Ishita’s Perspective

The afternoon had been a whirlwind of teasing from the girls in the garden, but by the time the December sun began to set, a mysterious courier arrived at the Rathor mansion. It wasn't just a package; it was a formal, thick cream envelope with the **Eternity company** seal.

Inside was a card that read: *"To the woman who owns the King... be ready for a journey where the world won't be able to find us."* Underneath were two business-class tickets to **Paris** for New Year’s Eve.

My heart hadn't stopped racing since. I spent the evening pacing our room, the **jingle of my payals** sounding like a frantic heartbeat. **Oscar** was lounging on the rug, his blue eyes tracking me with that same bored, arrogant gaze Rudra often had, but even he seemed to sense my electricity.

At around 8:00 PM, I heard the familiar, heavy stride in the hallway. The door clicked open, and there he was—**Rudra Singh Rathor**. He looked tired, his tie slightly loosened, his **ocean-blue eyes** searching the room until they landed on me.

I didn't even give him a chance to put down his briefcase.

"RU!" I shrieked, sprinting across the marble floor. I threw myself at him with such force that he had to stumble back a step to catch me, his large hands instinctively locking around my **waist** to steady us.

"Whoa, *Janna*! Careful," he chuckled, his voice a deep, tired rumble that I felt in my chest. "Oscar is watching. Have some mercy on my reputation."

"How did you know?!" I cried, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes, my **chooda clinking** as I waved the tickets in front of his face. "Paris, Ru! Paris! I never told you... I never told anyone that it was my absolute dream destination. Not even Aditi knows the full extent of my obsession with French architecture and those cafes!"

He looked down at me, a soft, almost secretive smile playing on his lips. He didn't tell me he’d been paying attention to the way I lingered on travel vlogs, or how I had a "Paris" Pinterest board hidden on my phone.

"I have my ways, Ishita," he murmured, his thumb grazing my jaw. "You're my wife. Do you really think I wouldn't know the map of your heart by now?"

"But... it’s so expensive, and the timing... and the suite mentioned in the letter..." I was babbling now, my **brown eyes** shining with unshed tears of excitement. "I can't believe it. I’m actually going to see the Eiffel Tower with you?"

"Not just see it," he said, his voice dropping into that possessive, dark tone. He pulled me flush against his **muscular frame**, his fair skin contrasting with my brown skin. "You’re going to own it for a week. No business, no family, no 'BTS'—just you and me in the city of love."

I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder. The smell of his expensive cologne and the cold December air still clinging to his coat felt like home.

"I love you, Ru," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "I love you so much. Thank you for listening to the things I don't even say out loud."

I felt him stiffen for a second before he relaxed, his arms tightening around me until I could barely breathe—just the way I liked it. Above us, I heard a low chuff from **Oscar**, who had stood up and was now rubbing his massive head against Rudra’s leg, welcoming his father home.

"Don't thank me, Ishi," Rudra whispered into my hair. "Just promise me one thing."

"Anything," I breathed.

"In Paris... you're not allowed to look at any French models. Your eyes stay on your husband. Understood?"

I laughed, a bright, bubbly sound. "Jealous, Mr. Rathor?"

"Always," he growled playfully, before bending his head to claim my lips in a kiss that promised Paris was going to be even more intense than our wedding night.

👑 Rudra’s Perspective

I stood there, arms crossed over my chest, watching the absolute chaos I had unleashed. One minute I was about to claim a proper "thank you" kiss, and the next, my wife had turned into a human whirlwind.

"Ishi, the jet doesn't leave for another fourteen hours," I said, leaning against the doorframe as she hauled a massive suitcase onto the bed.

"Fourteen hours is nothing, Ru! I have to coordinate the outfits, the jewelry, the heels... oh my god, do I have enough woolens for Paris?" She was ranting nonstop, throwing silk suits, dresses, and lace onto the bed.

I walked over and picked up a pair of stilettos she’d just tossed. "Ishita, we are going to Paris for some days, not moving there permanently. Why are there already six pairs of shoes on the bed?"

"Six? Rudra, those are just the 'airport to hotel' options!" she huffed, not even looking at me as she struggled with a zipper. "I need my boots for walking, my pumps for dinner, my wedges for the cafes, and—"

"And a crane to lift this suitcase?" I teased, pulling her back by her waist. She felt so small and energized in my arms. I nipped at her earlobe, my voice dropping. "You don't need all these clothes, *Janna*. I plan on keeping you out of them for most of the trip anyway."

"Rudra! *Besharam*!" she squealed, her face turning that beautiful shade of crimson I loved. "Go! Go get ready for dinner. I have work to do!"

When we finally made it downstairs, the entire Rathor clan was gathered around the massive mahogany table. The scent of saffron rice and spicy curry filled the air.

I waited until everyone was settled before I spoke. "Ishi and I are leaving for Paris tomorrow morning," I announced, my voice calm but firm.

The table went silent for a heartbeat before **Jay** dropped his spoon with a loud *clink*.

"Oho! The Tiger is taking his Lily to the city of love?" Jay chirped, wagging his eyebrows. "Bhai, spare the poor French people. We already have enough 'noise' in this mansion; let Paris have some peace!"

"Jay, behave!" Maa** scolded, though she was beaming at us. "It’s a wonderful idea. My Ishi needs a break after everything she’s been through."

"Break?" **Akshat** laughed, leaning back. "Rudra doesn't give 'breaks,' Maa. Look at the poor girl’s neck—she’s going to need a turtleneck for the entire flight!"

I saw Ishita instinctively pull her dupatta higher, her **chooda clinking** as she hid her face. I reached under the table, finding her hand and squeezing it tightly.

"Let them talk," I whispered to her. Then, looking at my brothers, I gave them the 'CEO glare.' "The itinerary is private. If any of you try to track the jet or call us, I’ll make sure your credit cards are frozen before you can say 'Bon Voyage'."

"Haye, look at the possessiveness!" **Urmila Chachi** giggled. "Rudra, make sure you bring back a 'Little Prince' or 'Little Princess' from Paris, okay?"

Ishita nearly choked on her water. I just smirked, my **ocean-blue eyes** dark with intent. "I'll see what I can do, Chachi."

Back in our room, the packing continued. Or rather, my attempt to stop her packing continued.

"Rudra, please, just one more pair of boots?" she pleaded, holding up a knee-high suede pair while sitting on my lap.

"No," I said, though I was already opening the suitcase to make room. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her into my chest. The excitement in her eyes was the best gift I’d ever bought myself. "You can buy ten more pairs in Paris, *Janna*. For now, just focus on me."

I leaned down, finally getting that kiss she’d denied me earlier—long, slow, and deep, tasting of the promise of a new beginning.

I leaned against the headboard, watching her bustle about. She had finally listened to me and thinned out the pile of Indian suits, replacing them with a few elegant western dresses. I knew the moment we hit Avenue Montaigne, I’d be replacing her entire wardrobe anyway.

"Pack light, *Janna*," I reminded her, my eyes trailing the curve of her back as she reached for her skincare bag. "We’re going to spend half our time shopping, and the other half... well, I already told you. I don't plan on letting you sleep much."

"Rudra! Stop it," she mumbled, her fingers trembling as she packed her expensive serums and makeup palettes. Her **chooda** made a frantic clinking sound against the glass bottles.

"Why stop? There’s no Jay to interrupt, no Bebe to knock on the door, and no 'Top 5 Businessman' meetings for me. Just you, me, and a suite with a view of the Eiffel Tower." I stood up and walked toward her, noticing she hadn't packed a single short dress or skirt.

I leaned against the dresser, curiosity piqued. "You don't wear shorts, *Janna*?"

She paused, a pair of heels in her hand, and shook her head. "Nahi, Ru."

"Why?" I asked, testing her. "It’s Paris. Everyone wears them there. You have the legs for it,

She looked down, a soft, slightly hesitant smile on her lips. "Mummy and Papa don't like it. They strictly told me—*ki nahi pehan sakti.* When I started modeling, that was their one big condition. No short clothes. What can I do? I can't go against them."

I felt a surge of respect for her—and a darker, more possessive thrill. My Ishita was a traditional soul trapped in a modern world, a gem that Mohan Sharma had polished with values.

I stepped behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her back into my chest. I rested my chin on her shoulder, looking at our reflection in the vanity mirror. She looked so tiny, so delicate in my hold.

"Your Papa was right to protect you," I whispered, my voice a low, gravelly vibration. "But you're a Rathor now, Ishita. And while I respect your parents, I have a different perspective."

"What perspective?" she breathed, her brown eyes meeting my ocean-blue ones in the mirror.

"I don't want you wearing shorts in public either," I said, my grip tightening on her waist. "Not because of 'what people will think,' but because I don't want a single pair of eyes on your skin but mine. If you ever decide to wear something short... it will be in our bedroom, behind locked doors, where only your husband is allowed to admire you."

She shivered against me, her breath hitching. "You're so possessive, Ru."

"I'm a territorial man, Ishi. Especially when it comes to what’s mine." I turned her around in my arms, the suitcase forgotten. "Now, finish with your makeup bags. We have a long flight tomorrow, and I want to make sure you're 'tired' enough to sleep on the plane... because once we land in Paris, the real 'work' begins."

I saw her swallow hard, her gaze dropping to my lips. She knew exactly what I meant. The "Cold Prince" was gone; in his place was a man starved for his wife’s attention, ready to claim her in every corner of the world.

I leaned against the doorframe, a smirk playing on my lips as I watched her struggle with the suitcase lock. I moved toward her again, my shadow looming over her small frame, but she turned around and shoved my chest with her tiny hands.

Let me pack!" she huffed, her **chooda clinking** with her frustration. "Aap baar baar aake mujhe distract karte hain. Jaiye yaha se, chaliye!"

I let out a deep, rumbling chuckle, letting her push me back a few inches. "Kya yaar... pyar ki kadar hi nahi hai duniya mein. Main pyar kar raha hoon aur meri hi biwi mujhe bhaga rahi hai." I dragged out the words **"Meri Biwi"** with a possessive, dark tilt to my voice.

She stopped, giving me a bored, flat look. "Ho gaya?"

"Abhi kahan? Tum kaho toh shuru karein?" I countered, my eyes dropping to the curve of her neck in a way that made my intent crystal clear.

She gasped, her face flushing crimson. "Niklo yaha se! Gande ho aap bohot, Rudra!"

"Jo bhi hoon, ab toh aapka hoon," I said, stepping back into her space.

"Ha ha, unfortunately option nahi tha mere pass," she teased, though her eyes were shining.

My expression hardened instantly, my **ocean-blue eyes** turning dark and territorial. I caged her against the dresser. "Hota toh bhi main kisi aur ko yaha khada na hone deta, **Mrs. Rathor**." I whispered the name against her skin, marking her with my voice.

I finally stepped away to give her some air, my gaze landing on her cupboard where a silk dress was hanging out untidily. I walked over to tuck it in, but as I moved the clothes, I saw a bundle of white fabric hidden in the back corner.

"Ye bedsheet yahan kya kar rahi hai?" I asked, frowning as I pulled it out.

"Kaunsi bedsheet?" she asked, her voice suddenly jumping an octave. When she saw what was in my hand, she practically lunged at me. "Vo... vo galti se rakh di hogi! Main laundry mein daal rahi thi, sorry!"

She tried to snatch it, her hands shaking, but I held on tight. My instincts flared. "Kuch chupa rahi ho?"

"Nahi nahi! Kuch nahi!" she stuttered, her face turning pale.

"Then let me see. Aisa kya hai is sheet mein?"

"Rehne do na... gandi ho rahi hai," she pleaded, her gaze darting everywhere but at me.

"Koi baat nahi," I murmured, my voice turning suspiciously soft. I pulled the fabric out of her grasp and unfurled it. Ishita turned her head away, her lip trembling.

As the white linen opened, my eyes landed on the center. There, dried and unmistakable, were the **dark crimson spots of blood**.

For a split second, my mind went to her cycle, but I immediately dismissed it—she’d finished her periods just before the wedding. I stared at the marks, the silence in the room becoming deafening. Then, the realization hit me like a physical blow.

These were the marks from our **first wedding night**.

This was the evidence of her purity, the physical proof of the moment she had completely surrendered her soul and body to me. She had kept it—hidden it away like a sacred relic of the night I finally made her mine. My heart hammered against my ribs as I looked from the sheet to my trembling, shy wife.

I stared at the white fabric in her hands, my chest tightening with a mix of reverence and a strange, protective ache. "Ye kya hai, *Janna*?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

She snatched it back quickly, her face buried in the folds of the linen. "Kaha tha na mat lo... gandi hai," she mumbled, her voice trembling.

"Gandi hai? Seriously? You hid this from me?" I stepped closer, my **ocean-blue eyes** locked on her panicked expression. I couldn't believe she thought I’d be repulsed by the very proof of our union.

"Toh ye koi dikhane ki cheez hai kya?" she countered, her eyes shimmering with embarrassed tears.

I didn't say another word. I simply reached out, took the sheet from her, and set it aside on the dresser. Then, I wrapped my hand around her arm and pulled her flush against my chest. "Biwi ho meri. Hakk hai mera aapki har cheez par," I rasped, my voice thick with emotion. "Woh achi ho ya gandi. Aur ye gandi nahi hai, samjhi aap?"

She let out a shaky breath, her forehead resting against my collarbone. "Hmm... bas main aapko uncomfortable nahi karna chahti thi in sab se."

I let out a long, heavy sigh. My heart felt like it was breaking for this girl who still thought she had to hide her vulnerability from me. I led her to the velvet couch, making her sit, and then I did something I rarely do for anyone—I **knelt on the floor** in front of her, my large hands resting on her knees.

"Pehli baat," I started, looking directly into her brown eyes. "Main aapki kisi bhi cheez se uncomfortable nahi hota. Dusri baat... kabhi bhi mujhse kuch mat chupana."

I took her small, henna-patterned hands in mine, the **engagement ring** and **chooda** catching the light. "Ishi, aapkko sach mein lagta hai I am uncomfortable with you? Apni biwi ke saath?"

She bit her lip, looking so small and innocent. I shook my head, a frustrated but loving smile tugging at my lips. "God, Ishi... you are mad. Seriously mad. This... this is the most precious thing you could have kept. It's not 'dirty.' It’s us."

I leaned forward and kissed her forehead, the **sindoor** marking my skin as I did. "Don't ever hide your heart from me again. Understood?"

"Understood, Ru," she whispered, finally smiling through her tears.

I stood up, pulling her with me. "Now, put that away safely if you want to keep it. But then, we are going to sleep. We have a dream to catch in the morning."

I pulled her down onto the bed with me, the silk sheets cool against our skin, but the heat between us was unmistakable. As she tried to reach for the folded white linen on the dresser, I caught her waist.

"Aap mat rakhna woh sheet. Main karunga, okay?" I murmured, my voice dropping into that deep, possessive register.

She looked at me, her brown eyes wide and curious. "Aap kyun?"

"My treasure, *Janna*," I said, my **ocean-blue eyes** dark with a sincerity that made her breath hitch. "Now come here... give me *thandak* (peace)."

I pulled her small frame directly on top of me, her weight a welcome pressure against my chest. She let out a soft giggle, her **long curly hair** spilling over my shoulders like a silken veil. "Tandak?"

"Hmm," I groaned, burying my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her rose-infused skin. "Only you can give me that."

As we lay there, the room bathed in the soft glow of the night lamp, I couldn't keep my hands still. My fingers traced the line of her spine, dipping into the small of her back, my touch deliberate and teasing. I felt her shiver, her **chooda clinking** softly as she rested her hands on my chest.

"Ru..." she whispered, a warning tone in her voice that was betrayed by her racing heart. "Last night you did enough in two rounds, *Patidev*. Give me rest tonight... because clearly, in Paris, you won't stop this, right?"

I let out a low, dark chuckle that vibrated through both our bodies. I shifted, rolling us over until I was hovering above her, my **6'3" frame** casting a shadow over her delicate form. I pinned her wrists gently above her head, my eyes devouring her flushed face.

"You think I'm going to wait until Paris?" I rasped, my lips ghosting over her jaw, right where I knew she was most sensitive. "You’re right about one thing, Ishi—I won't stop in Paris. But tonight? Tonight I might just give you a 'preview' of what's to come."

"Rudra! You promised!" she gasped, though her fingers were already tangling in my hair, pulling me closer.

"I promised to take care of you," I corrected, my voice a husky growl. "And sometimes, the best way to take care of my wife is to make sure she forgets everything but the way I touch her."

I leaned down, my kiss slow and punishingly sweet, drowning out her protests. The air in the room grew heavy with the scent of raw desire and the promise of the journey ahead. Paris was miles away, but right here, in the silence of the Rathor mansion, the Prince was already claiming his territory.

Time skip

The digital clock on the bedside table flickered to **4:00 AM**. In the quiet of the room, the only sound was the soft, rhythmic breathing of the woman curled into my side. I didn't want to move, but my body was wired for the routine. I carefully disentangled myself, sliding a pillow into the space I left behind so she wouldn't feel the cold.

I spent the next two hours in the home gym, the heavy iron weights helping me burn off the restless energy that always seemed to hum under my skin when she was near. By the time I finished my last set and showered in the guest bathroom to avoid waking her too early, the sky was just beginning to turn a pale, bruised purple.

At **6:00 AM**, I walked back into our suite, smelling of sandalwood and fresh morning air. I stood by the bed for a moment, watching her. She was a mess of tangled curls and silk, her **chooda** peeking out from under the duvet.

I sat on the edge of the mattress, the weight causing her to shift and let out a tiny, sleepy hum.

"Ishi," I whispered, leaning down. I brushed a stray curl away from her face, my thumb lingering on the soft skin of her cheek. "Janna, wake up. Paris is waiting."

"Hmm... no... five minutes, Ru," she mumbled, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to bury her face deeper into the pillow.

I chuckled, a low sound in the morning quiet. I leaned closer, my lips grazing the shell of her ear. "If you don't get up in five minutes, I'm going to have to carry you to the jet in your pajamas. And I don't think you want the pilots seeing you in those cartoon-print socks."

That did it. One eye fluttered open, looking at me with a mix of betrayal and grogginess. "You're mean. It’s still dark outside."

"It's the start of our life, Ishita. Get up," I said, my **ocean-blue eyes** softening as I pulled the duvet back. "I’ve already checked the luggage. Oscar is fed, the cars are downstairs, and the private terminal is cleared for a 7:30 departure."

She sat up slowly, stretching her arms above her head, her **payals jingling** a morning greeting. She looked so innocent, yet the faint marks on her collarbone reminded me of exactly who she belonged to.

"Go on," I teased, swatting her lightly as she moved toward the bathroom. "The faster you get ready, the faster I get you all to myself in a different time zone."

She turned back at the bathroom door, pouting sleepily. "You're too energetic for 6 AM, Mr. Rathor."

"That's because I have a very beautiful reason to be," I countered, watching her disappear behind the door with a smile.

💖 Ishita’s Perspective

I stepped out of the bathroom, feeling fresh but still a little fluttery with nerves and excitement. I had chosen a comfortable yet chic cream-colored cord-set—perfect for a long flight but stylish enough for the "Mrs. Rathor" title I now carried. I did my basic makeup, touched up my **sindoor**, and made sure my **mangalsutra** was sitting perfectly.

Everything was ready. My **chooda** was gleaming, and my **payals** sang with every step I took toward the bed where my sneakers were waiting.

Then came the part that always made me feel like a little girl again. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at the laces of my shoes. It’s embarrassing, I know. A grown woman, a model, a makeup artist... and I still struggle to tie a perfect knot. Papa never let me learn properly; he used to say his princess shouldn't have to bend down for anything as long as he was there.

Rudra noticed me hesitating. He didn't say a word, didn't mock me, and didn't lose his patience. He simply walked over and **knelt on the floor** at my feet, just like he had last night.

"Ishi, your laces," he murmured, his large, powerful hands reaching for my foot.

"I... I can try, Ru," I whispered, my face heating up. "I know it’s silly. Papa just always did it for me, and  I think I just forgot how to even try."

He didn't look up, his fingers moving with practiced ease as he crossed the laces. "Then let your husband do it now. If Mohan uncle kept his princess on a pedestal, I plan on keeping my Queen even higher."

I watched his head—the dark hair I loved to run my fingers through—as he focused on the task. The "Cold-Hearted Prince" of Rajasthan, the man who made billion-dollar deals with a single glare, was sitting on the floor making sure his wife’s shoes were tied tight so she wouldn't trip.

The contrast made my heart ache with love. He tied the second knot and gave my ankle a gentle squeeze

"There," he said, finally looking up, his **ocean-blue eyes** reflecting the soft morning light. "Ready to fly?"

"Ready," I breathed, reaching out to cup his face. "Thank you, Ru. For... everything."

He stood up, pulling me with him until I was tucked against his chest. "Don't thank me for things that are my privilege, *Janna*. Now, let’s go. The family is downstairs, and if we don't leave now, Jay might actually try to hide in one of the suitcases."

I laughed, grabbing my handbag as he took my hand, his grip firm and protective. As we walked out of our suite, I felt a strange sense of peace. The three years of pain and kidnapping were behind us. Ahead was Paris, the Eiffel Tower, and a lifetime of Rudra Singh Rathor tying my laces.

As we descended the grand staircase for the final time before our trip, the entire mansion felt alive with that bittersweet energy of a "vidaayi," even though it was just a vacation. I felt every bit the Rathor *Bahu* today.

I leaned down and touched the feet of **Siya Maa, Urmila Chachi, and Bebe**, receiving their warm palms on my head and a flurry of whispered blessings. Then, I moved to **Papa ji and Chacha ji**, who patted my shoulder with pride. Beside me, Rudra followed suit—his 6'3" frame bending with a rare humility that he only showed to his elders.

I turned to my girls, hugging **Dhristi, Reet, and Ahana** tightly. "I'll miss you guys!" I whispered. I leaned down to give a loud, smacking kiss to little **Krish's** cheek, making him giggle.

But my heart twinged when I saw **Oscar**. Our "Black Tiger" was sitting near the door, his tail flicking irritably, his ears pinned back. He looked genuinely sad, his blue eyes fixed on us as if he knew his parents were leaving. Rudra walked over, kneeling one last time to rub Oscar behind the ears, whispering something low and firm in that "Alpha" tone that only the two of them understood. Oscar let out a low huff and finally settled down, though he didn't look happy about it.

As we walked toward the sleek black car waiting at the entrance, I turned back to wave. That’s when I noticed it.

**Bebe, Siya Maa, and Chachi** were huddled together, and instead of the usual emotional goodbye, they were all wearing these suspicious, knowing smirks. **Dhristi and Reet** were practically vibrating with suppressed laughter, and **Ahana** actually had the audacity to wink at me!

I frowned, my **chooda clinking** as I waved. Ahana caught my eye and mouthed slowly: *"You will get to know after opening your luggage!"*

My eyes widened. What did they do? Did they put a prank in my suitcase? A hidden camera? I didn't have time to ask because Rudra’s hand settled firmly on the small of my back, guiding me into the plush leather interior of the car.

The door shut with a heavy, expensive *thud*, cutting off the sound of the family's laughter. As the car pulled down the long driveway, I felt the familiar pull of Rudra’s arm around my shoulders, drawing me into his side.

"Ru, stop!" I whispered, leaning away slightly and gesturing with my eyes toward the front. "Behave, *Patidev*... the driver is right there!"

Rudra didn't even blink. He pulled me closer, his **ocean-blue eyes** fixed on me with that dark, "I-don't-care-about-the-world" look.

"The partition is up, *Janna*," he murmured, his voice a deep vibration against my temple. "And even if it wasn't, the whole world knows you belong to me. Let the driver see how a Prince treats his Queen."

He took my hand, his thumb tracing the circles of my **engagement ring**, while my mind kept drifting back to Ahana’s words. *Open the luggage.* "Ru," I said, looking at him suspiciously. "Do you think your sisters and the moms put something in my bags? They were acting so weird."

"Knowing them?" Rudra smirked, leaning back and pulling me onto his lap despite my protests. "They probably packed enough 'special' outfits to make sure we don't leave the hotel room for the entire week. But don't worry... I’ll help you go through every single one of them."

My face went up in flames. If my sisters-in-law had packed what I *think* they packed, Paris was going to be even more "eventful" than I imagined.

The moment we stepped onto the tarmac, the sheer scale of the **Rathor Private Jet** took my breath away. It wasn't just a plane; it was a flying palace of glass and silver, shimmering under the early morning sun.

As the air hostess bowed deeply, greeting us with a "Welcome, Sir. Welcome, Ma'am," I stepped into the cabin and gasped. The interior was draped in cream leather and dark mahogany, with plush carpets that felt like walking on clouds. There was a private bedroom, a dining area, and even a small bar.

I roamed around the cabin, my **chooda clinking** as I touched the soft upholstery. I turned back to look at Rudra, who was standing by the entrance, casually handed his blazer to the attendant. He looked so powerful, so effortlessly in control.

"Huhu... My husband earns really well, doesn't he?" I teased, a playful glint in my brown eyes. I walked back toward him, circling him slowly. "But Ru, this is different from the one we took for our pre-wedding shoot in Switzerland, right? That one was smaller."

Rudra reached out as I passed, his hand snaking around my waist to pull me flush against his **muscular chest**. His **ocean-blue eyes** darkened as they roamed over my face.

"Sharp eyes, *Janna*," he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, husky register that always made my knees weak. "That was one of the **Eternity** fleet. This? This is my personal jet. I bought this specifically for us. No one else has ever stepped foot in this cabin except the crew. I wanted the first memory of this plane to be you."

I felt a shiver run down my spine. The way he looked at me—it wasn't just love; it was a deep, dark possessiveness that claimed every breath I took.

"You bought a whole jet... just for us?" I breathed, my hands resting on his shoulders.

"I'd buy the sky if it meant I could keep you there alone with me," he whispered. He leaned down, his lips ghosting over the **mangalsutra** around my neck. "No family to tease you here, Ishi. No brothers, no maids. Just thousands of feet of empty air and the two of us."

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Ru... the crew is just in the next cabin..."

"They know better than to interrupt," he growled softly, his thumb tracing the curve of my lower lip. He suddenly lifted me, sitting me down on the edge of the large, circular leather sofa. He stood between my legs, his hands resting on the armrests, effectively caging me.

"You were worried about what the ladies packed in your luggage," he said, his gaze dropping to my lips. "But did you forget that I'm the one who ordered the  the silk sheets for this flight?"

The "Cold Prince" was fully in his element now. The luxury of the jet, the privacy of the clouds, and the woman he had waited years for—it was all coming together.

"Ishi," he said, his voice a commanding rumble. "Forget Paris for a moment. This flight is eight hours long. And I have no intention of letting you look at anything but me for a single second of it."

I looked up at him, my **brown eyes** wide with a mix of shy anticipation and overwhelming love. The way he called me his *Janna*, the way he claimed my space—it made me feel like the only woman in the world.

"Patidev," I whispered, my fingers reaching up to tug at his tie. "I think I'm starting to understand why you were in such a hurry to leave the mansion."

"Finally," he smirked, leaning down to claim my lips in a kiss that tasted of obsession and the long-awaited honeymoon.