💖 Ishita’s Perspective

I was standing at my vanity, the soft glow of the mirror lamps reflecting off the emerald green of my saree, which I hadn't changed out of yet. I was meticulously applying my night serum, my **chooda** making a rhythmic *clink-clink* against the glass bottles.

Rudra was sitting on the edge of the bed, finally relaxed, unbuttoning his  shirt. The sight of his broad shoulders usually distracted me, but tonight, I had a point to prove.

I caught his eye in the mirror, my expression one of mock-seriousness. I picked up my phone and tapped the screen pointedly.

"Rudra," I said, turning around slowly, a cotton pad in one hand. "I’ve been doing some math. You told me this morning, and I quote: 'Three hours, Ishita. Not a minute more.'"

He paused, one hand on his button, a wary but amused look entering his **ocean-blue eyes**. "Jaana, the board meeting ran long—"

"I don't care about the board," I interrupted, walking toward him with the graceful sway of my silk saree. I stopped right between his knees, looking down at him. "You took exactly **seven hours**. That is a four-hour deficit on your promise."

I leaned in closer, the scent of my lavender skincare mixing with his masculine cologne. I traced the line of his jaw with one finger, my voice dropping to a playful, dangerous whisper.

"According to my calculations, *Patidev*, a four-hour delay definitely earns you at least a **half-murder**. *Kyu, haina?* (Right, isn't it?)"

Rudra’s hands moved to my waist, his large palms warm against the silk. He pulled me a fraction closer, his head tilting back to look up at me. Even though I was standing and he was sitting, his presence still felt overwhelming.

"A half-murder?" he repeated, his voice a deep, vibrating rumble. "That sounds painful. What exactly does a 'half-murder' by Ishita Sharma Rathor look like? Do I get a final meal, or just more chocolate?"

"It means," I said, trying to keep a straight face despite his thumb tracing circles on my hip, "that I am officially on strike. No hugs, no head massages when you’re tired, and definitely no warming your cold heart for at least... twenty-four hours."

Rudra let out a soft huff, a smirk spreading across his handsome face. He pulled me firmly into his lap, ignoring my tiny gasp of surprise. My **payal** jingled loudly as my feet left the floor.

"Twenty-four hours without my heater?" He murmured, burying his face in the crook of my neck, his stubble grazing my skin. "I think I’d freeze to death before you could finish the murder, *Jaan*. Isn't there a way to settle out of court? My lawyer brother isn't here to defend me."

I pouted, though my heart was melting at his touch. I ran my fingers through his dark hair, the tension of my 'anger' evaporating. "You think you can just charm your way out of a broken promise?"

"I think," he whispered, his lips brushing against my collarbone, "that I can spend the next four hours—the exact time I was late—making it up to you. Just us. No laptops, no Eternity, no London mergers."

I looked into those intense blue eyes and knew I had lost. "You're lucky you brought the big box of chocolates, Rudra."

"I’m lucky you’re too soft-hearted to actually kill me," he corrected, his gaze dropping to my lips. "Now, are we going to keep talking about math, or are you going to let your 'half-dead' husband show you how sorry he is?"

I giggled, finally surrendering and wrapping my arms around his neck. "Fine. But the next time you're late, I'm calling Krishiv and telling him to kidnap *you* for a change."

Rudra laughed, a rare, genuine sound that vibrated against my chest as he pulled the duvet over us, finally ending our Christmas Day in the only way that mattered—together.

Next day

The energy in the Rathor mansion today was electric. Tonight was the **Grand Reception**, the final official celebration of our wedding, and the house was buzzing with decorators, caterers, and the constant chatter of family. It felt like the entire state of Rajasthan was preparing to witness the "Cold-Hearted Prince" officially present his Queen to the world.

Upstairs in my dressing suite, it looked like a high-end boutique had exploded. **Ahana**, **Dhristi*, and **Reet** were huddled around me, while Reet—being the professional fashion designer she is—was holding up swatches of velvet and silk against my skin.

"Bhabhi, you have to wear something that screams 'Royalty,'" Ahana insisted, holding a heavy gold tiara against my dark curls. "Tonight isn't just a party; it’s your coronation as the Rathor Bahu!"

"Ahana, let her breathe," Dhristi laughed, gently adjusting a set of heavy emerald necklaces on the vanity. "Ishita, you look stunning in everything, but tonight, Rudra Bhai is going to be in a tuxedo. We need something that complements his 'Greek God' look."

Reet nodded, her eyes sharp with creative vision. "I’ve designed this specifically for you, Ishita. It’s a fusion of our tradition and Rudra’s modern edge. But tell me—are you nervous? The whole business world and the elite of Rajasthan will be there."

I looked at my reflection, my fingers grazing my **mangalsutra**. "As long as Rudra is standing next to me, I’m not scared of anyone. But I do want to look perfect for him. After three years of being a ghost in his life, I want to be the brightest thing he sees tonight."

👑 Rudra’s Perspective

Downstairs in the main hall, the atmosphere was more structured but no less intense. I was standing with **Papaji**, **Lakhan Chacha**, and **Siya Maa**, while **Bebe** sat on the royal armchair, overseeing everything like the matriarch she is.

"Rudra, the guest list has crossed eight hundred," Papaji said, reviewing a tablet. "The Chief Minister and the top industrial families are all confirmed. This is the biggest event The Rathor Company has hosted in a decade."

"I don't care about the industrialists, Papa," I said, my voice calm but firm. I was leaning against the mantle, my mind partially upstairs with the girl who was currently being poked and prodded by her sisters-in-law. "I just want the security to be airtight. After the kidnapping... I’m not taking any chances. I’ve already talked to **Krishiv**; his men will be stationed at the perimeter."

**Siya Maa** walked over, placing a gentle hand on my arm. "Beta, relax. Today is about joy. Ishita has brought light back into this house. Look at you—you’ve changed so much in just six days. You’re not the 'Cold Prince' today; you’re a husband."

"I'm a husband who wants his wife to have the night of her dreams, Maa," I admitted, my **ocean-blue eyes** softening for a split second.

**Bebe** tapped her cane on the floor, drawing my attention. "Rudra, I’ve taken out the ancestral Rathor jewels for her. Ensure she wears the headpiece. She is the pride of this family now."

"She is my pride, Bebe," I corrected softly.

Just then, I heard a burst of laughter from upstairs—Ishita’s laugh. It was bright, clear, and more valuable to me than any ancestral jewel. I looked up the grand staircase, wishing I could just skip the next eight hours and be at the moment where I lead her into that ballroom, showing the world that what destiny tore apart, Rudra Singh Rathor has finally put back together.

I pushed the door open, expecting to find a whirlwind of designers and jewelry boxes. Instead, the room was surprisingly quiet, save for the soft, melodic hum of my wife’s voice.

I stopped in my tracks, leaning against the doorframe for a heartbeat just to take her in. Ishita was sitting on the rug, her emerald saree pooled around her like a silken forest. In front of her, **Oscar** lay sprawled out, his massive head resting on his paws, looking as captivated as I was. She was mid-sentence, gesturing with a piece of dark chocolate in one hand while a tablet lay open on her lap showing various "All Black" reception looks.

"So, Oscar... should we go for the bold red lip or the smokey eyes?" she asked the tiger seriously, popping the chocolate into her mouth. "Ru likes the smokey look, but I feel like red is more... 'Queen-like,' don't you think?"

Oscar let out a low, vibrating chuff, as if agreeing with her.

I moved silently, my footsteps swallowed by the plush carpet. I came up behind her, my shadow falling over her and the tiger. I didn't wait for her to turn around. I sank to my knees, my 6'3" frame enveloping her 5'3" one, and wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her back against my chest.

I leaned down and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her bare shoulder, right where the green silk ended.

"I think," I whispered, my voice a deep, gravelly vibration against her skin, "that if you wear a red lip, I won't be able to pay attention to a single guest at that reception. I'll be too busy wondering how quickly I can get you back to this room."

Ishita gasped softly, her head tilting back against my shoulder. She smelled like lavender, expensive cocoa, and *home*.

"Rudra! You’re supposed to be downstairs with Papaji," she scolded, though she was already leaning into my touch, her **chooda** clinking as she reached back to touch my face. "And you're distracting my consultant. Oscar was just about to give me his final verdict."

I glanced at the tiger, who blinked his blue eyes at me before yawning and resting his head back down.

"Oscar’s fired," I teased, my lips grazing her earlobe, making her shiver. I looked at the tablet. "All black for tonight, *Jaan*? A daring choice. You want to match my tuxedo, or are you trying to warn the world that the 'Cold Prince' finally met his match in a Dark Queen?"

"I want to look like I belong next to you," she murmured, turning slightly in my arms to look at me with those beautiful brown eyes. "Everyone will be looking at the Top 5 businessman. I just want them to see the woman who managed to tame him."

I chuckled, my hand sliding up to her neck, my thumb tracing her jawline. "Tame me? You didn't just tame me, Ishita. You colonised me. You’ve turned the most ruthless man in Rajasthan into a chocolate-delivery service."

I took the last piece of chocolate from her hand and fed it to her, my fingers lingering on her lips.

"Go with the smokey eyes," I murmured, my gaze dropping to her mouth. "It makes your eyes look like a storm I want to get lost in. But don't expect me to be a gentleman tonight. When I see you in that black outfit, standing under those chandeliers... I might just forget my manners and kiss my wife in front of the Chief Minister."

"Rudra! No!" she giggled, her face turning a delicious shade of pink. "Think of the Rathor reputation!"

"The Rathor reputation is built on getting what we want," I said, my voice dropping to a husky, possessive register. I pulled her closer, my nose brushing hers. "And right now, all I want is for the sun to set so I can show the world exactly who you are. My life. My Queen. My Ishi."

I kissed her then—not a gentle morning kiss, but a deep, promising one that tasted of chocolate and the fire of the three years we'd spent apart.

"Now," I said, pulling back just an inch, "finish your 'consultation' with Oscar. I have to go pretend to be a businessman for two more hours. But tonight? Tonight, I’m just yours."

💖 Ishita’s Perspective

The sun had finally dipped below the horizon, and the Rathor mansion was transformed into a palace of shadows and light. But inside our room, the air was thick with a different kind of intensity.

I stood before the full-length mirror, and for a second, I didn't recognize the woman looking back. I was wearing the **custom black lehenga** Reet had designed. The fabric was like midnight velvet, heavy and luxurious. The **blouse was a daring deep-cut**, hugging my curves perfectly, and the **back was almost entirely bare**, held together by only a few delicate, shimmering strings. My **waist was cinched low**, showing off my slim figure, accentuated by a diamond **waist chain** that glittered with every breath I took.

I adjusted my **chooda**, the red and white bangles providing a sharp, beautiful contrast to the black fabric. My **diamonds**—the ones Rudra had gifted me—caught the light at my throat and ears. With my long curly hair styled in perfect, voluminous waves and my silver bindi centered on my forehead, I felt powerful. I felt... *hot*.

Then, the door opened.

I caught his reflection in the mirror and my breath hitched. Rudra was a vision in a **three-piece black suit**. The charcoal-black fabric struggled to contain his **muscular frame**, his broad shoulders stretching the waistcoat to its limit. His hair was perfectly set, his jawline looked sharp enough to cut glass, and those **ocean-blue eyes**... they weren't just blue tonight. They were a dark, stormy sapphire.

He looked absolutely **sexy**.

The way his expensive perfume—a mix of oud and cold rain—filled the room made my knees weak. My mind immediately betrayed me. *I wonder how those large, veined hands would feel sliding over my bare back... how he’d look if I pulled that silk tie loose and—*

*Ishita! Stop it!* I scolded myself, my cheeks heating up. *You are going to a public reception, not a private photoshoot! Control your dirty thoughts!* But then, a small, rebellious voice in my head whispered: *Wait, I’m his wife. I have a permanent license for these thoughts. He’s mine to look at, mine to want, and mine to keep.*

Rudra didn't move. He stood by the door, his gaze traveling slowly—agonizingly slowly—from my high heels, up the flare of my lehenga, lingering on the diamonds at my waist, before finally meeting my eyes in the mirror.

"Ishita," he rasped, his voice sounding deeper, more dangerous than usual. "I told you to look like a Queen. I didn't tell you to look like a temptation I can't ignore."

I turned around slowly, my **payals** jingling a soft, seductive warning. I walked toward him, my high heels clicking on the marble, until I was standing right in his space. I reached up, my **long, painted nails** grazing the lapel of his suit as I straightened his pocket square.

"Do you like it, *Patidev*?" I asked, my voice a playful purr. "Or is it 'too much' for the cold-hearted Prince of Rajasthan?"

Rudra’s hands didn't hesitate. He grabbed my waist, his fingers brushing against the cold diamonds of my waist chain and the warm skin of my midriff. He pulled me flush against him, his muscular chest feeling like a wall of granite.

"It’s exactly enough to make me want to cancel the event, lock this door, and tell the Chief Minister to go home," he murmured, leaning down so his lips were a hair’s breadth from mine. "That backless blouse, Ishi... it’s a crime. I’m going to spend the whole night with my hand right here," he moved his palm to the small of my bare back, "just so no one else gets even a glimpse of what belongs to me."

I giggled, my heart thumping against his ribs. "So possessive, Ru. But you don't look so bad yourself. In fact, you look so sexy that I’m worried I’ll have to fight off every socialite in Delhi tonight."

"Let them try," he smirked, his eyes darkening with a predatory glint. "They’ll find out very quickly that I only have eyes for my 'Gen-Z' wife. You look breathtaking, *Jaan*. Like a dark dream I never want to wake up from."

I leaned in, brushing my lips against his jawline, just below his ear. "Then let’s go show them, Rudra. Let’s show them that the Prince finally found his match."

He groaned softly, his grip on my waist tightening for a second before he composed himself, the "Ruthless CEO" mask trying—and failing—to hide the heat in his eyes. He offered me his arm, his expensive watch catching the light.

"Shall we, My Queen?"

"We shall, My King."

👑 Rudra’s Perspective

The ballroom was a sea of shimmering lights, expensive champagne, and the elite of Rajasthan, but to me, the entire room was blurred, out of focus. The only thing in high definition was the woman tucked against my side.

As we made our grand entry, the music swelled, but I barely heard it. My focus was entirely on the sensation of my palm pressed against Ishita’s bare back. The silk of her lehenga was smooth, but her skin was like fire. Every time my fingers brushed the small of her **slim waist**, feeling the cold diamonds of her waist chain against her burning skin, a jolt of electricity shot straight to my gut

We stood on the dais, receiving the endless line of guests. I played the part of the perfect host—the powerful, ruthless Rudra Singh Rathor—but my "Cold-Hearted Prince" mask was slipping. My hand was clamped **tightly around her waist**, a silent, territorial claim. I didn't care if it looked possessive; it *was*.

Whenever a businessman lingered a second too long on her deep-cut blouse, or a young heir tried to offer a compliment that was a bit too bold, my **dark aura** flared. I felt my jaw tighten, my **ocean-blue eyes** turning into shards of ice as I stared them down until they looked away, sweating.

"Rudra," Ishita whispered, leaning her head toward me, her long curly hair brushing my shoulder. "Relax, love. You’re going to crush my waist if you grip it any harder. People are starting to notice your 'death stare'."

"Let them notice, *Jaan*," I rasped, my voice sounding like gravel. I leaned down, my lips grazing the diamond at her ear. "I told you this blouse was a crime. I’m just making sure no one forgets who the judge and executioner is."

Then, the music changed to a faster beat. **Ahana**, **Dhristi**, and **Reet** came scurrying over, pulling her away for a dance. I let her go, but my hand felt empty, the absence of her skin like a physical ache.

I stood back, leaning against a marble pillar, a glass of scotch in my hand that I hadn't even touched. I watched her. She was in the center of the floor, surrounded by my brothers and sisters. She was laughing, her **payals** jingling in time with the music, her **chooda** flashing under the chandeliers.

The way her lehenga flared when she twirled, showing the curve of her hip... the way the strings on her backless blouse danced against her skin... it was too much.

My thoughts turned **dark**. *Filthy.* I wasn't thinking about the merger or the guests anymore. I was thinking about how those strings would feel between my teeth. I was thinking about pinning her against the door of our bedroom and finally tracing every inch of that waist with my tongue. I watched her move, her slim, thin figure swaying with a grace that was pure torture to witness from a distance.

I felt the heat pooling in my lower belly. I shifted my weight, my trousers feeling suddenly, uncomfortably tight as I started **losing control**. I was getting **hard**, a slow, throbbing ache building that made me want to growl at anyone who dared to stand in my way. The "Ruthless Businessman" was being replaced by a hungry predator.

Jay danced past me, winking. "Careful, Bhai. If you stare any harder, you're going to set her on fire."

I didn't even blink. "Go away, Jay. Before I forget you're my brother."

Ishita caught my gaze from across the floor. She saw the intensity in my eyes—the raw, unfiltered lust that I couldn't hide anymore. She stopped mid-step, her cheeks flushing a deep rose, her eyes widening as she realized exactly what was going on in my head.

She tried to look away, but I didn't let her. I raised my glass to her, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across my face. I saw her swallow hard, her hand instinctively going to her **mangalsutra**. She knew. She knew the "Prince" was done being a gentleman.

I stepped away from the pillar, walking slowly toward the dance floor. I didn't care that the song wasn't over. I didn't care that the family was watching. I reached her, my hand finding the small of her back again, pulling her flush against my mounting heat.

"Enough dancing with them," I whispered into her ear, my voice thick and hungry. "We’re leaving in ten minutes. And if you say 'no,' Ishita, I might just carry you out of here in front of everyone."

"Rudra!" she gasped, her hands clutching my shoulders for balance. "The guests... Bebe... the function isn't over!"

"I don't care," I groaned, my nose burying in the crook of her neck. "I’m the King of this house, and I want my Queen. Now."

The drive back to the mansion was a blur of shadows and heavy breathing. I drove with one hand white-knuckled on the steering wheel, while my other hand was clamped firmly, possessively, on her **slim thigh**. The silk of her lehenga felt like a tease under my palm, but it was the heat of her skin underneath that was driving me to the brink of insanity.

I didn't say a word. I couldn't. If I opened my mouth, I’d lose the last shred of my composure. My mind was a storm of **dark, filthy imagery**—the way she had looked under the chandeliers, the way those strings on her back had taunted me all night. I knew, and she knew, that sleep was an impossibility tonight. I was going to make her moan my name until her voice gave out. I was going to claim every inch of my 24-year-old Queen until she forgot the world existed outside of our touch.

The moment the SUV came to a halt in the driveway, I didn't wait for a valet. I rounded the car, hauled the door open, and scooped her up into my arms. Her **payals** jingled frantically, a silver alarm in the quiet night.

I carried her through the foyer, my jaw set, my **ocean-blue eyes** dark with a hunger that was barely human. We reached our suite, and the **automatic sensor locks** clicked with a final, heavy thud behind us. The world was gone. Only we remained.

I set her down near the vanity. The lights hummed to life, casting a warm, golden glow over her disheveled beauty. She turned to face the mirror, her chest heaving, her hands trembling as she reached for the diamond necklace at her throat.

"Let me," I rasped, my voice sounding like a predator's growl.

I stepped behind her, the sheer size of my **6'3" muscular frame** towering over her. I reached out and swept her long, curly hair to one side, exposing the pale, vulnerable curve of her neck. I didn't hesitate. I pressed my lips to the sensitive cord of her neck, breathing in the scent of her perfume and the musk of the dance floor.

"Rudra..." she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut in the mirror.

I ignored her plea, my hands moving to the **pins of her dupatta**. I unfastened them one by one, watching the black fabric slide off her shoulder and pool on the floor like a discarded shadow. I leaned down, my lips grazing her ear.

"You have no idea what you did to me tonight, *Jaan*," I murmured, my voice a dark, dirty caress. "Watching you move... watching those men look at you. I wanted to burn the world down just to be the only one who sees this."

My fingers found the **delicate strings** of her backless blouse. I pulled the first knot. Then the second. I watched the fabric loosen, revealing the smooth, golden expanse of her back. I dipped my head, my tongue swirling against the indentation of her spine before I moved to the crook of her shoulder, **sucking deep** enough to leave a mark—a royal seal that said she was mine.

"Mmm... Ru," she moaned, her head falling back against my chest, her small hands gripping the edge of the marble vanity for support.

I reached around, my fingers sliding under the **blouse straps**, slowly, torturously pushing them off her shoulders. The black velvet slid down her arms, caught only by the swell of her breasts. My eyes met hers in the mirror—hers were clouded with bliss, mine were **dark, stormy sapphire**, wide with a lust that was losing its battle with restraint.

"Look at yourself, Ishita," I commanded, my hand sliding down to her waist, my thumb hooking into the **waist chain** and pulling it tight against her skin. "Look at what you do to me. You think I’m the 'Cold Prince'? Feel my heart. Feel what you’ve done to the 'ruthless' Rudra Singh Rathor."

I turned her around in my arms, pinning her against the vanity. I looked down at her—my thin, beautiful, brave wife—and knew I was about to break every rule of 'gentleness' I had set for myself.

"I'm not letting you go until the sun comes up," I whispered, my lips ghosting over hers. "And even then, I might just keep you right here."

I captured her lips then, a deep, devouring kiss that tasted of chocolate and desperate, three-year-long hunger, as the diamonds on her waist clattered against my belt buckle—the only sound in a room filled with the fire of our destiny.

The air in the room was thick, charged with a tension so heavy it felt like a physical weight. My self-control, the legendary discipline that had built **Eternity**, was incinerating in the heat of her skin.

I reached down, my fingers finding the clasp of her diamond **waist chain**. With one swift, practiced motion, I unhooked it, the jewels clattering as I tossed them onto the marble vanity. I didn't want anything—not even diamonds—coming between my palms and her skin. I pulled her flush against me, my large hands sliding over her **slim, naked waist**, my thumbs tracing the dip of her hips with a possessive ferocity.

"Rudra... please," she gasped, her back arching as I buried my face in her neck.

I didn't answer with words. I **sucked hard** at the sensitive skin just below her ear, marking her, claiming her, making sure the world would know tomorrow exactly who she belonged to. Her **loud moan** echoed through the silent suite, a sound that acted like gasoline on the fire in my veins.

My hands moved to the **strings of her lehenga**. I didn't faff around; I pulled the knot loose, the heavy velvet beginning to slip. I didn't give her a chance to breathe. I scooped her up, her **payals jingling** a frantic melody as I carried her the short distance to our massive bed.

I laid her down against the black silk sheets, the contrast of her brown skin and the dark fabric making her look like a goddess of the night. I stood over her for a heartbeat, my **ocean-blue eyes** dark with a hunger that bordered on madness. I stripped off my charcoal blazer and ripped open the buttons of my shirt, the fabric fluttering to the floor.

I hovered over her, my **muscular frame** casting a shadow that completely enveloped her. Her **blouse was barely hanging** on her shoulders, the deep cut revealing the frantic rise and fall of her chest.

"Tonight, Ishita," I rasped, my voice a dark, gutteral growl as I pinned her delicate hands on either side of her face. "Tonight, there is no 'Prince,' no 'CEO,' and no 'rules.' There is only this. There is only me taking what has been mine since the moment I saw you at that temple."

I leaned down, my lips capturing hers in a kiss that was raw, deep, and utterly demanding. I wasn't asking for permission; I was reclaiming my life. I felt her fingers entwine with mine, her **long, painted nails** digging into the backs of my hands as she met my intensity with her own.

"Ru... its good" she whimpered against my lips, her voice breaking.

"I know, *Jaana*," I whispered, my lips moving down to the valley of her chest, my breath hot against her skin. "Three years of cold nights. Three years of empty beds. I'm going to make up for every single second of that void tonight."

I moved lower, my lips tracing the edge of her blouse as it finally gave way. I heard her breath hitch, a **stifled moan** escaping her as I explored the silkiness of her stomach, my tongue tracing the line where the lehenga had rested. Every time she moved, her **chooda clinked** against the headboard, a rhythmic reminder of the bond that could never be broken again.

"Rudra... please, don't stop," she cried out, her eyes shut in pure bliss, her body trembling under mine.

I looked down at her, my 5'3" Queen looking so fragile yet so powerful in her surrender. The sight of her—the **sindoor** still faint in her hair, the **mangalsutra** tangled between our chests—made my heart hammer with a mix of love and dark, untamed lust.

"I'm never stopping, Ishita," I promised, my voice thick with a promise of a night that would leave us both breathless. "I'm going to make sure that by the time the sun rises, the only name your lips can form is mine."