Rudra’s Perspective

stood up from the Mandap, feeling the shift in the air. The fire was an ember, the vows were sealed, and for the first time in five years, the weight in my chest wasn't a burden—it was her.

We moved to the plush velvet couch nearby. I watched with a quiet, **possessive** intensity as her cousin sisters, Kriti and Saanvi, fussed over her. They were helping her slide those lethal heels back onto her feet. Ishita winced, her **brown eyes** catching mine for a split second, silently telling me that her feet were officially on strike.

Once the shoes were on, the trap was sprung.

Kriti and Saanvi stood in front of me, blocking my path with identical mischievous grins. "Alright, Jiju," Kriti began, crossing her arms. "The rituals are done, but the business isn't. Your shoes have been... 'relocated' to a secure, undisclosed location. If you want to walk out of here with your dignity—and your footwear—it's time to pay up."

Ishita let out a soft, musical laugh that vibrated through my soul. She looked at me, her **big traditional Nath** shimmering as she tilted her head. "Don't look at me, Rudra," she teased, holding up her **chooda-clad hands**. "I didn't say a word. I’m just a witness to this daylight robbery."

I leaned back against the couch, my **6'3" muscular frame** relaxed, though my **ocean blue eyes** were sharp. I wasn't annoyed; I was amused. These girls had no idea that negotiating with me was like trying to outswim a shark.

"A heist, is it?" I asked, my voice a low, **smooth rumble**. I adjusted the silk cuff of my sherwani. "Alright. State your price. What is the 'Ice King’s' freedom worth to you today?"

Saanvi stepped forward, emboldened. "We want five lakhs. Each. And a shopping trip to Dubai!"

Ishita’s eyes went wide. She smacked Saanvi’s arm playfully. "Oye! Are you crazy? Do you realize who you’re talking to? This man can buy the entire showroom, the mall, and the factory if he wants. Don't challenge him, or he’ll end up buying your loyalty instead of paying the ransom!"

I chuckled, a dark, **shameless** sound. I reached out and pulled Ishita closer to my side, my hand resting firmly on her waist.

"She’s right," I murmured, looking at the sisters. "I could buy the showroom. But I prefer a clean transaction."

I signaled to Akshat, who was standing nearby, already holding a stack of envelopes. I took two of them—heavy, thick, and smelling of the Rathore legacy.

"Inside these envelopes," I began, my voice dropping into my **'business mogul'** tone, "are keys to two brand-new luxury sedans parked outside. And because I like your spirit, there’s a credit card in each with a limit that would make your father faint. Consider it a 'signing bonus' for being the sisters of the woman who finally tamed me."

Kriti and Saanvi stared at the envelopes as if they were made of solid gold. Their jaws literally dropped.

"But," I added, my gaze turning **ruthless and intense**, "the deal expires in five seconds. If those shoes aren't on my feet by the time I count to three, I’m walking out of here barefoot, carrying my wife, and you get nothing but a 'thank you' note."

"One."

"Wait! Wait!" they screamed in unison, scrambling toward the hidden compartment under the stage.

Ishita was laughing so hard she had to lean her head against my shoulder. "You are impossible, Rudra Singh Rathore. You don't just pay a ransom; you perform a hostile takeover of the entire ritual."

"I told you, Jaana," I whispered, leaning down so my lips brushed the red silk of her veil. "I always get what I want. And right now, I want to get you into my car and away from this crowd. We have a long night ahead of us, and I’m done sharing you with the world."

The atmosphere near the Mandap was chaotic, a perfect blend of middle-class wedding madness and royal extravagance. Kriti (15) and Saanvi (10) were practically vibrating with excitement. They had already scored a Paris trip at the door, and now they were holding keys to luxury sedans and a Dubai shopping spree.

I watched the girls’ faces light up, a rare feeling of satisfaction settling in my chest. To me, this was just paper and metal; to them, it was the world. But more importantly, it was the price for my wife’s smile.

However, the "peaceful" transaction was short-lived.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" **Jay** stepped into the circle, followed by **Akshat** and **Vardaan**. "Hold your horses, little ladies. Five lakhs and a car? For a pair of leather shoes that Bhaiya probably has fifty pairs of in his closet?"

Jay leaned against the pillar, a mischievous glint in his eyes that I knew all too well. He was bored, and a bored Jay was a recipe for disaster.

"I think we need to renegotiate," Jay said, looking at the sisters. "As the groom’s official representatives, we feel this is an overpayment. We offer... two coupons for free pizza and a signed photo of me. Final offer."

"Jiju! Nooo!" Saanvi whined, her bottom lip trembling as she clutched her envelope. "Jiju, please! Don't listen to them! They’re just jealous because they didn't think of stealing the shoes first!"

Kriti looked at me with puppy-dog eyes. "Jiju, tell them! You already promised!"

I felt Ishita’s shoulders shaking with laughter against my arm. She was enjoying this far too much. I looked at Jay. My **ocean blue eyes** narrowed, and I let out a low, warning growl. The air around us chilled instantly—the "Ice King" didn't like his deals being messed with, especially not by his younger brother.

"Jay," I said, my voice **cold and flat**. "The deal is closed. If you utter one more word of 'bargaining,' I will make sure your next allowance is paid in pizza coupons. Move."

Jay’s smirk vanished, replaced by a nervous grin. He held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay! Relax, Maharaj! I was just testing their negotiation skills. The cars are yours, girls. Don't mind me."

💖 Ishita’s Perspective

I watched the exchange, my heart swelling. Rudra was so protective, even over a silly ritual. He looked absolutely lethal in his turban, his **muscular build** dominating the space, yet he was being so generous to my sisters.

"You really are a softie under all that ivory silk, aren't you?" I whispered, leaning my head closer to his.

"Don't tell anyone, Jaana," he murmured back, his grip on my waist tightening **possessively**. "It’ll ruin my reputation. I only have a heart for you; the rest of the world gets the businessman."

Kriti and Saanvi finally produced the shoes from behind a velvet cushion, looking like they had just won the lottery. As they helped Rudra slip them on, they kept whispering, *"Best Jiju ever!"*

"Alright, alright," I laughed, shaking my head. "Now that everyone is a millionaire, can we please get to the car? My feet have officially gone on a permanent strike."

Rudra stood up, pulling me with him. He didn't just walk beside me; he kept his arm draped around me, shielding me from the lingering guests and the flashing cameras. He looked at my sisters one last time.

"Keep the envelopes," he said firmly. "But the next time you steal my shoes, make sure there's a tracker in them. I don't like being held hostage for more than ten minutes."

"Yes, Jiju!" they chirped, already busy googling "Dubai luxury malls."

As we walked toward the exit, I felt the cool night air hit my face. The reality started to sink in. The rituals were done. The games were over. I was no longer just Ishita Sharma; I was Ishita Rudra Singh Rathore.

I looked at the black Rolls Royce waiting at the end of the red carpet. My parents were standing there, their faces pale in the moonlight. The laughter died down, and a lump formed in my throat.

The fun was over. It was time for the **Vidaai**.

The walk toward the exit felt like walking between two different lives. As I moved away from the Mandap, I took handfuls of puffed rice, throwing them over my head three times without looking back. Each handful was a silent *thank you* to the home that raised me, a symbolic payment of my debt to my parents, wishing that their house always remains overflowing with wealth and happiness now that their daughter was leaving.

But then, we reached the threshold of the venue. The black Rolls Royce was idling, its headlights cutting through the misty morning air. The realization hit me like a physical blow.

"Mumma and Mummy," I sobbed, throwing myself into her arms. The heavy **red lehenga** and the **Nath** didn't matter anymore. I was just a little girl again. She held me tight, her tears wetting my shoulder. "Be a good daughter, Ishu. Take care of that house like it’s your own," she whispered through her hiccups.

I moved from one embrace to another—my Chacha, Chachi, and my sisters who were just laughing minutes ago but were now a mess of mascara-streaked tears. Then I reached **Riva Bhabhi**. She held my face, her eyes red. "I'll take care of Mumma and Papa, don't worry," she promised. I felt a small tug at my skirt and looked down.

My little nephew, **Purav**, was looking up at me with wide, confused eyes. He’s barely a year old, and his vocabulary is limited, but as he reached out his tiny hands to touch my sparkly kaleeras, he let out a soft, "Bua?"

That broke me. I knelt down, ignoring the protest of my sore feet, and kissed his chubby cheeks. "Bua loves you so much, baby," I choked out.

Then I turned to my brothers. **Ravi Bhai** had been acting so tough all week, claiming he wouldn't shed a single tear. But as I hugged him, I felt his chest heaving. He didn't say a word; he just patted my head with a trembling hand, his silence speaking volumes.

Next was **Vaibhav**. My annoying, sweet younger cousin. Even now, with tears streaming down his face, he tried to crack a joke. "Finally... the room is all mine. No more... messy makeup kits," he sobbed-laughed. I let out a watery giggle and gave him a playful slap on the arm before pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.

Finally, I stood before **Papa**.

I didn't wait. I buried my face in his chest, my hands gripping the fabric of his kurta as if I could anchor myself to my childhood forever. I felt his arms wrap around me, his heartbeat steady and familiar—the first sound I ever felt safe with. I could feel Rudra standing just inches away, his presence a silent, powerful shadow. I reached out blindly with one hand, and Rudra immediately caught it, his large hand anchoring me to my future while I clung to my past.

"Bitto... no, beta," Papa whispered, his voice thick and breaking. He pulled back just enough to look me in my **brown eyes**. "You are strong. My daughter is a Queen. You don't cry when you're going to claim your throne."

I nodded, unable to speak, my breath coming in ragged hitches.

"Rudra," Papa said, his voice gaining a sudden, sharp clarity as he looked at the man standing beside me.

I felt Rudra step closer, his **6'3" muscular frame** shielding me from the cold wind. He didn't say anything, but the way he tightened his grip on my hand, his **ocean blue eyes** softening as he looked at my father, was all the answer Papa needed.

"She’s my life, Sir," Rudra said, his voice a low, solemn vow that vibrated through my very soul. "I told you—the world has to go through me before it touches her."

Papa looked at our joined hands—my hennaed fingers intertwined with Rudra’s fair, powerful ones. He took a deep breath and placed his hand over ours for one last second.

"Go then," Papa whispered, his eyes closing as he let go. "Go start your destiny."

👑 Rudra’s Perspective

I watched as she took the final steps toward the car, her **slim build** looking so fragile under the weight of that heavy red lehenga. Every sob that racked her body felt like a serrated blade against my own chest. I didn't say a word; I didn't need to. I simply placed my hand on the small of her back, guiding her into the plush leather interior of the Rolls Royce.

I climbed in beside her, the door closing with a soft, expensive thud that effectively shut out the rest of the world.

Through the tinted glass, she pressed her hand against the window, her **brown eyes** blurred with tears as she waved to her family. I sat there in silence, my **6'3" frame** taking up most of the seat, watching her profile. The way her **Nath** trembled, the way her **heavy, gold-engraved kaleere** clinked against the glass—it was a symphony of heartbreak and transition.

In the front seat, **Laksh**, my most trusted assistant and head of security, sat like a stone statue. He didn't look back; he knew the protocol. He was already monitoring the feed from the other cars. My elders—Maa and Bebe—were already at the mansion preparing for the welcome. Directly behind us, I could see the headlights of the car carrying **Akshat, Vardaan, and their wives, Drishti and Reet**, followed by **Jay and Ahana**.

The "Rathore Wolf Pack" was moving in formation, protecting the new Queen.

As the car began to pull away, Ishita’s hand dropped from the window. She didn't turn to me; she just stared ahead, her breath hitching in the quiet cabin. The heavy **kaleere** on her wrists—the ones with our nicknames and dates—seemed to weigh her down. They were so big and intricate that they clattered against her lap with every slight movement of the car.

I reached out, my large, fair hand covering both of hers, stilling the jingle of the gold. I pulled her toward me, ignoring the layers of stiff silk and embroidery.

"Look at me, Ishita," I commanded softly.

She turned, her face a mask of beautiful, tragic sorrow, a stray tear catching on the edge of her lip.

"The world just ended for you, didn't it?" I murmured, my **ocean blue eyes** searching hers. I didn't wait for an answer. I shifted, pulling her **slim frame** onto my lap. It was a struggle with the massive volume of her lehenga, but I didn't care. I wanted her close. I wanted her to feel the heartbeat that now belonged to her.

"Cry," I whispered, my voice a low, **possessive** rumble against her hair. "Get it all out now. Because once we pass through those palace gates, I’m never giving you a reason to shed another tear again. You’re a Rathore now. My Rathore."

She buried her face in the crook of my neck, her heavy jewelry cold against my skin, and finally let out the sob she’d been holding back. I wrapped my arms around her, my **muscular build** acting as a fortress.

I looked out the window as the city lights blurred past. I was a man of business, a man of logic. But as I felt her tears soaking into my ivory sherwani, I realized I’d give up every skyscraper and every billion-dollar deal just to keep her this safe forever.

"Laksh," I said, my voice **cold and sharp**, "tell the lead car to slow down. I don't care if we’re late for the *Griha Pravesh*. She needs a moment."

"Yes, Sir," Laksh replied instantly.

I leaned back, resting my chin on her head, my hand stroking the silk of her sleeve. The **kaleere** tangled in my fingers, gold clashing against gold.

*You’re home now, Ishita,* I thought. *Even if you don't know it yet.*

💖 Ishita’s Perspective

The car hummed a low, expensive tune as we glided away from the only world I had ever known. I felt like a bird being moved to a new cage—a golden, royal cage, but a cage nonetheless. I kept my face buried in the crook of Rudra's neck, the expensive scent of his cologne mixing with the smell of my own henna and the fading scent of the Mandap fire.

I cried quietly, my tears soaking into the heavy silk of his ivory sherwani. I felt his large, warm hand stroking my back, moving over the intricate embroidery of my blouse with a gentleness that didn't match his **6'3" muscular frame**.

"Shh, Jaana," he whispered, his voice a deep, velvet vibration against my temple. "I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere."

He leaned down and pressed a long, lingering kiss to my forehead, right on the edge of my **sindoor**. I felt the tension in my shoulders begin to melt. He didn't tell me to stop; he just let me be, acting as my silent anchor in the middle of this emotional storm.

After a few minutes, he pulled back just enough to look at me, his **ocean blue eyes** searching my face in the dim light of the car's interior.

"You know," he murmured, his thumb catching a stray tear on my cheek. "I’ve seen a lot of things in my life, Ishita. I’ve seen markets crash, I’ve seen empires rise, and I’ve seen women cry. But I’ve never seen a makeup artist as talented as you."

I sniffled, looking at him with blurry **brown eyes**. "What?"

"Look at yourself in the mirror," he teased, a **shameless, playful glint** returning to his eyes. "You’ve been sobbing for twenty minutes, and your makeup hasn't moved an inch. Your 'beginning model' skills are clearly superior. Not a single smudge. Is this that 'waterproof' magic you used to talk about in London?"

I let out a shaky, watery laugh, swatting his chest weakly with my **chooda-clad hand**. My **kaleere** jingled loudly in the quiet car. "Rudra! I’m having a life-altering emotional moment and you’re reviewing my foundation?"

"I'm serious," he chuckled, pulling me closer so I was tucked firmly under his arm. "I was worried I'd have to present a 'raccoon' to Bebe at the gates, but you still look like the Goddess I married an hour ago. Maybe even better, with those pink cheeks."

"You're impossible," I whispered, resting my head back on his shoulder. The weight of the **kaleere** felt lighter now. He knew exactly how to pull me out of the darkness.

"I'm a businessman, remember?" he said, his lips grazing my ear. "I appreciate high-quality assets. And your face is the most beautiful asset I own. Although, I’m starting to wonder how many hours it's going to take me to get all these pins out of your hair later."

"Rudra!" I blushed deeply, the heat rising to my face. "The privacy screen is up, but Laksh is still sitting right there!"

"Laksh knows better than to listen when the King is talking to his Queen," he growled playfully, his hand sliding down to squeeze my waist **possessively**.

I looked out the window. The city was fading, and the grand, lit-up gates of the **Rathore Mansion** were appearing in the distance. My heart did a little nervous flutter.

"Are you ready, Mrs. Rathore?" he asked, his voice turning serious and warm. "The brothers are probably waiting with a list of demands, and Bebe is definitely ready with the Aarti."

I gripped his hand, my fingers interlacing with his. "As long as you don't leave my side, I’m ready."

The Rolls Royce came to a smooth halt as the massive wrought-iron gates of the Rathore Mansion swung open. The moment the car stopped, my heart started doing somersaults. This wasn't just a house; it was a fortress of history, and from today, it was my home.

**Jay**, my mischievous *devar*, was already there, pulling the door open with a flourish. "Welcome to the lion's den, Bhabhi!" he chirped. Rudra, ever the protector, stepped out first and reached back to take my hand. His grip was firm, steadying me as I navigated my heavy lehenga out of the car.

The second my feet touched the gravel—**BOOM!**

I gasped, jumping slightly, as the night sky exploded in a symphony of gold, silver, and violet. Fireworks lit up the entire estate, reflecting in the polished marble of the driveway. I looked up, a wide, genuine smile breaking across my face. Rudra leaned in, his **ocean blue eyes** watching my reaction rather than the sky.

"Everything in this city bows to you tonight, Ishita," he whispered, his voice sending shivers down my spine.

We walked toward the grand entrance, where the entire Rathore clan was gathered. The mansion was draped in marigolds and fairy lights, looking like something out of a fairy tale. But as we reached the threshold, a very determined-looking **Ahana** stepped forward, blocking the doorway with her arms crossed.

"Halt!" she announced, a cheeky grin on her face. "The King might own the palace, but the sister owns the door. Bhabhi, if you want to step into this house, you have to pay the 'Entry Tax'."

Rudra sighed, his **6'3" frame** looming over her, but his voice was surprisingly patient. "Ahana, not now. Look at her—she’s exhausted. Her feet are killing her. Move aside."

"No way, Bhaiya!" Ahana teased, sticking her chin out. "The more tired she is, the higher the price. Tradition is tradition!"

I squeezed Rudra’s hand, signaling him to relax. I had anticipated this. "It’s okay, Rudra. A Queen never comes empty-handed."

I gestured toward **Laksh**, who was standing a few paces behind us like a silent shadow. He immediately stepped forward, carrying two beautifully wrapped, heavy boxes that I had prepared days ago specifically for this moment.

I took them and handed them to a stunned Ahana. "For my favorite sister-in-law," I said softly. "One is a limited-edition designer watch you mentioned you liked, and the other is a voucher for that luxury spa retreat you’ve been eyeing. Is that a sufficient 'tax'?"

Ahana’s eyes went wide. She practically snatched the boxes, her jaw dropping. "Bhabhi! You’re officially my favorite person. Bhaiya is so boring, he just gives bank transfers. You have *style*!"

"Can we go in now, oh great Gatekeeper?" Rudra asked, his **possessive** arm snaking around my waist to pull me closer.

"Go, go!" Ahana laughed, stepping aside. "But wait! Bebe is ready with the Kalash!"

I looked down at the threshold. A small copper pot filled with rice stood in my way. My breath hitched. This was it. The moment I’d officially leave my identity as a guest and become the lady of the house.

"Don't be nervous," Rudra murmured, his lips brushing the top of my head. "Just a gentle kick, Jaana. I’ve got you if you lose your balance."

I looked at him, feeling the strength in his **muscular build** supporting me. "I'm not nervous about the pot, Rudra," I whispered back. "I'm nervous about being enough for this big family."

"You were enough the moment I saw you at the temple five years ago," he replied, his gaze **intense and ruthless** in its devotion. "Now, kick the pot and claim your kingdom."

The moment Ahana stepped aside, the atmosphere shifted from playful to sacred. **Maa** stepped forward with a golden *thali*, the glow of the *diya* reflecting in her teary, welcoming eyes. She performed our *aarti*, the fragrant smoke of the camphor swirling around Rudra and me. I felt the weight of the moment—the "Ice King’s" mother was welcoming a middle-class dreamer into a lineage of queens.

"Welcome home, my children," Maa whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

I looked down at the copper *Kalash* brimming with rice. My heart hammered against my ribs. I nudged it softly with my right toe, watching the grains spill across the marble floor like a silver waterfall—a sign of endless prosperity.

Then, **Drishti and Reet**, my *devranis*, stepped forward with a wide silver tray filled with vibrant red *Alta* paste.

"Bhabhi, it's time to leave your mark," Reet chirped, her eyes dancing with excitement.

I dipped both my palms into the cool, crimson liquid. The silk of my sleeves was pushed back by Rudra’s steady hands as I pressed my palms against the pristine white marble wall beside the grand entrance. My red handprints stood out—a silent promise that I would bring luck and love to this fortress.

"Laxmi has arrived," Bebe whispered from behind, and a chorus "Sada Shubh Ho" echoed through the foyer.

Then came the part I was dreading—the long walk. Ahana knelt down and gently unbuckled my heavy heels. I sighed in pure relief as my bare feet touched the cool floor for the first time in nearly twenty hours. But the ritual wasn't over.

"Ready, Jaana?" Rudra’s voice was a low, **possessive** vibration near my ear.

I stepped into the *Alta* thali, the red paste oozing between my toes. It felt cold and slippery. I took my first step onto the long white cloth that stretched toward the grand staircase. I stumbled slightly—the paste made the floor like ice—but before I could even gasp, Rudra’s arm was around my waist, his **6'3" muscular frame** acting as my personal pillar.

"I've got you," he growled softly, his **ocean blue eyes** fixed on my face. "Just walk. I won't let you fall."

With his support, I began to walk, leaving a trail of bright red footprints behind me. Every step felt like I was weaving my soul into the fabric of the Rathore history. Rudra walked beside me, his hand never leaving my waist, his stride matching my slow, tired pace. He didn't care that some of the red paste was getting on his expensive ivory trousers; he only cared that I was steady.

The hallway was lined with the entire family, cheering and showering us with rose petals. The contrast was beautiful—my bright red footprints on the white cloth, the "Cold-hearted Prince" looking at me with **ruthless devotion**, and the warmth of a family I was finally starting to call my own.

Jay said

"The Queen has officially entered the building!" he roared, making everyone laugh.

I looked up at Rudra, my eyes shimmering. "We're actually here. I'm actually a Rathore."

Rudra stopped, turning me to face him right at the foot of the massive spiral staircase. He ignored the cheers, his focus narrowing down until it was just us. He reached out, his thumb brushing a stray bit of red paste from my cheek.

"You were always a Rathore, Ishita," he murmured, his voice thick with a **shameless** pride. "The world just finally caught up to the truth."

👑 Rudra’s Perspective

I watched as Bebe took Ishita’s hand, leading her toward the ancient family temple tucked into the heart of the mansion. My **6'3" frame** felt heavy with the fatigue of the day, but seeing Ishita’s face—her **brown eyes** glowing with a mixture of exhaustion and spiritual peace—kept me upright.

I don’t believe in the stone statues. I don’t believe in the unseen hand of fate. I believe in what I can see, what I can touch, and what I can conquer. But as I stood before the idols of Shiv and Parvati, I looked at the woman standing beside me—the girl I saved at a temple five years ago—and I felt a strange sense of debt. If there was a God, He had finally delivered on the only deal I ever cared about.

I folded my hands, bowing my head. Not for the deity, but for her.

"I know you're just doing this to keep her happy, Rudra," Bebe whispered, her eyes twinkling as she caught me looking at Ishita instead of the idol. "But remember, even the fiercest lions eventually bow before the Mahadev."

"I'm only here for my Goddess, Bebe," I murmured, my voice a low, **possessive** rumble.

Ishita nudged me with her elbow, her **chooda** clinking. "Rudra! Behave. Ask for a peaceful life, at least."

"A peaceful life?" I smirked, leaning down so only she could hear. "With you? Never. I want a life of chaos, passion, and you constantly challenging me. Peace is for people who aren't as obsessed with their wives as I am."

"Shameless," she breathed, her cheeks turning a delicious shade of pink that put the red *Sindoor* to shame.

Maa stepped forward with a silver bowl of warm *Suji Halwa*. This was the *Kutumb Milap*—the merging of the families. She took a spoonful and fed it to me, then to Ishita. Then, according to the ritual, I had to feed her.

I took the spoon, my **ocean blue eyes** locking onto hers. I didn't just feed her; I lingered, my thumb brushing the corner of her lip to catch a stray drop of sweetness.

"Is it sweet enough, Jaana?" I asked, my voice dropping to that **ruthless, velvet** frequency. "Or do I need to make the 'sweetness' more personal later?"

"Bhaiya! Please!" Jay groaned from the doorway, leaning against the frame with Akshat. "We are all standing right here. Save the 'sugar' for the bedroom. Some of us haven't eaten since the Varmala and we're starving!"

"Then go eat, Jay," I said without looking back. "No one invited you to the temple."

"Actually, we're here to escort the Queen to the games," Akshat added, grinning. "Bebe, you've had her for ten minutes. It’s time for the Ring Ceremony. I want to see if the 'Great Rudra Singh Rathore' can actually lose at something for once."

I turned, wrapping my arm around Ishita's waist and pulling her **slim build** flush against my side. I could feel her heart racing.

"I don't lose, Akshat," I said, my **predatory smirk** widening. "In business or in love. If there’s a ring in a bowl of milk, it’s already mine."

"We'll see about that," Ishita challenged, her tired eyes suddenly sparkling with a competitive fire. "I have small hands, Rudra. I can find things much faster in the dark than you can with those big, 'businessman' hands."

"Is that a challenge, Mrs. Rathore?" I growled playfully, my grip tightening on her waist.

"It's a promise," she whispered.

Bebe laughed, patting both our shoulders. "Go on then. Let’s see who will rule this house. Though we all know the secret—the one who finds the ring might win the game, but the one who loses the heart wins the life."