louder than the distant crackers popping in the city below. Rudra didn't move away; instead, he reached into the inner pocket of his velvet bandhgala and pulled out a small, heavy velvet box.

His look

"Ru, what is this?" I whispered, my voice trembling slightly.

He didn't answer. He flipped the lid open, and the moonlight caught the stones inside. I let out a soft gasp. It wasn't just a necklace; it was a masterpiece. A delicate yet intricate choker of **uncut diamonds (Polki)** and deep, **ocean-blue sapphires** that matched the exact shade of his eyes.

"This has been in the Rathore family for three generations," he said, his voice dropping to a low, serious tone. "Bebe gave it to me this morning. She said it's time it belonged to the woman who finally managed to tame the 'Ice King.'"

"It's too much, Rudra... it's beautiful," I breathed, reaching out to touch the cold, sparkling stones.

"Turn around," he commanded softly.

I obeyed, my back to his **muscular frame**. I held my hair up, exposing the back of my neck. I felt his large, warm fingers brush against my skin as slide the dupatta of I'd been using as a shield. He let the dupatta fall to the terrace floor, ignored it, and draped the heavy, cold weight of the diamonds around my neck.

His touch was slow and deliberate. As he fastened the clasp, his fingers lingered on the marks he had left in Switzerland. I felt a shiver run down my spine as he leaned down, his lips brushing against my shoulder.

"Now you're wearing my diamonds and my marks," he murmured darkly against my ear. "**Donon hi tum par bohot khoobsurat lag rahe hain.**" (Both look very beautiful on you.)

He turned me back around to face him. The sapphires glowed against my skin, but they were nothing compared to the intensity in his **ocean blue eyes**. He looked at me with such raw **possessiveness** that I felt like I was melting right there on the terrace.

"Happy Diwali, Ishita Sharma," he said, his hand sliding to the back of my neck, his thumb tilting my face up. "The next time you wear this, you'll be standing next to me as my wife."

"Happy Diwali, Ru," I whispered, standing on my tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his jaw.

For a moment, we just stood there-the middle-class dreamer and the cold-hearted Prince-wrapped in the silence of the night, while the sky above Jaipur erupted in a million colors.

I couldn't help but laugh at the sudden change in atmosphere. One second I was pinned against the railing by a possessive Prince, and the next, a pair of tiny hands were tugging at my Anarkali.

**Krish**, Dhristi and Akshat's little son, was standing there with a bundle of sparklers (*phuljhadis*) in his hand, his eyes wide with excitement. Behind him, the shadows of the other family members were visible-they had followed us up to the terrace to start the celebration.

"**Badi Mumma!** Let's go! I have the big sparklers and Papa said you're the best at lighting them!" Krish chirped, his innocent voice breaking the heavy, romantic tension Rudra had built.

My heart melted at the title "Badi Mumma." I looked at Rudra, whose jaw was still tight from our interrupted moment. He looked down at his nephew, his **ocean blue eyes** softening just a fraction, though he still looked like he wanted to scare the kid away for ruining his "private time."

"Yes, yes, let's go, Krish! I want to play too!" I said, giggling as I stepped out of Rudra's cage. The weight of the new diamond and sapphire necklace felt heavy and beautiful against my collarbone.

Krish then looked up at Rudra, holding out a single sparkler with a hopeful expression. "**Bade Papa... aap chaloge?**" (Bade Papa... will you come?)

Rudra froze. The "Ice King" who dictated billion-dollar deals was currently being defeated by a four-year-old. He looked at me, then at the sparkler, then back at Krish.

"**Bade Papa busy hain, Krish-**" (Bade Papa is busy, Krish-) I started to tease, but Rudra cut me off.

"I'm coming," Rudra grumbled, though I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. He reached down and ruffled Krish's hair before looking at me with a **shameless** smirk. "**But if I burn my hand, Ishita, you're the one who has to nurse me back to health. Understood?**"

"**Besharam!**" I whispered, blushing as we followed Krish toward the center of the terrace where the rest of the family had gathered.

The next hour was pure magic. The terrace was filled with the smell of gunpowder and the bright, crackling light of the sparklers. I was laughing, spinning around with Krish, while **Riva Bhabhi and Dhristi** cheered us on. Even **Bebe and Mummy** were standing by the door, watching us with smiles that said everything was exactly as it should be.

Rudra stayed close-always within arm's reach. He didn't play much, but he stood behind me, his **6'3" muscular frame** acting like a shield against the stray sparks. Every time the light of a sparkler flashed, it caught the sapphires on my neck, and I could feel Rudra's gaze following the glow.

At one point, as the loud crackers started in the distance, I felt his hand slip into mine, his fingers interlacing with mine.

"Happy?" he asked, his voice low enough to be drowned out by the noise for everyone else.

"Very happy, Ru," I said, leaning my head against his shoulder.

"Good," he whispered, squeezing my hand. "**Because this is just the beginning of the lights I'm going to bring into your life.**"

Time skip a week later

I stood in the center of Reet's private studio, the air smelling of expensive fabric and fresh jasmine. Slowly, I turned in front of the three-way mirror, and for the first time in my life, I didn't see the "model" or makeup artist I saw the woman who was about to become the heart of the Rathore dynasty.

My bridal lehenga was a masterpiece of deep, blood-red velvet and silk, so heavy with **golden embroidery** that it felt like I was wearing a suit of royal armor. But it wasn't just the gold that made it special-it was the secret woven into the thread.

"Reet... it's perfect," I whispered, my fingers trembling as I traced the intricate work on the border.

This wasn't just a dress; it was our **five-year love story** engraved in gold. My eyes filled with tears as I looked at the first panel near the hem. There it was-a tiny, stitched silhouette of the **Shiv-Parvati Mandir**. I could almost feel the cold stone of the stairs and the rush of wind as I slipped, only to be caught by the man with the **ocean blue eyes**. That first meeting on Shivratri, where a cold-hearted Prince saved a clumsy girl.

I moved my hand along the skirt, finding the next chapter. The **first bike ride** where I clung to his leather jacket for dear life. Our **first rain dance**, where the "Ice King" finally let his guard down. The panel showing the **Gurudwara**, where he had stood with such humility and confessed that he couldn't live without me.

But right next to it was the scene of my confession at the **Radha-Krishan Mandir**, where I finally let go of my fears and chose him.

And then, the part that still made my heart ache-the gap in the embroidery that represented our **three years of distance**. The silence caused by that blackmailer who tried to tear our destiny apart.

"He's going to lose his mind when he sees this, bahbhi ," Reet whispered, coming up behind me to adjust the heavy dupatta.

The dupatta was the final touch. Along the entire length of the **delicate lace**, worked into the golden floral patterns, was his name. *Rudra. Rudra. Rudra.* It was repeated a thousand times, a golden chant surrounding me.

"I want it to be a complete surprise," I said, looking at my reflection. "He thinks I'm wearing a standard designer piece. He has no idea that I'm literally wearing our lives on my wedding day."

I thought about our trip in Switzerland, the way his **muscular frame** had felt against mine, and the marks he had left on my neck that were only now starting to fade. He had given me diamonds and a new life, but I was giving him my soul, stitched into ten meters of red silk.

I could almost hear his voice in my head-that low, **possessive** rumble. I knew that when I walked down that aisle and he realized what the embroidery meant, those **ocean blue eyes** wouldn't just be cold or hungry. They would be full of the same tears I was holding back right now.

"Don't cry, Bhabhi! You'll ruin the glow!" Reet teased, handing me a tissue.

I laughed, taking a deep breath. "I'm not crying, Reet. I'm just... ready. I'm ready to finally be Mrs. Rudra Singh Rathore."

Next day

I am at his Maa jewelry studio

I sat at a velvet-covered table, mesmerized by the trays of gold and diamonds spread out before me. Rudra's mom had sent over the most stunning sets-heavy kundan necklaces and emerald-studded chokers-to match my deep red lehenga. I had sent her a long, heartfelt message of thanks, but there was one piece of jewelry that had to be purely *mine*.

Right now, I was huddled over a sketchpad with **Ahana**, Rudra's sister. We weren't looking at necklaces. We were designing my **Kaleeras**-the golden hangings that would dangle from my bangles.

"Bhabhi usually people just put flowers or little gold umbrellas," Ahana whispered, leaning in curiously. "But you look like you're planning a secret map!"

I laughed, my heart fluttering with excitement. "It's more than a map, Ahana. It's our timeline."

I took the pencil and started marking the tiny, delicate gold plates that would be hidden among the pearls. "Look, on this first charm, I want the date **20th February** engraved. That's the day the universe decided to throw me down those temple stairs just so he could catch me. Our first meet."

Ahana gasped, "That is so romantic! I didn't know you remembered the exact date!"

"How could I forget?" I murmured, a soft smile playing on my lips. I moved to the next charm. "And here, I want the date of his confession at the Gurudwara, and then my confession at the Radha-Krishan Mandir. I want our Roka date, our engagement, and finally... the date of our wedding."

I traced the space where the largest gold leaf would hang. "And on this one, I want our nicknames. Not 'Rudra' and 'Ishita.' I want **Ru** and **Jaana** engraved in a beautiful, swirling script."

Just saying his nickname out loud made me feel a shiver of longing. I could almost hear his **possessive** voice calling me *Jaana* in the dark of the Swiss night.

"You're making this so personal, Ishi," Ahana said, her eyes misting over. "My brother is a cold-hearted businessman to the rest of the world, but when he sees his name and these dates on your wrists... he's going to melt. He won't even be able to look away from you."

"That's the plan," I teased, though my hands were shaking slightly.

I imagined the moment I would walk toward him under the floral canopy. He would be standing there in his royal sherwani, looking like a Greek god, probably trying to keep that 'Ice King' poker face. But then he would hear the soft chime of my Kaleeras. He would see the gold charms dancing against my red sleeves. He would read the dates of our struggle, our distance, and our victory.

He would realize that I didn't just accept his diamond necklaces-I cherished every second of the five years it took for us to get here.

"Make sure the 'Ru' is written right next to 'Jaana,'" I told the craftsman, my voice firm and full of love. "They belong together. Just like we do."