💖 Ishita’s Perspective

The atmosphere in the grand hall shifted from soulful devotion to high-energy celebration. Before I could even catch my breath from the classical performance, the upbeat rhythm of the dhol began to thud through the floorboards. **Siya Maa** caught my eye, her face glowing with a mischievous spark I hadn’t seen before. She didn't just want me to be the "perfect daughter-in-law"; she wanted me to be happy.

She pulled me into the center, and the energy in the room skyrocketed. We started dancing to *Jutti Kasuri*, and the transition from the shy bride to the vibrant Punjabi girl felt so natural.

*“Ve jutti lede ghungarua walli, silk de soot sivaa de 40...*

*Mele vichon ikk parandi, meldi firaan main aaundi-jaandi...”*

Siya Maa and I moved in perfect sync, our hands clapping and feet tapping. I forgot about the heavy lehenga, forgot about the 3-year gap of pain and blackmail, and just lived in the moment. I sang along loudly, looking at the Rathor men.

*“Choora rangala tu, baahaa ch pua de haaniya...*

*Ve mainu gadde te, punjab ghumma de haaniya!”*

I playfully gestured toward **Rudra** during the line about the *haaniya* (beloved) taking me to Punjab. The sight of the "Cold-Hearted Prince" of Rajasthan being publicly teased by his wife made the whole family roar with laughter.

As the song ended, I was breathless, my face flushed a deep pink—not just from the dancing, but from the sheer joy of being accepted.

* **The Sisters' Bond:** **Dhristi** and **Reet**, my lovely *devranis*, rushed over immediately. They pulled me into a tight group hug, whispering how amazing I looked. "Bhabhi, you set the floor on fire!" Reet giggled, adjusting my heavy necklace.

* **Ahana's Pride:** **Ahana** joined in, hugging me from the side. "The Rathor jewelry looks even better when you're smiling like that, Bhabhi," she complimented, her eyes shining.

* **The Fathers' Approval:** I looked over to see  Papa ji** standing with a proud smile, his hand resting on Rudra’s shoulder. He looked at me with the same affection he had for his own children, seeing the legacy of the Rathor family being carried forward with such grace.

But it was Rudra who held my attention. He was leaning against a marble pillar, his arms crossed over his broad chest. The "Business Tycoon" persona had melted away. He was watching me with pure, unadulterated admiration.

As our eyes met across the crowded room, he didn't look away. Instead, a slow, dangerous **smirk** spread across his handsome face. He leaned slightly forward and, with a boldness that made my heart skip a beat, he **winked** at me.

It was a silent promise. A promise that he saw my effort, he saw my beauty, and he couldn't wait to have me all to himself. My back still ached, and my feet were sore, but that one look from him made it all feel worth it.

The laughter in the living room was a vibrant hum, but as the crowd settled into smaller groups, the atmosphere shifted. I was tucked between **Dhristi** and **Reet**, with **Ahana** leaning against my shoulder, showing me some photos they had snapped during the dance. Across the room, **Rudra**, **Akshat**, **Vardaan**, and **Jay** were deep in conversation, looking every bit the powerful Rathor men they were.

For a moment, I felt a sense of peace. But then, the sharp, hushed tone of **Rudra’s Bua** pierced through my calm like a jagged blade. She was sitting with a group of distant female relatives, her voice dripping with a condescending sweetness that didn't reach her eyes.

"Whatever the case may be," she whispered, though loud enough for the surrounding ladies to hear, "she’s just a model and a makeup artist. And that brown skin... so middle class. I don't know how Rudra fell for her. I had seen such high-class girls for him, beautiful girls from royal backgrounds, but he wasn't interested in any of them. Now I know why—she must have used some charms to trap him."

I felt **Reet’s** hand stiffen in mine. **Dhristi**, the calm professor, narrowed her eyes, her posture turning defensive. **Ahana** looked like she was ready to snap back, her face flushing with anger on my behalf.

I sat there, my heart stinging. The mention of my skin color and my background wasn't new, but hearing it here, in my new home, hurt. However, Bua had made one fatal mistake. She had forgotten who was sitting just a few feet away.

She had forgotten that the man she was talking about wasn't just a nephew she could gossip about. She had forgotten that **Rudra Singh Rathor** was a man the world feared—a man who was ruthless, emotionless, and cold as hell to anyone who dared to cross his boundaries. And his biggest boundary was *me*.

The room didn't just go quiet; the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. I didn't even have to look at Rudra to know he had heard. The air became heavy with his silent, suffocating aura.

Rudra stood up. The movement was slow, predatory, and utterly terrifying. **Akshat** and **Vardaan** immediately stopped talking, their expressions turning serious as they looked at their brother.

He walked over, not toward me, but toward the circle where his Bua sat. He didn't yell. He didn't make a scene. He simply stood over them, his 6'3" frame casting a massive, intimidating shadow over his aunt. His ocean-blue eyes, which had been soft for me moments ago, were now chips of frozen ice.

"Bua-ji," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that sent shivers down everyone’s spine. "I think you’ve forgotten whose house you are sitting in. And more importantly, you’ve forgotten who you are talking about."

Bua’s face went pale. She began to stammer, "Rudra, beta, I was just—"

"You were insulting the **Princess of Rajasthan**," he interrupted, his voice cutting like a razor. "You were insulting **my wife**. My Ishita. Her skin is the color of the earth I rule, and her 'middle-class' values are exactly what make her a queen compared to the 'high-class' trash you've been scouting."

He stepped closer, leaning down so he was eye-level with her, his expression heartless and void of any familial affection.

"If I hear one more word about her skin, her profession, or her worth, I will forget that we share even a drop of blood. You will be escorted out of this palace, and the Rathor name will be closed to you forever. Am I clear?"

The entire room was paralyzed. **Ram Papa ji** and **Lakhan Uncle** didn't intervene; they knew Rudra was right.

Rudra then turned to me. In an instant, the ice in his eyes shattered, replaced by a deep, aching warmth. He walked over, ignored everyone else, and reached out his hand to me.

"Ishita," he murmured, his voice now soft enough only for me to hear. "You don't have to sit here and listen to this. Come with me."

I looked at him, my eyes pleading. At my own home, I was the girl with the sharpest tongue—the one who would never let a comment like that slide without a stinging retort. But here, the weight of the *Rathor* legacy was on my shoulders. I wasn't just Ishita anymore; I was the eldest daughter-in-law of this prestigious house. My upbringing wouldn't allow me to disrespect an elder, no matter how much they bled venom.

I reached out, my fingers trembling slightly as I touched his sleeve, trying to pull his attention away from the trembling woman in front of him. "Rudra, please... let it be. She is your Bua," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the sudden silence of the room.

But Rudra didn’t even blink. He didn't look at me. His entire focus was locked on the woman who had dared to belittle me.

Bua, instead of taking the hint and staying silent, let her ego get the better of her. She stood up, her face flushed with offense. She turned toward **Bebe** (Rudra’s grandmother), looking for support.

"Did you hear him, Bebe? This is how your grandson speaks to his own blood? Because of this girl? I am only saying what the world will say! A model? Someone who paints faces for a living? And you, Rudra, you are Rajasthan’s Prince! You should have a woman who matches your stature, not someone who—"

"**ENOUGH!**"

The word wasn't a shout; it was a roar that seemed to vibrate the very glass of the chandeliers above us. The room went deathly still. **Akshat** stepped forward as if to intervene, but **Vardaan** caught his arm, shaking his head. They knew their brother. They knew that when Rudra Singh Rathor was in this state, he wasn't a brother or a nephew. He was a storm.

"You speak of stature?" Rudra’s voice was now a low, terrifying hiss. "My stature is defined by the woman standing beside me. She didn't 'trap' me. I waited years, I went through hell, I almost lost my soul just to bring her back to this house. You think your royal 'high-class' candidates could match her heart? Her grace?"

I stepped in front of him then, forcing him to look at me. I placed my small, brown hand against his muscular chest, feeling his heart thundering against his ribs like a trapped beast.

"Rudra, stop. For me. It’s fine, I don't care what she says," I said, trying to find my voice. I looked at the rest of the family—**Siya Maa** was looking away, her jaw tight, clearly hurt by Bua’s words but bound by tradition. **Ram Papa ji** had his arms crossed, his silence proving that he stood entirely with his son.

Finally, Rudra’s ocean-blue eyes snapped down to mine. The transition was jarring. To the room, he was a monster; to me, he was a man in pain, defending the only thing he held sacred.

"Fine?" he repeated, his voice thick with a mix of anger and disbelief. "Ishita, she insulted you. She insulted the way God made you. She insulted your hard work."

He didn't care about the relatives whispering. He didn't care about 'Log Kya Kahenge' (what will people say). He only cared that I was hurt. He took a step closer to me, ignoring Bua as if she had ceased to exist.

"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen," he said, his voice loud enough for every single person in that living room to hear. "And if anyone in this family—blood or otherwise—cannot see that, they don't deserve to be under this roof."

Bua looked at Bebe, her eyes wide, hoping for a reprimand. But Bebe simply sighed and looked at her daughter. "Kausalya," Bebe said tiredly, "Rudra is the head of this family now. And he is right. You have crossed a line today. Ishita is the Lakshmi of this house. Go to your room."

The humiliation on Bua's face was absolute. She looked around, but even **Lakhan Uncle** turned his head away. No one was going to cross the Prince for her sake.

Rudra’s hand came up, his thumb grazing my cheek right where the gold of my veil touched my skin. His gaze was so intense it felt like he was memorizing every feature of my face all over again.

"Does your back still hurt?" he asked suddenly, completely dismissing the drama as if he hadn't just threatened to exile his own aunt.

The whiplash of his personality—from a ruthless businessman to a doting husband—left me breathless. The guests were still staring, the tension was still thick enough to cut with a knife, but Rudra was standing there, in the middle of the Rathor mansion, waiting for my answer as if the rest of the world had vanished.

The tension in the room was so thick you could feel it on your skin. Bua grabbed her designer bag, her face a mask of fury and humiliation, and stormed out of the mansion. The heavy doors clicked shut behind her, leaving a deafening silence in the grand living room. I could feel Rudra’s body vibrating with suppressed rage beside me.

But then, **Ahana**—ever the heartbeat of the family—stood up and cleared her throat loudly, breaking the spell. "Bua ke chakkar mein humara surprise toh reh hi gaya, guys!" she exclaimed, her eyes darting toward the rest of the siblings.

**Dhristi**, **Reet**, **Vardaan**, **Jay**, and **Akshat** all jumped in immediately, their faces lighting up with forced but genuine enthusiasm to save the evening. "Yes! We almost forgot! We prepared something special!"

Rudra’s face was still set in stone. "Not anymore," he grumbled, his voice dark. "I am not in the mood. Jay, Ahana, let it be."

He started to turn away, ready to whisk me upstairs, but I placed my hand on his arm, looking into those icy blue eyes with all the softness I could muster. "Rudra, please. For them? It’s fine," I murmured. He looked at me, closed his eyes, and let out a long, heavy sigh that signaled his surrender. Only I could make the Great Rudra Singh Rathor back down.

We sat together on the central sofa, his arm instinctively wrapping around the back of my seat, pulling me close. Suddenly, a lively Punjabi beat erupted from the speakers, and the siblings took the floor.

They began to dance, their faces glowing with love as they sang the lyrics directly to us—or rather, to me, while teasing Rudra.

*“Mere veer ne, mere veer ne viyah ke laandi*

*Ni bhabi meri hoor vargi*

*Odi chaal na, odi chaal na kisey to chali jaandi*

*Ni bhabi meri hoor vargi...”*

I felt my heart swell. They were calling me a 'Hoor'—a celestial beauty. They were telling the whole world, and especially the ghost of Bua’s insults, exactly where I stood in this family. **Akshat** and **Vardaan** pointed at Rudra during the "Mere veer ne" (My brother brought) parts, while **Jay** danced around me with a playful wink.

*“Mukhe oda jaape jivey chaudeveen da chand ni*

*Nain ne mirag ode moti jeh dand ni*

*Hath laaya te o, hath laaya te o jaye kumanodi...*

*Ni bhabi meri hoor vargi!”*

As they compared my face to the full moon (chaudeveen da chand) and my eyes to a deer's (mirag), I felt Rudra’s grip on my shoulder tighten slightly. I glanced at him; he was no longer scowling. He was watching them, his gaze occasionally flickering to me with a look of intense possession and pride.

The girls, **Ahana**, **Dhristi**, and **Reet**, took the lead for the next verse, circling me like I was their most precious treasure.

*“Turdii o jadon suit sona jeh paani*

*Boondiyan de naal roop apna saja ni*

*Jaape morni de, jaape morni de waang pehla bondi*

*Ni bhabi meri hoor vargi...”*

They mimicked the grace of a peacock (morni), praising how I carried myself. Even with my aching back and the heavy jewelry, I couldn't help but laugh as **Jay** tried to do a silly step to make me smile. The "cold" atmosphere Bua had created was completely incinerated by the warmth of my *devar* and *nanand*.

*“Bulliyan ch odh jadon kirde ne has ni*

*Keh raban kudiyan o jaave jehda pass ni*

*Rave raahe kol, rave raahe kol sada sharmaudi*

*Ni bhabi meri hoor vargi!”*

By the time the final chorus hit, the entire room was clapping in rhythm.

*“Mere veer ne viyah ke laandi... Ni bhabi meri hoor vargi!*

*Mere veer ne viyah ke laandi... Ni bhabi meri hoor vargi!”*

They repeated the lines over and over, turning the dance into a chant of acceptance. I looked at **Siya Maa** and *chachi; they were both wiping away happy tears. My father,

The song ended with all of them surrounding us in a semi-circle, bowing playfully. For the first time that day, I saw a genuine, small smile tug at the corner of Rudra’s lips. He leaned in close to my ear, his breath hot against my skin, and whispered, "They aren't wrong, you know. You truly are a Hoor, Ishita. And you're *my* Hoor."

I blushed a deep crimson, finally feeling like the shadows of the last three years were truly beginning to fade.

👑 Rudra’s Perspective

The music died down, but the energy in the room was still electric. My siblings and my sisters-in-law stood in a semi-circle, breathless and grinning, looking like they had just won a war. In a way, they had. They had successfully wiped the bitter taste of my Bua’s words out of the air.

I felt Ishita relax beside me, her small hand finally losing its tension. That was all I cared about. But I knew my siblings far too well. That "selfless" performance was about to come with a price tag.

**Jay** was the first to step forward, wiping sweat from his forehead with a theatrical flourish. He looked at me, then at Ishita, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Alright, Bhai," he said, crossing his arms. "The performance was world-class. The lyrics were 100% accurate—Bhabhi is definitely a *Hoor*—but talent like this doesn't come for free."

**Ahana** jumped in, standing right in front of us with her hands on her hips. "Exactly! We saved the mood, we defended the Rathor honor, and we danced in these heavy outfits. We want our *shagun*, and we want it now."

"A big one," **Vardaan** added, leaning against the back of the sofa with a smirk. "I'm a lawyer, Rudra. I’ve already calculated the hourly rate for a performance of this caliber, plus the 'emergency mood-fix' tax."

I leaned back, my arm still firmly around Ishita’s shoulders, letting a dry smirk play on my lips. "Is that so? I thought the joy of seeing your Bhabhi smile was payment enough."

"Nice try, Bhai," **Akshat** laughed, shaking his head. "That works for the sentimental stuff, but **Dhristi** and **Reet** have already spotted a few things they want, and I’m pretty sure Jay has a new football kit in mind."

Ishita giggled beside me—a sound that usually melted my resolve instantly. She looked at me, her brown eyes dancing with mischief. "Rudra, they did work very hard. And the song was so beautiful..."

I looked at her, then back at the "vultures" waiting for my credit card. "Fine," I said, my voice dropping into that deep, authoritative tone that usually made boardrooms tremble, but here, it only made my siblings cheer. "Name it. But if I hear one complaint about the amount, the deal is off."

"A trip!" **Ahana** squealed. "All of us! Once everything settles down, you're taking us all on a vacation. Somewhere private, somewhere grand."

"And a blank check for the girls' shopping spree tomorrow," **Reet** added, high-fiving **Dhristi**.

I sighed, shaking my head. They were the only people in the world who dared to extort the President of Eternity Company so shamelessly. "Done. Akshat, handle the logistics. Just... get out of here so my wife can finally breathe."

They erupted into cheers, Jay even doing a little victory jig. **Ram Papa ji** laughed from the corner, clearly enjoying seeing me get "defeated" by the younger ones.

As they started to disperse, chatting loudly about their victory, I leaned closer to Ishita. The room was loud, but my world was quiet—focused entirely on her. I noticed the way she was shifting slightly, her back clearly still bothering her from the hours of sitting and bending.

"The vultures are fed," I whispered, my voice thick with an intimacy meant only for her. "Now, let’s get you out of this heavy jewelry before you break in half."

I stood up, not waiting for a response, and offered her my hand. It was time to leave the Prince and Princess persona at the door and just be Rudra and Ishita.

"Take her, Rudra," Papa said, his voice soft with understanding. "She’s been on her feet since dawn."

I didn't wait for a second invitation. My father’s voice was the only permission I needed to end this circus. Seeing Ishita’s pale face and the way she was subtly rubbing her lower back was like a physical weight on my chest.

Without a word, I leaned down. I didn't care about the relatives still lingering or the amused smirks from Akshat and Jay. I slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her effortlessly. She gasped, her small hands instinctively clutching my shoulders, her heavy gold bangles clinking against my neck.

"Rudra! Put me down, everyone is watching!" she whispered, her face turning a delicious shade of crimson.

I ignored her, my stride long and purposeful as I carried her up the grand staircase. My heart hammered—not from the weight, because she felt like a feather to me—but from the sheer proximity. The scent of jasmine from her hair and the sandalwood on her skin was intoxicating.

When we reached the massive mahogany doors of my suite—our suite—I didn't bother reaching for a handle.

"Rudra-01, Unlock," I commanded.

The biometrics recognized my voice instantly, the locks clicking open with a futuristic hum. I stepped inside, and the doors hissed shut behind us, locking automatically to ensure the world stayed exactly where it belonged: outside.

I carefully set her down on the edge of the plush, king-sized bed. The room was dim, lit only by the golden accent lights that highlighted the royal blue and silver decor. As soon as her feet touched the floor, she turned to me, her brown eyes wide with a mix of worry and frustration.

"Kya zaroorat thi aapko woh sab kehne ki?" she started, her voice trembling slightly. "Rehne dete na... sabke saamne aise accha nahi lagta. Sabko lagega maine aapko manipulate kiya hai. (What was the need to say all that? You should have let it be... it doesn't look good in front of everyone. Everyone will think I’ve manipulated you.)"

I felt my jaw tighten. I took a step toward her, closing the gap until the tips of my shoes touched the hem of her heavy lehenga. I towered over her, but I made sure my shadow wasn't a threat—just a shield.

"Manipulate?" I repeated, the word tasting bitter. "Ishita, look at me."

I reached out, my fingers gently lifting her chin so she had no choice but to meet my gaze. My ocean-blue eyes were no longer icy; they were burning with a protective fire.

"You think I care what 'everyone' thinks? You think the world's opinion matters more to me than your dignity?" I asked, my voice a low, dangerous rumble. "My Bua crossed a line that doesn't exist for you. She didn't just insult my wife; she insulted the woman who is the only reason I still have a heart."

I trailed my thumb over her lower lip, my gaze softening. "If being protective of you makes them think I'm manipulated, then let them. I would rather the whole world think I’m a fool for you than let a single person—blood or not—make you feel like you are 'less than' because of your skin or your background."

She looked up at me, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She was so used to being the one who fixed things, the one who kept the peace. She didn't realize that with me, she didn't have to be a shield anymore. I was hers.

"You are Ishita Rudra Singh Rathor," I whispered, leaning in until our foreheads rested against each other. "And in this palace, and in my life, your word is law. If I have to burn every bridge to keep your smile intact, I’ll do it without blinking."

I felt her breath hitch. The silence in the room was heavy, filled only by the sound of our breathing. I could see the fatigue in the droop of her shoulders, the way the heavy *mathapatti* was pressing into her forehead.

"Now," I murmured, my hands moving to the heavy pins of her veil. "Enough about Bua. Let’s get this weight off you before you break."

I looked at her, truly looked at her, as she sat on the edge of our bed. She looked like a tired goddess, drowning in gold and silk. Without a word, I dropped to my knees on the plush carpet.

"Rudra! What are you doing?" she gasped, her voice reaching a pitch of pure panic as I reached for her ankles.

I ignored her protest and gently slid the heavy, jewel-encrusted heels off her feet. Her soles were red and swollen from standing through the hours of rituals. I took her right foot in my lap and began to massage the arch with firm, steady pressure.

"Nahi! Rudra, mat karo!" she squeaked, trying to pull her foot away. "Mujhe paap chadhega! Aap pati ho mere... pati parmeshwar hota hai, pata bhi hai aapko? Aur aap mere pair daba rahe ho? (No! Rudra, don't do this! I'll be cursed! You're my husband... the husband is like a God, do you even know that? And you're massaging my feet?)

I didn't let go. Instead, I increased the pressure slightly on a particularly tense knot, making her let out a small, accidental moan of relief that contradicted her words. I looked up at her, a slow, teasing smirk spreading across my face.

"Pati parmeshwar?" I repeated, my voice dropping to a low, husky vibration. "And what about the wife? Maine suna hai patni ghar ki Lakshmi hoti hai. (I've heard the wife is the Lakshmi of the house.) If I can worship a stone idol in a temple, why can't I worship the living, breathing goddess sitting in front of me? Hmm?"

She opened her mouth to argue—probably some sharp-tongued logic she'd learned back in her middle-class neighborhood—but I cut her off. I leaned down and pressed a lingering, soft kiss right on the arch of her foot.

I felt her entire body shiver. "Rudra..." she whispered, her face now a shade of red that put her bridal dupatta to shame.

"Is the 'Cold-Hearted Prince' not allowed to adore his wife?" I teased, moving my thumbs in circular motions around her ankles. "The world thinks I'm heartless, Ishita. Maybe I am. But since you've come back into my life, my heart seems to have migrated... it beats right here, under your feet."

"You're becoming very filmy," she stammered, trying to regain her composure, though she had stopped trying to pull away. "Rajasthan's top businessman talking like a Bollywood hero. If Akshat heard you, he’d never let you live it down."

"Then it's a good thing I locked the door," I countered. I moved to her other foot, my touch becoming lighter, more rhythmic. "And if anyone has a problem with it, they can take it up with my legal team. Or better yet, they can deal with the 'ruthless' version of me. I think I prefer being your personal masseur tonight."

I watched her eyes flutter shut as the pain finally began to recede from her limbs. The sight of her relaxed, safe in my room, safe in my care, filled a void that had been empty for three agonizing years.

"Ishita," I murmured, my voice losing its teasing edge and becoming thick with emotion. "For three years, I woke up in this room alone. Every ritual, every festival, I imagined you here. You think I care about 'paap' or 'maryada' (protocol) when I finally have you within arm's reach? I’d spend the rest of my life at your feet if it meant you'd never have to leave again."

She reached down, her small fingers tangling in my hair, pulling my gaze up to hers. The teasing was gone. There was only the raw, unfiltered love that had survived kidnapping, blackmail, and time.

"You're a very stubborn man, Rudra Singh Rathor," she whispered, her thumb tracing the line of my jaw.

"I'm a man who knows the value of his treasure," I replied. I stood up, moving from the floor to the bed, looming over her until she was forced to lean back against the pillows. "Now, shall we tackle the seventy-two pins holding this veil to your head, or do I need to call in a structural engineer?"

Her laugh—bright and genuine—echoed through the room, and for the first time in a long time, the silence of the Rathor mansion felt like peace, not loneliness.

I watched her for a heartbeat, her face flushed and her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The "Pati Parmeshwar" argument had clearly exhausted her more than the dancing. I stood up slowly, the movement fluid and predatory, and moved over her.

I didn't just sit; I caged her.

I leaned forward, my hands planted firmly on the mattress on either side of her thighs, trapping her between my arms. I saw her gulp, her brown eyes widening as I descended. I didn't stop until our noses were brushing, the tips teasing each other with every breath.

"Sore still, na *jaan*?" I whispered, my voice dropping into that dark, velvety register I knew made her toes curl. "Don't worry. If you allow me... tonight, I’ll make sure you get rid of every bit of that pain. I have a very... hands-on approach to therapy, sweetheart."

The way she blushed was art. It started at her neck and crawled up to her ears until she was practically glowing. She looked like a delicious, startled deer.

"Rudra! You—you are shameless!" she stammered, her hands landing on my chest to push me away. "Where is the 'Cold Prince' gone? Did you leave him at the office?"

"He’s on a leave of absence," I murmured, leaning in to nip playfully at her earlobe. "He doesn't work nights when his wife looks this breathtaking."

Before I could steal a kiss, she found a sudden burst of strength and gave me a firm shove. Because I was caught in the moment, I lost my balance and fell back onto the plush duvet with a low *thud*.

I didn't get up. I stayed there, sprawled across the bed, letting out a deep, genuine laugh that echoed against the high ceilings. I looked up at her, my hair messy and my shirt slightly rumpled, enjoying the view of her looking down at me with mock indignation.

"You're enjoying this way too much!" she huffed, though a smile was tugging at the corners of her lips. She stood up, her heavy *lehenga* rustling like a field of gold. "I am going to get out of this jewelry before my neck actually snaps."

She walked over to the grand, marble-topped vanity. "Alexa," she called out, her voice still a little shaky from my teasing, "Open my vanity and set the lighting to 'Skincare Mode'."

The smart-mirror flickered to life, the hidden drawers sliding open with a soft mechanical whirr, revealing her array of oils and cleansers. She caught my reflection in the glass—I was still lying on the bed, propped up on one elbow, watching her with a gaze that I knew felt like fire on her skin.

"Stop staring, Rudra," she muttered, reaching for the pins in her hair. "Go change into your pajamas. Or better yet, go to sleep."

"Sleep?" I stood up, walking toward her with slow, deliberate steps until I was standing right behind her. I looked at our reflection—the massive, muscular blue-eyed man and the delicate, brown-skinned beauty. I reached out, my hands hovering just over her shoulders. "And miss the chance to see how many layers of 'Princess' are under all this gold? Not a chance, Ishita. I’m staying right here."

I leaned down, my chin resting on her shoulder as she struggled with a particularly stubborn pin at the back of her head. "Need a hand, or should I just watch you struggle and call it 'foreplay'?"