Rudra’s Perspective

The 4:00 AM alarm buzzed with a low, rhythmic vibration on the nightstand. In the quiet stillness of the Delhi winter, it sounded like a heavy intrusion. I reached out, my muscles tensing as I silenced it with a sharp tap, but I didn’t move immediately.

I couldn't.

Ishita’s hand, heavy with the weight of her **wedding chooda**, was draped across my chest. The sight of her crimson bangles against my pale skin was a constant reminder that she was finally, irrevocably mine. Her palms, stained with the darkening hues of **mehndi**, were curled slightly near my heart.

I leaned down, the cold morning air biting at my bare shoulders, and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. She stirred in her sleep, a soft moan escaping her lips as she turned away from the sudden loss of my warmth. The movement sent a delicate chime through the room—the rhythmic **jingle of her payal** mixing with the clatter of her chooda.

I stayed frozen for a moment, my ocean-blue eyes tracing the path of the **sindoor** smudged across the silk pillowcase, a messy, beautiful testament to the heat of last night. My gaze dropped lower, catching the glint of her **diamond mangalsutra**. The 'R' initial hung precariously, caught in the deep curve of her cleavage, rising and falling with her steady breaths.

The December chill was settling into the room, and I saw her shiver, pulling the duvet tighter around her slim frame. She was still dressed only in her lace inners, her skin flushed from the intensity of our session hours ago. The "cold-hearted prince" of Rajasthan didn't exist in this room; here, I was just a man obsessed with her comfort.

I moved quietly, grabbing my discarded button-down shirt from the armchair. Shifting the blanket just enough, I carefully maneuvered her arms into the oversized sleeves. She let out a tiny, sleepy protest, but I hushed her with a thumb over her lip until she settled back into the mattress, now enveloped in my scent and the warmth of the heavy cotton.

> *She looked tiny in my clothes—a 5'3" goddess swallowed by the shirt of a 6'3" man. It was a sight I would never grow tired of.*

Once she was tucked safely back into the cocoon of the blankets, I stood up. The softness in my eyes hardened as I walked toward the door. The transition was visceral. By the time I reached my **personal gym**, the husband who had just tenderly dressed his wife was gone.

The weight of **Eternity** and **The Rathor Company** would be on my shoulders in a few hours. But for now, there was only the iron, the silence of the early morning, and the lingering scent of her on my skin to fuel the fire.

Two hours of punishing my body with iron had cleared my head, but the moment I stepped back into the bedroom, the adrenaline faded, replaced by that strange, grounding ache I only felt around her.

The room was still dim, the heavy curtains blocking out the weak December sun trying to break through the Delhi fog. I wiped the sweat from my forehead with a towel, my breath hitching when I saw the bed. She hadn't moved an inch.

She was a tiny mound under the heavy duvet, buried so deep that only the top of her head—those wild, dark curls I loved to lose my fingers in—was visible. My white shirt, far too large for her, peeked out from the edge of the blanket.

I walked over to the side of the bed, the floorboards silent under my weight. I leaned over her, my ocean-blue eyes tracing the small part of her face that wasn't hidden. She looked so peaceful, so untouched by the chaos of the world—the chaos I usually dealt with at **Eternity**.

I reached out, my calloused thumb grazing the tip of her nose. She didn't wake, only let out a tiny, soft sigh that vibrated against my skin.

"Still hiding from the world, *Jaana*?" I whispered, my voice raspy from the workout and the morning air.

I let out a low, dry chuckle. "Three years... three years I woke up to an empty bed, wondering where you were, who was holding you. Now you’re here, and you’re sleeping through the morning like you don't have a care in the world."

I leaned closer, my lips hovering just inches from her ear. The scent of her—vanilla and something uniquely *Ishita*—was stronger than the smell of my own sweat.

"You have no idea how much I want to wake you up," I murmured, my voice dropping to a dangerous, possessive growl. "But you need the rest. Last night was... long."

I straightened up, lingering for one more second to adjust the duvet, tucking it firmly around her shoulders to keep the Delhi chill out.

"Sleep, Ishita," I said softly, looking at the way my shirt hung off her small frame. "I’ll handle the world today. You just stay mine."

I turned toward the ensuite, stripping off my damp gym gear. As I reached the door, I looked back over my shoulder one last time. She was still dead to the world, a contrast to the heartless businessman the rest of the world feared.

"I'm never letting you go again," I promised the silent room. "Not for three years. Not for three seconds."

I stepped into the bathroom and turned the shower to a freezing cold, needing the bite of the water to snap me out of the trance she held me in. I had a meeting with Akshat at **The Rathor Company** later, and I needed to be the Prince again—not just the man who was hopelessly in love with the woman in his bed.

The clock on the nightstand ticked toward 7:00 AM. For the last hour, I had been balancing my laptop on one side of my hip, the glow of the screen reflecting the complex merger files for **Eternity**. But my focus was fractured.

How could I concentrate on global markets when the center of my universe was using my thigh as a pillow?

I looked down at her. Ishita was still deeply asleep, her dark, curly hair splayed across my lap like a silken veil. My left hand was buried in those curls, my fingers tracing the familiar pattern of her scalp, a gesture that had become as natural to me as breathing. The Delhi cold was biting outside our window, but here, under the weight of the duvet and the heat of our bodies, it was a different world.

I closed the laptop and set it aside. Enough work.

"Jaana," I murmured, my voice deep and vibrating in the quiet room. I leaned down, my lips brushing against her temple. "Get up now. *Pag Phere ke liye nahi jaana kya, love?*"

She didn't open her eyes. Instead, she let out a tiny, frustrated whine, her face scrunching up as she burrowed deeper into my leg, seeking the warmth. The soft **jingle of her payal** punctuated her movement.

"Five more minutes, Rudra..." she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. She reached out, her hand—still heavy with the **chooda**—clutching the fabric of my trousers as if to anchor herself there forever.

I smirked, a genuine, rare expression that only she ever saw. I ran my thumb over the bridge of her nose, moving down to trace her bottom lip.

"You’ve been saying 'five minutes' for the last half hour," I teased, my tone dropping to that soft, low register I knew affected her. "Come on, *ready hone mein bhi time lagega aapko*. You’re a makeup artist, Ishita; you know better than anyone how long your 'quick' routine actually takes."

She groaned, a long, drawn-out sound of protest, and actually hugged my leg, snuggling her cheek against my thigh. The sight of her—the brown-skinned beauty who had completely dismantled the cold, heartless prince of Rajasthan—made my chest tighten.

"It’s cold," she complained into the fabric of my clothes, her voice muffled. "And you’re warm. Why do we have to go anywhere?"

"Because your family is waiting, and if I don't bring you to the Sharma house on time, Ravi and your father will think I'm kidnapping you all over again," I said, my eyes darkening slightly at the memory of the three years we lost. I wouldn't let anything—not even her adorable laziness—delay our life together now.

I leaned down further, my chest pressing against her shoulder as I whispered into her ear, "If you don't get up in the next ten seconds, I’m going to carry you into that shower myself. And believe me, *Jaana*, if I get you in there, we won't be leaving the house until noon."

That seemed to do it. I felt her stiffen slightly, her eyelashes fluttering against my skin as she finally began to surface from her sleep.

💖 Ishita’s Perspective

The vibration of Rudra’s deep voice was the first thing I felt—a low hum that resonated through my cheek where it rested against his thigh. I didn't want to open my eyes. The Delhi December chill was creeping into the room like a silent thief, making the warmth of his body feel like the only safe place on earth.

I felt his fingers, calloused but incredibly gentle, weaving through my messy curls. Every time he touched me, it was like he was making sure I was really there—that the three-year nightmare was actually over.

"Ten seconds, Ishita," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.

I didn't move. Instead, I let out a soft groan and wrapped my arms tighter around his leg, burrowing my face into the fabric of his trousers. The **chooda** on my wrists clinked softly, the sound bright in the quiet morning.

"No," I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep. "It’s too cold. The bed is warm. You’re warm. Why would I leave this?"

I finally blinked my eyes open, my vision blurry for a second before I looked up. From this angle, he looked even more like a Greek god—his jawline sharp, those **ocean-blue eyes** looking down at me with a softness he saved only for me. He was already dressed in a fresh shirt, looking every bit the powerful President of Eternity, but his hand was still buried in my hair.

"Because your 'little saali' Sahiba will have my head if I'm late," he teased, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. "And I'm pretty sure your brother Ravi is already checking his watch."

I looked at him defiantly, though I knew I was losing the battle. I shifted, snuggling higher until my head was against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart. I could see the **sindoor** I’d smudged on the pillowcase last night, and I felt a blush creep up my neck.

"Let them wait," I whispered, my voice regaining its playfulness. "Tell them Rajasthan's cold-hearted prince has been held hostage by his wife. They’ll understand."

Rudra let out a low, dark chuckle that sent a shiver down my spine—one that had nothing to do with the cold. He leaned down, his nose brushing against mine.

"Hostage, huh?" His gaze dropped to my lips, then to his oversized shirt hanging off my shoulders. "You’re the only person in the world who would dare to use that word with me, *Jaan*."

"Is it working?" I asked, fluttering my lashes and tightening my grip on him. "Can we stay for five more minutes?"

He sighed, but I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. He leaned down and pressed a firm, lingering kiss to my forehead, right where my **sindoor was smudged

"Five minutes," he conceded, his voice dropping to a low growl. "But if you don't get up after that, I'm following through on my threat. I’ll carry you to the bathroom, and I promise you, we won't be making it to the Sharma house for breakfast."

I giggled, finally feeling the sleep lift as I squeezed him one last time. "Deal. But only because I want to see Sahiba. And because I know you’re secretly dying to show off your wife in her first post-wedding outfit."

"I don't need to show you off to know you're mine," he whispered, his possessiveness flaring in his eyes as he pulled me even closer into his heat.

The steam from the hot shower had finally chased away the Delhi chill, but as I stood before the vanity mirror, a different kind of warmth began to spread through my chest.

I took my time with the makeup—it was my craft, after all. I applied a flawless base, accentuating my brown skin until it glowed. I winged my liner sharply and darkened my eyes with deep **kajal**, the way Rudra liked it. I swept a shimmering eyeshadow across my lids and finished with a bold red lipstick that matched the **saree** I had chosen.

I draped the heavy red silk, the fabric clinging to my curves as I tucked and pleated it. I slipped into my **high heels**, feeling the familiar shift in my posture. I combed my long, curly hair until it fell in waves down my back. Finally, I applied a generous stroke of **sindoor** in my parting and placed a small red bindi on my forehead.

The **payal** jingled with every step I took toward the jewelry box, but I stopped myself. Maa had specifically told me she had something traditional for me to wear for the *Pag Phere*, so I left my neck and ears bare for now. Only the **chooda**—which I never took off—and my **toe rings** remained, marking me as his.

As I reached for my mascara, my hand trembled slightly. Looking at my reflection, I wasn't seeing the makeup artist; I was seeing the woman from last night. My mind drifted back to the darkness of the room, the way the cold air had vanished the moment Rudra’s hands found me.

I could still feel the phantom pressure of **his fingers** moving inside me, the raw intensity of his touch that made me forget my own name. I closed my eyes for a second, almost hearing his ragged breathing as he pressed his **lips against my chest**, his stubble grazing my skin as he marked me as his own. The memory made my skin flush, a heat rising that no December wind could cool.

I turned around to see my husband, and the breath caught in my throat. Rudra was already ready, standing by the window. He looked deadly handsome in a tailored * coat-suit** that emphasized his 6'3" muscular frame. He was Rajasthan’s prince, through and through.

He was currently on a call, his voice cold and commanding—the "Business Tycoon" mode.

"Laksh, I want those merger documents for **Eternity** on my desk by tomorrow morning," he said into his phone, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Handle the PR team; I don't want any leaks."

He paused, switching lines. "Akshat? Listen, I’m heading to the Sharma house with Ishita for the *Pag Phere*. You and Papa handle the board meeting at **The Rathor Company** today. Don't call me unless the building is on fire."

He hung up and finally turned toward me. The coldness in his ocean-blue eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a dark, simmering hunger as he took in my red saree and the smudged glow of my face.

> *"You look... breathtaking, Jaan,"* he murmured, tossing his phone onto the bed and walking toward me. *“But if you keep looking at me with those 'last night' eyes, we aren't making it out of this room.”*

I felt my heart race. He knew. He always knew exactly what I was thinking.

The scent of his expensive, woody cologne mingled with the lingering vanilla of my perfume, creating a heady mix that always made my head spin.

He didn't say a word at first. He just stepped into my personal space, his large, warm hands settling firmly on my waist, pulling my back against his solid chest. I felt like a delicate doll held by a giant. He leaned down, his lips pressing a soft, reverent kiss to my forehead, right on the edge of my sindoor. Then, he trailed his lips down to the curve of my neck, lingering there until a shiver that had nothing to do with the Delhi cold ran down my spine.

I turned in his arms, my **chooda** clinking against his suit jacket as I rested my hands on his broad shoulders. I looked up into those **ocean-blue eyes** and pouted slightly.

"Just a kiss?" I teased, my voice trailing off. "Compliment me more, *Patidev*. *Maine itna time liya ready hone mein.* (I took so much time to get ready.)"

Rudra’s gaze darkened, his eyes roaming over my face, taking in every detail of the makeup I’d spent an hour perfecting. One of his hands left my waist to trace the line of my jaw, his thumb brushing over my red-stained lower lip.

"Time?" he repeated, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. "Ishita, I could stand here for the next three years just watching you put on your kajal and it still wouldn't be enough time."

He pulled me closer, his grip possessive. "You look like a queen. This red... it makes your skin look like gold. And the way you’ve done your eyes? It’s dangerous. You know exactly what you’re doing to me, don’t you?

I smiled, feeling my cheeks heat up under his intense stare. "I wanted to look perfect for my first day back home."

"You are perfect," he corrected me instantly, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me. "But I have half a mind to lock this door and tell everyone the car broke down. Looking at you like this—with my shirt’s scent still on you, wearing this saree, and that sindoor..."

He leaned in, his nose brushing against mine. "Every second you spent in front of that mirror was worth it, even if it’s torture for me to have to share the sight of you with the rest of the world today. You’re breathtaking, *Jaan*."

I let out a soft breath, my heart thumping against my ribs. "Okay, okay... compliment accepted. Now, let’s go before you actually follow through on that threat to lock the door."

He smirked, giving my waist a final, firm squeeze before reaching for my hand. Our fingers intertwined—his large, pale hand catching my mehndi-stained ones. The contrast was beautiful.

"Let’s go," he said, his 'Prince' persona snapping back into place as we headed toward the door. "But don't think I've forgotten about those 'last night' eyes you were giving me earlier. We’ll continue this conversation tonight."

As I descended the grand marble staircase of the Rathor mansion, my hand was tucked firmly into the crook of Rudra’s arm. The rhythmic **jingle of my payal** and the soft clinking of my **chooda** echoed in the quiet hallway, announcing our arrival long before we reached the dining hall.

The Delhi morning was crisp, but the dining area was warm, filled with the aroma of fresh parathas, ginger tea, and the familiar chatter of a large family.

Everyone was already seated at the massive mahogany table. As soon as we approached, the conversation hushed, and all eyes turned toward us. I felt a flutter of shyness, but Rudra’s steady presence beside me gave me strength.

I stepped forward to perform my first duty as the new daughter-in-law. One by one, I leaned down to touch the feet of the elders:

* **Siya Maa and Ram Papa ji:** They both placed their hands on my head, their faces glowing with pride. "Sada suhagan raho, bitiya," Ram Papa whispered.

* **Chacha and Chachi (Lakhan Singh and Urmila):** They showered me with blessings, Chachi adjusting my pallu with a wink.

* **Bebe:** When I touched her feet, she pulled me up into a warm hug, her eyes twinkling. "You look like a true Rathor Bahu, Ishita," she whispered.

As we moved toward our seats, the younger lot didn't miss a beat.

"Good morning, Bhai! Good morning, Bhabhi!" **Akshat, Vardaan, and Jay** chimed in unison, their grins wide and mischievous.

My devranis, **Dhristi and Reet**, along with my sister-in-law **Ahana**, stood up to greet me.

"Bhabhi, you look stunning in red!" Ahana complimented, her eyes scanning my makeup. "That liner is perfection—I need tips later!"

"She took her time for a reason, Ahana," Rudra said smoothly as he pulled out a chair for me, his voice carrying that possessive edge that made my heart skip. "Leave her alone so she can actually eat."

"Oho, Bhai is already being protective," Jay teased, nudging Vardaan.

We sat down, and the table became a whirlwind of activity. Siya Maa made sure my plate was heaped with food, while Rudra silently kept track of my water glass, his hand occasionally brushing against mine under the table.

"Listen, everyone," Bebe announced, silencing the table. She looked at me with a soft smile. "After breakfast, Ishita, come to my room. I have the traditional jewelry kept ready—the pieces that every bride of this house wears for her *Pag Phere*. Once you’re adorned with those, you’ll be ready to go to your father’s house."

I felt a lump in my throat. The weight of the Rathor heritage was being passed to me. "Thank you, Bebe," I said softly.

Rudra leaned in close, his shoulder pressing against mine. "Don't look so nervous," he murmured, his ocean-blue eyes searching mine. "Whatever Bebe gives you, you'll carry it better than anyone else ever has."

I smiled, feeling a sense of belonging I hadn't felt in the three years we were apart. I was Ishita Rudra Singh Rathor now, and today, I was finally going home to tell my family that the Prince had brought his Princess back for good.

The clatter of silverware against porcelain finally slowed as breakfast came to an end. The morning sun was beginning to pierce through the Delhi fog, casting golden slivers across the grand dining hall. I felt a gentle squeeze on my hand under the table—Rudra’s silent way of checking in on me before the day truly began.

"Come, Ishita *bitiya*," Bebe said, her voice warm and commanding. I stood up, the **jingle of my payal** accompanying me as I followed her toward her suite.

The room smelled of sandalwood and old memories. Bebe opened a heavy, velvet-lined mahogany box, and my breath hitched. Resting inside was a masterpiece of heritage—a heavy **Kundan and Polki necklace** set with emeralds that looked like they belonged in a museum.

"This has been passed down through four generations of Rathor women," Bebe whispered, her wrinkled hands steady as she lifted the heavy choker and fastened it around my neck. She then placed the matching *Maang Tikka* on my forehead, right above my bindi, and adorned my ears with massive *Jhumkas*.

The weight of the gold was significant, but the weight of the love behind it was even greater. I leaned down and touched her feet, my heart full.

"Thank you, Bebe. I’ll keep the honor of this family always," I promised.

She pulled me up, her eyes misty as she kissed my forehead and then both my cheeks. "You already have, Ishita. You brought the soul back to my Rudra. Now go, your father must be waiting at the door."

When I stepped back into the hallway, Rudra was waiting. He had been leaning against the wall, but the moment he saw me—decked in the family jewels, the red saree, and the glow of a new bride—he straightened up. His **ocean-blue eyes** darkened, sweeping over me with a look of pure, unadulterated possession.

He walked toward me, his heavy footsteps echoing on the marble. Without a word, he slid his arm around my waist, his large hand splaying across my lower back, pulling me flush against his muscular frame.

"Bebe really went all out," he murmured, his voice a low vibration near my ear. He leaned down, his nose brushing against the gold of my earring. "You look like a literal Goddess, Ishita. I’m starting to regret promising your family I’d bring you over today."

I giggled, resting my hand on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart against my palm. "Don't be a spoilsport, *Patidev*. I've missed my Papa and Ravi."

He let out a mock sigh, though his grip on my waist didn't loosen. "Should we go then, *Jaan*? Before I change my mind and carry you back upstairs?"

"Yes, we should definitely go!" I laughed, nodding eagerly.

As we made our way to the grand entrance, the whole family gathered to see us off. I waved to Siya Maa, the devranis, and the brothers, promising to be back by evening. But there was one more family member waiting by the heavy oak doors.

**Oscar**, Rudra’s majestic pet tiger, was lounging near the portico. As I approached, the massive beast stood up, his golden fur gleaming. Most people would have been terrified, but to me, he was just a big, protective baby.

"Hey, Oscar," I cooed, reaching out to stroke his powerful head.

Oscar let out a low, vibrating purr and then did something that made everyone gasp and then smile. He stepped closer and gently took the **corner of my red saree pallu** in his massive lips, tugging softly as if he didn't want me to leave.

"Oh! Oscar, no, *bacha* (baby), I have to go," I said, patting his nose. "I’ll be back soon, I promise!"

Rudra chuckled, a rare, rich sound. He patted Oscar’s flank. "Let go, buddy. She’s mine, and I’m the only one allowed to hold onto her saree today."

Oscar huffed, releasing the silk, but stayed right by my side until we reached the waiting SUV. Rudra opened the door for me like the true prince he was, but before I could climb in, he pulled me back for one last lingering look.

"Today is for your family," he whispered, his eyes intense. "But tonight? Tonight belongs only to us."

I smiled, my heart doing a little flip. "I'm counting on it, Rudra."

The hum of the luxury SUV’s engine was a low purr, matching the quiet contentment in my heart. Outside, the Delhi fog was swirling against the glass, but inside, the heater was blasting, and the air was thick with the scent of Rudra’s cologne and the fresh marigold from my hair.

Rudra drove with a relaxed, effortless grace that always fascinated me. One hand was steady on the steering wheel, while the other was firmly clamped over mine, which rested on the gear shift. His palm was large and warm, his thumb mindfully tracing the intricate **mehndi patterns** on the back of my hand. He didn't let go, not even when he shifted gears; he just moved my hand along with his, as if we were a single body

I couldn't help myself. I pulled out my phone, the screen lighting up my face. I needed to capture this. After three years of having nothing but faded memories, I wanted every second of "now" documented.

I snapped a few solo shots first, the heavy **Kundan necklace** from Bebe catching the light beautifully, my red lipstick popping against my brown skin. Then, I angled the camera toward us.

"Rudra, look at the camera for one second," I pleaded, leaning my head toward his shoulder.

"Ishita, I'm driving in Delhi traffic," he grumbled, though the edge was missing from his voice. "I need to keep my eyes on the road."

"Just one! Please? For your 'obsessed' wife?" I teased, nudging him.

He let out a resigned sigh—the kind of sigh that said he’d move mountains if I asked nicely—and momentarily turned his face toward me. *Click.*

I looked at the photo and gasped. The camera had perfectly captured his **ocean-blue eyes**. They were piercing, like a stormy sea, and they were focused entirely on me, even in a split-second shot.

"Oh my god, Rudra," I whispered, scrolling through the photos. "Your eyes... they’re literally unfair. How am I supposed to concentrate on anything when you look at me like that?"

I leaned closer, my **chooda** clinking against his suit sleeve. "Tell me the truth, *Patidev*. Do you use those eyes to intimidate your business rivals, or is that just a natural 'I’m-a-handsome-prince' superpower?"

He didn't look away from the road this time, but a slow, devastating smirk spread across his face. "I use them to get what I want, Ishita. And right now, all I want is for my wife to stop staring at a screen and start staring at me."

"I *am* staring at you!" I laughed, tucking my phone away. "I’ve been staring at you since we left the house. You look so serious, like you’re preparing to take over another company instead of going to have tea with my Papa."

I reached out with my free hand and playfully traced the sharp line of his jaw. "You need to relax those muscles, Mr. President. You’re going to the Sharma house, not a war zone. Ravi might get scared if you walk in with your 'Cold-Hearted Prince' face on."

Rudra caught my fingers with his hand on the wheel, bringing them to his lips for a brief, searing kiss before placing my hand back on the gear shift under his.

"I’m not worried about Ravi," he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, husky register that made my stomach flutter. "I’m worried about how I’m going to behave myself for four hours without having you all to myself. This *Pag Phere* ritual is a test of my patience, *Jaan*."

"It’s just a few hours, Rudra!" I teased, leaning into his space. "Can the great Rudra Singh Rathor not survive a morning without his 'kidnapped' bride?"

He flicked his gaze toward me—those blue eyes burning with a sudden, dark intensity. "I spent three years without you, Ishita. Every second I spend sharing you with the world now feels like a second wasted. So, no... I don't plan on being patient."

I felt a thrill run through me. He was so possessive, so intense, and so entirely mine.

"Well," I said, my voice softening as I looked at the familiar turn leading to my childhood home. "You better start practicing your 'nice son-in-law' smile, because we’re here."