Ishita’s Perspective

I sat on the floor, the heavy folds of my red lehenga fanned out around me like a blooming lotus. The air was filled with the scent of lilies and the rowdy laughter of the Rathore clan. Facing me was my husband—a man who looked like he had been carved out of granite.

"Okay, the rules are simple!" Chachi announced, clapping her hands. "Make a tight fist. If your partner can pry it open, they win this round. And whoever wins... well, they say they'll have the upper hand in the marriage!"

I looked at Rudra. He was sitting with his legs crossed, looking perfectly regal and dangerously calm. His **ocean blue eyes** were fixed on me with that **shameless, intense** gaze that always made my stomach flip. He didn't even look like he was trying. He simply extended his hand and closed it into a massive, solid fist.

I stared at it. His hand was nearly twice the size of mine—tanned, muscular, and scarred from years of building an empire. Then I looked at my own hand. My tiny fist, decorated with intricate mehendi and topped with long, manicured nails, looked like a joke next to his.

"Go on, Ishu bhabhi ! Show him the Sharma power!" Jay shouted, surprisingly taking my side. The room was split. My *devranis*, Drishti and Reet, were giggling and cheering for Rudra, while the boys—Akshat, Vardaan, and Jay—were surprisingly hooting for me, probably just to see the "Ice King" get humbled.

"Come on, bhai , don't be a stone," Akshat teased. "Give her a chance!"

I grabbed his hand with both of mine. I pulled, I tugged, I tried to wedge my fingers between his knuckles. Nothing. It was like trying to open a bank vault with a toothpick. He didn't even flinch. He just sat there, a **ruthless smirk** playing on his lips, watching me struggle.

"Is that all you've got, Jaana?" he whispered, his voice a low, velvet challenge. "I thought you were a fighter."

"You're cheating!" I panted, my face turning red from the effort. "You're using your gym muscles against me! It's not fair!"

"All's fair in love and business," he countered, his eyes darkening with amusement.

The cheers grew louder. "Open it! Open it! Open it!"

Frustrated and desperate to win, I did the only thing I could. I leaned in and dug my long nails deep into the skin of his hand, right near the thumb. I saw his jaw tighten for a split second, a flash of surprise crossing his features. I didn't let go; I pushed harder, my **chooda** clinking frantically as I used every ounce of my weight to pry his fingers back.

"Ouch," he murmured, though he didn't move his hand away. He actually leaned closer, his scent—that intoxicating mix of sandalwood and expensive whiskey—clouding my senses. "Playing dirty, are we? I didn't know you had claws, Mrs. Rathore."

"I told you I'd win," I hissed, managing to peel back one of his fingers.

I looked up at him, my **brown eyes** sparkling with triumph, but the look he was giving me wasn't one of defeat. It was purely **possessive**. He was letting me win. I could see it in the way his muscles relaxed just enough for me to succeed, his gaze never leaving my lips.

"You're hurting him, bhabhi !" Ahana laughed. "Look at those marks!"

I looked down and saw the red crescents my nails had left on his fair skin. I immediately felt a pang of guilt, my grip loosening. "Oh, Rudra... I’m sorry, I didn't mean to—"

Before I could finish, his hand suddenly moved. In a blur of speed, his fingers uncurled and wrapped entirely around my wrist, pulling me forward until I was inches from his chest.

"You win the round, Ishita," he growled, his voice so low it was only for me. "But remember... the more you hurt me, the more I’m going to make you pay for it when we’re alone. I like it when you’re fierce."

The room erupted in cheers as my family thought I had genuinely beaten the great Rudra Singh Rathore. But as I looked into his **ocean blue eyes**, I realized I hadn't won anything. I was just being led exactly where he wanted me.

👑 Rudra’s Perspective

I sat back, my **6'3" frame** coiled with a restrained energy as the family set the next trap. This was the "Holy Thread" ritual—the final hurdle before I could finally claim my wife and get her away from this prying crowd.

The rules were rigged, as usual. She could use both of her delicate, **brown-skinned** hands, while I was restricted to using only one.

"Don't worry, bhai ," Akshat teased, leaning over the circle. "If you can't open a simple knot with one hand, I’ll start questioning how you manage those international mergers."

"I don't use my hands for mergers, Akshat. I use my head," I countered, my **ocean blue eyes** fixed on Ishita. "But for this... I might need a miracle."

Ishita went first. She was fast—lethally fast. Her long, manicured nails worked through the red and yellow threads on my wrist like a professional thief. Within seconds, the thread was off. She held it up, her **brown eyes** dancing with a triumphant, playful light.

"Your turn, Mr. Rathore," she whispered, a **shameless** challenge in her voice.

I reached out my right hand. The task seemed simple, but as I moved closer, I realized the logistical nightmare ahead. Her wrists were entirely encased in the ivory and red of her **full chooda**, and the massive, gold-engraved **kaleere** were dangling everywhere, clinking and swaying with every breath she took.

I tried to hook the thread with my thumb, but my fingers were too large, too calloused. I didn't have her sharp nails to pick at the tight knot. Every time I tried to get a grip, a gold leaf from her kaleera would brush against my knuckles, distracting me.

"Struggling, Bhaiya?" Jay sang out, clapping his hands. "The great Rudra Singh Rathore, defeated by a piece of string and some jewelry!"

"Open it! Open it! Open it!" the chant rose from the brothers and sisters, a rhythmic, teasing wall of sound.

I looked at Ishita. She was biting her lip to keep from laughing, her **Nath** trembling as she watched me fumble. I decided then that I was done playing by the rules of the gallery.

I leaned in, my **muscular build** looming over her, effectively blocking the view of the cousins. I didn't just use my fingers. I used my entire hand to pull her wrist closer to my face, my thumb pressing firmly against her pulse point. I felt her heart gallop under my touch—a wild, frantic beat that told me she wasn't as composed as she looked.

"You think this jewelry is going to protect you, Jaana?" I growled, my voice a low, **ruthless** vibration that only she could hear.

I stopped trying to pick at the knot and instead used my strength to slide the thread slightly, creating a gap. Then, using my teeth and my thumb in a move that was purely **predatory** and entirely against the "one hand" rule, I snapped the tension of the knot.

"Cheater!" Ahana screamed, but it was too late. I pulled the thread free and held it up.

"I didn't use my other hand," I said calmly to the room, my gaze never leaving Ishita’s blushing face. "Technically, I’m still within the parameters of the contract."

"You used your teeth, bhai ! That's practically a third hand!" Vardaan laughed, shaking his head.

I ignored them. I reached out and tucked a stray curly lock of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering on her skin. "Games are over," I murmured to her, the **possessive** glint in my eyes making her breath hitch. "I’m done sharing you."

💖 Ishita’s Perspective

I rolled up my heavy sleeves, my **chooda** clinking against my skin. "Get ready to lose, Prince Charming," I whispered, my **brown eyes** narrowing with competitive fire.

"In your dreams, Jaana," he countered, his **6'3" frame** leaning forward, making the couch creak.

**Round One:**

The ring was dropped. We both plunged our hands into the cool milk. My small, nimble fingers darted through the rose petals. I felt something cold and hard—the ring! Before he could even blink, I pulled it out, milk dripping from my fingers.

"I won!" I cheered, shaking the ring in the air.

"Beginner's luck," Rudra muttered, though the **possessive smirk** on his face told me he didn't mind the defeat as long as he got to watch me celebrate.

**Round Two:**

This time, the moment our hands entered the bowl, I felt his large, warm hand grab mine under the white liquid. He didn't search for the ring; he just pinned my hand to the bottom of the bowl!

"Rudra! You’re squeezing my hand!" I hissed, splashing milk at him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, his face a mask of **ruthless** innocence. While he held me prisoner with one part of his hand, his long fingers easily snatched the ring. He pulled it out, looking completely **shameless**.

"Cheater! Bebe, he’s cheating!" I cried out, but the brothers were too busy laughing to care.

**Round Three:**

The tie-breaker. The room went silent. The air was thick with the scent of roses and Rudra’s sandalwood cologne. We both reached in. I was determined to fight him off, but then, something strange happened.

Under the milk, I felt his hand find mine again. But he didn't pin me down this time. Instead, his fingers brushed against my palm, sending a jolt of electricity up my arm. He found the ring, but instead of pulling it out, I felt him gently slide the cold metal into my hand. He closed my fingers around it, his thumb stroking my knuckles in a secret, **intimate** caress that no one else could see.

I looked up at him, stunned. He just winked at me—a slow, **predatory** wink that made my heart skip a beat.

I pulled my hand out, revealing the ring. "I... I won?"

"And that," Jay roared, "means Ishita Bhabhi is the boss! Rudra Bhaiya, you’re officially under her thumb!"

The family cheered, throwing rose petals over us. Rudra leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear as the noise drowned out his voice.

"Don't get too arrogant, Mrs. Rathore," he growled, a **ruthless** glint in his **ocean blue eyes**. "I only let you win the house so I could focus on winning the room. You can rule the mansion, but in our bedroom, the hierarchy is very different."

"You're so dramatic," I whispered, my face burning red. "Why did you let me win?"

"Because," he said, his voice turning suddenly serious, though his eyes were dancing with humor. "A man who can't let his wife win a game in front of his family doesn't deserve to have her. Besides, if I won, I’d have to manage the kitchen and the decor. I’d rather just pay the bills and look at you."

"So, your 'serious' reason is that you're lazy?" I laughed, leaning my head on his shoulder.

"I prefer the term 'selectively productive'," he corrected, pulling me up from the floor. "Now, enough games. I’ve been a very patient King, but I’m about five seconds away from carrying you over my shoulder and ending this party myself."

Bebe clapped her hands. "Alright, kids! The Queen has won, the King has surrendered, and it’s almost 4:00 AM. Let them go to their room before Rudra starts biting people!"

The brothers lined up, forming a mock guard of honor as Rudra led me toward the grand staircase. My heart started pounding for an entirely different reason now. The games were over. The rituals were done. It was just us.

👑 Rudra’s Perspective

I looked down at the woman in my arms, and my heart did a slow, painful thud against my ribs. Ishita was completely spent. Her head was lolling against my shoulder, her **long curly hair** a beautiful mess over my arm, and her **brown eyes** were half-closed, glazed over with a desperate need for sleep. The weight of that **heavy lehenga** and the layers of jewelry were clearly crushing her tiny, **slim build**.

It was 8:00 AM. The sun was already pouring through the high windows of the Rathore Mansion. We had been awake for nearly twenty-four hours, and my own **muscular frame** was reaching its limit, but my adrenaline was still spiking because she was finally, legally, *mine*.

I carried her up the grand staircase, her **kaleere** clinking softly with every step I took. I reached the door of our master suite, expecting a clear path, but of course, the "Wolf Pack" was there.

Jay, Akshat, and Vardaan were standing in a line, blocking the entrance. Even little **Krish**, my four-year-old nephew, was standing there with his tiny arms crossed, trying to look as formidable as his uncles.

"Not so fast, Bhaiya," Jay said, though he yawned midway through his sentence. "The final gate requires a final fee. We want—"

I didn't let him finish. I stopped, my **6'3" frame** towering over them, and I felt the "Ice King" persona return with a vengeance. I didn't yell. I didn't argue. I simply shifted Ishita’s weight to one arm and used my free hand to adjust the collar of my sherwani.

Then, I gave them **The Look**.

It was the cold, **ruthless, and emotionless** stare I usually reserved for board members who tried to embezzle my funds. My **ocean blue eyes** turned into slivers of ice, boring into Jay’s soul.

The hallway went silent. Even the air seemed to chill.

"Move," I said. It wasn't a request. It was a low, vibrating command that promised a very miserable future for anyone who stayed in my way. "Now. Before I decide to stop paying for your car insurances and your club memberships. And Akshat? That penthouse in Mumbai you wanted? Forget it if you don't step aside in the next three seconds."

Jay’s eyes went wide. He nudged Akshat. "Uh, guys? I think the tiger is actually hungry now."

"Run!" Krish squealed, sensing the shift in my energy, and he was the first to bolt down the hallway.

The brothers didn't need another warning. They scrambled, tripping over each other to clear the doorway. "Okay, okay! Happy Suhaag Raat! Don't kill us!" Jay yelled as they disappeared around the corner.

I didn't smile. I kicked the door open with my foot and stepped into the sanctuary of our bedroom. The scent of a thousand white roses hit me instantly. I kicked the door shut behind me and heard the lock click—the sweetest sound I’d heard all day.

I walked over to the massive king-sized bed, which was covered in silk sheets and flower petals, and gently lowered Ishita onto it. She groaned softly, her eyes fluttering open as she felt the mattress.

"Are they gone?" she whispered, her voice husky with sleep.

"They're gone, Jaana," I murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking down at her. "The whole world is gone. It's just us now."

I reached out and began to unhook the heavy **Nath** from her nose, my fingers steady despite the exhaustion. I saw the red marks the jewelry had left on her delicate skin, and a wave of **possessiveness** washed over me.

"Rudra..." she breathed, her hand reaching up to touch my face. "You look like you're going to eat me."

"I might," I said, a **shameless** glint returning to my eyes as I started on the first of the many pins in her hair. "But first, I’m going to get you out of this armor. You've been a Queen all night, Ishita. Now, you just get to be my wife."

💖 Ishita’s Perspective

The room was quiet, the only sound being the soft rustle of my heavy silk lehenga and the distant chirping of birds outside. The morning sun was peeking through the sheer curtains, but inside, it felt like time had stopped.

Rudra was surprisingly patient. His large, calloused hands—the hands of a man who ruled a business empire—were incredibly gentle as he unhooked my heavy necklace and earrings. He left my **mangalsutra** and **chooda** untouched, his eyes lingering on the red **sindoor** in my hairline. Once the heavy gold was off, he disappeared into the bathroom to freshen up.

I forced my exhausted body to move. I stood up, the weight of the three dupattas still pinning me down. One by one, I unpinned them, folding the delicate, expensive fabric with trembling hands. I sat at the vanity, beginning the long process of wiping away the layers of bridal makeup.

I was halfway through when I felt the air in the room shift. I didn't need to look in the mirror to know he was behind me.

Rudra walked up, his **muscular chest** bare and glistening with a few drops of water, wearing only his dark trousers. He leaned down, his warmth enveloping me as he wrapped his arms around my waist in a firm **back hug**. He pressed a lingering, searing kiss to my bare shoulder, his stubble grazing my skin.

"So tired, Jaan," he murmured, his voice a deep, gravelly vibration against my neck.

"Hmm," I breathed, leaning my head back against his chest. I felt so small against his **6'3" frame**, like a bird seeking shelter in a storm.

He turned me around in the circle of his arms, his **ocean blue eyes** dark with a mixture of exhaustion and a raw, **possessive** hunger. "Let me take some rest, Ishita. I’ve waited five years for this morning. I just want to hold you."

"I know," I whispered, reaching up to touch his face. "But first... help me with these pins? My head is actually throbbing."

He nodded, guiding me to sit on the edge of the bed. I felt his fingers dive into the mess of my **long curly hair**, searching for the dozens of U-pins holding my bun together.

"Not that way, Rudra... pull it straight out," I coached him softly.

"I’m trying," he grunted, though his touch remained incredibly light. "I’ve negotiated billion-dollar contracts that were less complicated than your hairstyle."

He worked slowly, one pin at a time, until my hair finally cascaded down my back in a wild, dark waterfall. He ran his fingers through the curls, a look of pure **ruthless devotion** on his face. He didn't say a word; he just leaned in.

The kiss wasn't like the ones before. It wasn't teasing or brief. It was deep, slow, and filled with the absolute authority of a husband. He kissed me with every right he had earned over the last five years, marking me as **Mrs. Ishita Rudra Singh Rathore**.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, my **chooda** clinking against the back of his head, pulling him as close as humanly possible. The "Cold-hearted Prince" was gone. In this room, in this moment, he was just my husband, and I was finally home.

He pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against mine, his breath mingling with mine. "You're not going anywhere now, Ishita. You're stuck with me."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," I whispered.

👑 Rudra’s Perspective

I leaned into her, the scent of her jasmine hair and the faint metallic tang of the jewelry still clinging to her skin driving my senses into a frenzy. I slowly trailed a line of burning kisses from the curve of her jaw down to the sensitive hollow of her neck. My hands, calloused and large, found the bare skin of her waist where her blouse ended, my thumbs tracing the dip of her spine with a **ruthless, possessive** slow-burn.

"You have no idea how long I've waited to have you behind a locked door, Ishita," I whispered against her skin, my voice dropping into a low, **shameless** growl as I murmured exactly what I wanted to do to her now that the world was shut out. "Do you need help getting out of this outfit, *Jaan*? Or should I just rip the silk?"

She shivered in my arms, her breath hitching, but the exhaustion in her **brown eyes** was undeniable. I wasn't a monster; I was a man obsessed, and my Queen needed rest.

I picked her up again—she felt like nothing in my arms—and walked into the massive walk-in closet. I had spent months ensuring this space was ready for her. I reached into a drawer I’d had stocked weeks ago and pulled out a soft, silk coord set.

"Here," I said, pressing the clothes into her hands. I leaned down, my **ocean blue eyes** dark with a promise. "You're lucky you’re tired, Mrs. Rathore. If you had even an ounce of energy left, I wouldn't let you leave this closet for hours. Consider this a temporary pardon."

She blushed a deep crimson, clutching the clothes to her chest. She looked around the closet, her eyes widening at the rows of designer bags, shoes, and clothes already waiting for her. "How... how do you even know my size? I didn't even open my suitcase yet, and you’ve already filled everything!"

I leaned against the mahogany wardrobe, crossing my arms over my **bare, muscular chest**, a **predatory smirk** tugging at my lips. "I’m a businessman, Ishita. I deal in precision. I’ve spent five years memorizing every curve of your body from a distance. You think I’d get a dress size wrong?"

She looked at me, half-annoyed and half-flustered. "Aap na... bade *vo ho (You are very vicious)," she muttered, trying to hide her smile.

I chuckled, the sound deep and dry. "Vo? Is that the best you've got? I thought you were going to say something nice, like 'thoughtful' or 'romantic'."

She huffed, rolling her eyes as she headed toward the changing area. "No. *Besharam* (Shameless)."

My smile dropped instantly. I rolled my eyes, letting out a heavy sigh of mock irritation. "Besharam? Really? I provide a custom-built empire for your wardrobe, save you from a three-hour struggle with a lehenga, and I get called shameless? The gratitude in this marriage is off to a roaring start."

"Go wait on the bed, Rudra!" she shouted from behind the door.

"Hurry up," I called back, my voice turning soft but firm. "The bed is too big without you, and I don't plan on sleeping on my side of the 'contract' alone."

💖 Ishita’s Perspective

I stepped out of the walk-in closet, finally free from the fifty pounds of silk and gold. The soft suit felt like heaven against my skin, but my body was still throbbing with a dull ache. It was 9:00 AM; the sun was bright outside, but in here, the world was finally quiet.

Rudra was already under the sheets, his **muscular frame** propped up against the pillows. As soon as he saw me, he reached out, his **ocean blue eyes** softening.

"Come here, Ishita," he murmured.

I crawled onto the massive bed, my **payal** and **toe rings** tinkling softly against the silk sheets—a constant reminder of the new identity I had stepped into. I let out a low moan of pain as I moved; my waist felt like it had been in a vice grip all night, and my feet were pulsing with every heartbeat.

Without a word, Rudra reached over and switched off the lights, plunging the room into a cool, blue-tinted dimness. He pulled me toward him, tucking my head into the crook of his neck and throwing a heavy, protective arm over my waist. The clink of my **chooda** echoed in the silence as I rested my hand on his chest, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart.

"My waist... it hurts so much, Rudra," I whispered, my voice thick with sleep.

"I know, Jaan," he breathed, his hand beginning to move in slow, soothing circles over the small of my back, right where the heavy lehenga had been digging in. "Go to sleep. I’ve got you."

"Are you happy?" I asked suddenly, my eyes fluttering shut. "Now that the 'Cold-hearted Prince' is officially off the market?"

I felt him chuckle, the vibration rumbling through his chest and into my cheek. "Happy isn't the word, Ishita. I feel... settled. Like I finally closed the only deal that ever mattered." He paused, his fingers tangling in my **long curly hair**. "What do you want for our future? Now that you’re stuck in this palace?"

"I want... I want to keep dreaming," I mumble, the darkness of sleep pulling at me. "I want to see my designs on a runway. And I want to see you smile more... the real smile, not the one you give to the news cameras."

"I’ll give you a runway in every city in Europe if that’s what it takes," he whispered, his voice sounding like a distant, beautiful promise. "And as for the smile... it’s only for you anyway. You’re the only one who knows how to find it."

I felt him shift, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my temple, right where the **sindoor** started. The scent of his skin and the steady massage of his hand on my aching back were the last things I felt before the world faded away.

"Sleep, Mrs. Rathore," was the last thing I heard. "Your new life starts when you wake up."

👑 Rudra’s Perspective

I woke up slowly, the transition from a deep, dreamless sleep to reality feeling unusually peaceful. Usually, my mind starts racing at 6:00 AM—stocks, mergers, logistics—but today, the silence of the room was heavy and sweet. I glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. **2:00 PM.**

I hadn't slept this late since I was a teenager.

I felt a weight on my chest and a familiar, soft scent filling my lungs. I didn't move. I couldn't. Ishita was sprawled across me, her **slim build** perfectly fitted into the curves of my body. Her head was tucked under my chin, and her **long curly hair** was a wild, beautiful dark cloud over my shoulder and the silk pillows.

I stayed perfectly still, my **ocean blue eyes** tracing the details of her face in the soft afternoon light filtering through the curtains.

She looked so different when she was asleep. The "beginning model" who walked with such fire was gone, replaced by a girl who looked soft, vulnerable, and utterly mine. The red **sindoor** had smudged slightly onto her forehead, and a few grains of the morning’s rice were still caught in her curls.

My gaze drifted to her hands resting on my chest. The ivory and red **chooda** looked striking against my skin. I reached out with my free hand, my fingers barely skimming the gold **mangalsutra** resting against her collarbone. The initials **RSR** gleamed in the dim light.

*My wife.*

It was a strange, grounding realization. For five years, I had been the hunter, the "Cold-hearted Prince" chasing a dream. Now, the dream was breathing against my heart, her pulse steady and calm. I felt a surge of that **ruthless, possessive** protectiveness. I had built an empire to keep her safe, and looking at her now, I knew I’d burn it all down if it meant keeping this peace.

She stirred slightly, her nose wrinkling in her sleep. Her **payal** gave a tiny, silver jingle as she shifted her legs, her toes—still adorned with the new **toe rings**—brushing against my calf.

"Mmm... Rudra..." she mumbled, her voice thick and honey-sweet with sleep, though she didn't open her eyes. She just subconsciously gripped my arm tighter, pulling herself closer to my warmth.

I couldn't help it. A genuine, private smile—the one I never showed the world—broke across my face. I leaned down, my lips grazing the top of her head.

"I'm here, Jaan," I whispered, my voice a low, gravelly rumble.

I knew the moment we stepped out of this room, the chaos would begin. The family would be waiting, the rituals would resume, and the world would demand the businessman back. But for now, in the 2:00 PM silence of our room, I just wanted to watch her breathe.

I reached for my phone on the nightstand, seeing a hundred missed calls from Jay and Akshat. I didn't even read the messages. I simply turned the phone off and tossed it aside.

The Prince was busy.

🌸 Ishita’s Perspective

I groaned, burying my face deeper into the pillow as the reality of the time hit me. 4:00 PM? I had slept for seven hours straight, but my body still felt like it was made of lead. I felt a warm, solid presence beside me and instinctively turned away, pulling the duvet over my head.

"No... let me sleep a little more, please," I mumbled, my voice sounding like a cracked whisper. "Just five more years..."

I heard a deep, melodic chuckle—a sound so rare and rich it made my heart flutter even in my half-conscious state. Suddenly, the duvet was tugged back, and I felt the bed dip. A pair of strong, **muscular** arms pulled me back against a warm, bare chest.

"You can sleep as much as you want later, Mrs. Rathore," Rudra’s voice rumbled against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the side of my neck, his stubble grazing my skin. "But you haven't eaten a single thing since the wedding feast last night. Now come on, get up. Your stomach is literally growling louder than my security team."

I peeked out from under my hair, looking at him with pouting **brown eyes**. He looked unfairly handsome for someone who had just woken up—his **ocean blue eyes** were clear and piercing, and his hair was messy in a way that made him look like a Greek god.

"I'm a growing girl, Rudra. I need my rest," I huffed, reaching for a spare pillow to hide my face.

"You're a married woman now, and your husband is hungry," he teased, a **shameless** glint in his eyes. He suddenly snatched the pillow out of my hands. "And if you don't get up in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to call Jay and tell him he can come in here and wake you up himself."

"You wouldn't dare!" I gasped, sitting up abruptly. The thought of Jay and his loud energy at this hour was enough to wake anyone.

"Try me," he challenged, spinning the pillow on his finger with a **ruthless smirk**.

I looked at the pillow, then at his smug face, and a spark of mischief lit up inside me. Without a word, I lunged for the other pillow and swung it with all my might, catching him right in the chest. **THWACK!**

"Did you just... pillow-fight the top 5 businessman in the world?" Rudra asked, his eyebrows shooting up in mock disbelief as a few feathers drifted between us.

"I just hit my husband who won't let me sleep!" I laughed, swinging again.

He dodged it with a lightning-fast reflex, his **6'3" frame** moving with a predator's grace. "Oh, it's on now, Ishita."

He lunged for me, and for the next five minutes, the "Ice King's" master suite was a war zone of flying feathers and silk. I was laughing so hard my stomach hurt, my **chooda** jingling frantically as I tried to shield myself from his much stronger strikes. He was clearly holding back, let me "win" a few hits, but eventually, he pinned me down against the mattress, his heavy body hovering over mine and both my hands trapped above my head.

"Surrender," he growled, his face inches from mine, both of us breathless and laughing.

"Never!" I wheezed, looking up at him.

He leaned down, his gaze dropping to my lips. The playfulness in the room shifted instantly into something much more **intense and possessive**.

"Then I’ll have to find another way to make you obey," he whispered.