Rudra's Perspective

I let out a low, dark chuckle, the sound vibrating against her chest as she lay pinned beneath me. Her **brown eyes** were sparkling with a mix of genuine curiosity and that playful, "Biwi-ji" interrogation style that I secretly adored. I watched her small hands resting on my shoulders, her **chooda clinking** as she waited for my confession.

"Vese ek baat batao," she whispered, her nose bopping against mine.

"Pucho," I replied, my **ocean-blue eyes** narrowing with amusement.

"Kitni girlfriends reh chuki hai aapki? School and college?" She didn't even give me a second to answer before she pointed a finger at my chest. "Jhutt mat bolna! I know you were a topper in everything, and you're a Rathor... *ladkiya line toh marti hongi.* And no guy is so innocent that he doesn't flirt back."

I shifted my weight, propping myself up on my elbows to look down at her, a slow, mysterious smirk spreading across my face. I loved it when she got like this-a little possessive, a little curious about the "Rudra" that existed before she crashed into my life at the Shiv Mandir.

"Sharif?" I repeated the word, tasting it like a foreign language. "Ishi, I've been called a lot of things-ruthless, cold, a shark in the boardroom-but 'sharif' has never been one of them."

I traced the curve of her jaw with my thumb, my gaze turning intense. "You're right about one thing. In school and college, there were plenty of girls who tried. They liked the Rathor surname, they liked the 'Prince' title, and yes, they liked the way I looked. There were distractions, sure. A few names that didn't matter even while they were happening."

I saw her lip curl slightly-a tiny spark of jealousy that made me want to devour her.

"But here's the truth, *Janna*," I said, my voice dropping into that deep, soul-stripping register. "I might have flirted, I might have had people around me, but I never *belonged* to anyone. I was a man who didn't believe in love or God. I thought women were just another part of a social checklist. I was empty, Ishita. A cold, muscular machine running on ambition."

I leaned down until our lips were almost touching, my breath hitching. "And then I saw you on those stairs at the temple. And in six months, you did what in twenty-five years of 'my 'life girls and 'flirting' couldn't do. You broke the machine. You made me believe in things I used to laugh at."

I nipped her lower lip softly, a tiny "punishment" for her doubt. "So, to answer your question: the list of girls who wanted to be where you are right now is very long. But the list of girls who actually own Rudra Singh Rathor? That list has exactly one name on it. And she's currently interrogating me under a duvet at 6:45 AM."

"So... no 'special' college sweetheart?" she teased, though her eyes were softening, her hands sliding up to cup the back of my neck.

"There is no one 'special' before you, Ishi. There was just... noise," I rasped, sealing the conversation with a deep, possessive kiss that told her more than words ever could. "You're my first real love, and you'll damn well be my last. Now, are you satisfied, or do I need to give you a more... *detailed* demonstration of my loyalty?"

"Acha? Mujhe nahi pata tha mera pati itna acha hai," she murmured with a cheeky grin, her **brown eyes** dancing with mischief. Then, she pouted slightly. "Par your bad luck, *Patidev*."

"Kyu?" I asked, my voice dropping an octave, my hand beginning a slow, deliberate journey from her waist upward.

"Ab chance nahi milega kisi se flirting karne ka. Ab aapki umar ho gayi hai," she giggled, poking my chest. "Ab toh puri zindagi mujhe zhelna padega... ek *kaleshi* aurat ko (Now you'll have to tolerate me, a troublemaking woman, for the rest of your life)."

"Umar ho gayi hai?" I repeated, my smirk widening into something far more dangerous. "You think your husband is getting old, Ishi? After last night, I thought I'd proven exactly how much 'stamina' this old man has."

I didn't wait for her to retort. I slid my hand beneath the silk of her nightgown, my palm finding the warm, velvet skin of her waist. I knew her weak points better than I knew my own bank accounts. I trailed my fingers upward, grazing the sensitive skin of her ribs, making her breath hitch and her eyes flutter.

"And as for 'zhelna' (tolerating)..." I leaned down, my lips ghosting over the shell of her ear, my stubble sent a delicious shiver through her entire frame. "I don't 'zhel' you, *Janna*. I consume you. There isn't a single part of your 'kalesh' that I don't want to own."

My hand moved higher, my thumb tracing the underside of her breast with a slow, agonizing rhythm that turned her playful giggles into shallow, shaky breaths. I felt her heart drumming against my chest-the most addictive sound in the world.

"Let the world think I'm the cold, disciplined CEO," I rasped, my other hand tangling in her **long curly hair**, tilting her head back to expose the elegant curve of her throat. "But in this room, under this blanket, I'm just a man who is obsessed with his wife. You think I want to flirt with anyone else? When I have this? When I have you?"

I nipped at the spot where her neck met her shoulder, making her let out a soft, beautiful moan that she tried to stifle with her hand. Her **chooda clinked** as she instinctively gripped my biceps, her nails digging into my worked-out muscles.

"Ru... we... we're going to be so late," she whispered, though she was arching her back, leaning into my touch.

"Let them wait," I commanded, my hands continuing their relentless, wandering exploration of her soft curves. "Let Jay make his jokes and let Akshat look at his watch. I'm the President of Eternity and the CEO of Rathor... if I want to spend my morning 'tolerating' my beautiful, kaleshi wife, nobody says a damn word."

I captured her lips in a kiss that was no longer playful. It was deep, hungry, and full of the raw, slow-burning dominance that had defined our honeymoon. I was showing her exactly how much "energy" her "old" husband still had.

I felt my muscles relax as she leaned over me, her **long curly hair** falling like a silken curtain around my face. I expected another one of those soul-searing kisses, or perhaps her hands exploring my chest. I lay back against the pillows, a smug, satisfied smirk playing on my lips as I waited for her next move.

"Patidev..." she whispered against my ear, her warm breath sending a fresh jolt of electricity through me.

"Yes, *Janna*?" I rasped, my hands hovering near her waist, ready to pull her back down.

"Aap bhout ache ho," she murmured, her voice dripping with a sweetness that should have tipped me off. "Par mujhe ek baat batani h..."

"Bolo," I urged, my **ocean-blue eyes** closing for a second as I anticipated a confession of love.

"Jab main 20 ki thi tab aap se mili..." she started, her tone becoming low and seductively husky. "Lekin jab main 18 aur 19 ki thi college mein, maine na..."

My heart skipped a beat. My protective, possessive instincts flared up instantly. My eyes snapped open. "Yes, *Janna*... apne kya?"

"Maine na..." she teased, drawing out the moment until the tension in the room was thick enough to cut.

"Aapne kya, Ishita?" I was practically growling now, my mind already imagining some college boy I'd have to track down and ruin.

"**MAINE NA BHOUT SAARE BOYFRIEND BANAYE THE!**" she suddenly screamed right into my ear, her voice echoing off the walls.

Before I could even blink, she scrambled off the bed with the agility of a cat, her **chooda clinking** frantically as she sprinted toward the bathroom, laughing like a maniac.

I sat up abruptly, my ears literally ringing, my face a mask of shocked disbelief. I looked toward the corner of the room where **Oscar, our pet tiger**, was sprawled out on his custom rug. He lifted his massive head, let out a long, weary huff that sounded suspiciously like a sigh, and rested his chin back on his paws. *'Hogyi shuru mummy...'* his eyes seemed to say as he watched his "heartless" master get played by a 5'3" girl.

"ISHITA!" I roared, a mix of laughter and mock-fury in my voice. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my **6'3" muscular frame** coiled like a predator ready to spring. "You're lying! I know your record better than you do! Come back here and face your punishment for screaming in my ear!"

I heard the click of the bathroom lock and her muffled, mischievous laughter from behind the door. "Can't hear you, *Patidev*! I'm too busy thinking about my 'college boyfriends'!"

I stood up, my **veins popping** in my arms as I ran a hand through my messy hair, a genuine, wide grin breaking across my face. She knew exactly how to trigger my possessiveness, and she loved every second of it.

"You have ten seconds to come out, *Biwi-ji*," I called out, walking slowly toward the door, my voice dropping into that dark, velvety promise. "Or I'm breaking this door down, and then we'll see who's laughing when I remind you exactly whose name is written on your soul."

I leaned my shoulder against the mahogany door frame, crossing my muscular arms over my chest. A dark, dangerous smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. If she wanted to play dirty, she was forgetting that I was the master of leverage.

"Open the door, *Janna*," I said, my voice smooth as silk but carrying a clear warning.

"Nan na na na na na na Nan!" her voice drifted out, rhythmic and teasing, followed by a splash of water. She was actually enjoying this. She thought she was safe behind a two-inch thick piece of wood.

I let out a low, dry chuckle. "Okay. Fine. Have it your way." I straightened up, making sure my footsteps sounded heavy as if I were actually walking away toward the main bedroom door. "I'm going downstairs. The whole family is already at the breakfast table-Akshat, Vardaan, my mother,

I paused, raising my voice just enough. "I think it's the perfect time to share some honeymoon memories. Maybe I'll start with how my 'innocent' wife used to scream my name so loudly during those Paris nights. I'm sure your father would love to hear how vocal his daughter has become."

Silence from the bathroom. The singing stopped instantly.

"And besides," I added, dropping the ultimate bomb with a smirk she couldn't see, "I don't have time to wait for you, **Baby**."

The reaction was instantaneous. I heard the lock click with a sharp *clack*. The door swung open so fast it nearly hit the wall, and Ishita stood there, her face flushed, her **long curly hair** a mess of beautiful tangles, and her **brown eyes** narrowed into fiery slits.

"Don't call me that!" she hissed, pointing a finger at my chest. "You know I hate that word! It sounds so... so generic! And you wouldn't dare tell them anything, Rudra Singh Rathor. You're Rajasthan's Prince, remember? You have a 'reputation' to maintain."

I didn't move. I just looked down at her from my **6'3" height**, my **ocean-blue eyes** raking over her indignant face before settling on her lips.

"My reputation is that I get exactly what I want," I rasped, taking a single step forward that forced her to back up against the vanity. I trapped her there, my hands landing on the marble on either side of her waist. "And right now, **Baby**, I want my wife to stop talking about imaginary college boyfriends and start worrying about how she's going to walk down those stairs with a straight face after I'm done with her."

"Ru..." she breathed, her anger evaporating into that familiar, shaky vulnerability as I leaned in, my scent surrounding her.

"One more 'nan na na' or one more lie about boyfriends," I whispered against her lips, "and I won't just tell the family... I'll show them exactly why you were screaming."

I growled, a sound of pure, unadulterated possession, and captured her lips in a kiss so hard and hungry it stole the very air from her lungs. This wasn't the slow, romantic "Good Morning" kiss from earlier; this was the "Cold Prince" reclaiming his territory. She tried to keep up, her small hands clutching at my shoulders, but I was a tidal wave and she was just trying to stay afloat.

In one seamless move, I hooked my arms under her knees and scooped her up. Her **5'3" frame** felt like nothing in my arms as I kicked the bathroom door shut behind us.

"Let's bathe," I rasped, my **ocean-blue eyes** burning with a dark, liquid fire.

"Ru! You already did!" she gasped, her face flushed a deep crimson, her **chooda clinking** as she tried to push against my chest.

"I want to do it again," I countered, my voice dropping to a dangerous, velvety low. I set her down on the edge of the marble vanity, leaning in until our noses touched. "Unless you have a problem with that, *Janna*?"

She looked at me, those mischievous **brown eyes** flickering with a final, desperate spark of rebellion. A tiny, seductive smirk played on her lips as she whispered, "Haa... mere boyfriends bura maan jayenge." (Yes... my boyfriends will feel bad.)

The air in the bathroom turned heavy. I didn't laugh this time. I leaned in, my hands sliding up her thighs, bunching the silk of her nightgown. I pinned her gaze with an intensity that usually made grown men tremble in boardrooms.

"Let them," I growled against her lips, my breath hitching. "Let every imaginary man in your head watch how I love you. Let them see how you shatter when I touch you. Because when we walk out of this room, Ishita, you won't even remember your own name, let alone anyone else's."

I turned on the shower, the sound of the water hitting the tiles echoing the roar in my blood. I started trailing hot, biting kisses down her throat, finding every single "weak point" I had discovered in Paris.

"Tell me again," I whispered, my hand reaching for the tie of her gown. "Tell me one more time about another man while you're in my arms, and I promise you, the rest of the family will be waiting for breakfast until noon."

"Ru... you're... you're insane," she whimpered, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer instead of pushing me away.

"I'm a Rathor," I reminded her, my lips catching hers in a bruising, soul-sealing kiss. "And you are the only thing I have ever truly owned. Now, let's see if your 'boyfriends' ever taught you how to handle a Prince."

The steam was still clinging to the mirrors as we finally stepped out of the bathroom, the air heavy with the scent of my sandalwood soap and her floral shampoo. The "re-shower" had been anything but quick; it was a slow, possessive reclamation that left us both breathless.

Knowing the Delhi winter was biting, and needing to hide the fresh evidence of my "punishment," Ishita chose a stunning deep burgundy velvet saree. The heavy fabric draped elegantly over her **5'3" slim figure**, the high-neck blouse acting as the perfect shield for her neck. As she stood before the mirror, tucking her **long curly hair** to one side, I stepped up behind her, my **6'3" frame** towering over her. My **ocean-blue eyes** met hers in the reflection.

"Sach batao, *Janna*," I murmured, my hands settling on her waist, pulling her back against my chest. "Kitne boyfriend the? (Tell the truth, how many boyfriends were there?)"

She leaned her head back against my shoulder, a playful, dreamy look in her **brown eyes**. "Bhout saare... hayy, kitne handsome the! (So many... oh, they were so handsome!)"

My jaw tightened. Even though I knew she was teasing, the Rathor in me couldn't handle the thought. "Mere aane ke baad bhi boyfriend the? (Were they there even after I came into your life?)"

She burst into a fit of laughter, her **chooda clinking** as she turned around in my arms to face me. "Aaj bhi mere 7 boyfriend hain... aur har week ek naya boyfriend! Uff... how romantic! (Even today I have 7 boyfriends... and every week a new one!)"

A dark flash of jealousy surged through me before I realized what she was talking about. She wasn't talking about real men; she was talking about those fictional characters in her romance novels-the "book boyfriends" and bts she obsessed over.

"Kya chahti ho?" I growled, my voice low and dangerous as I pinned her against the wardrobe. "Main vo saari novels aur aapke photos utha ke fek du? (What do you want? That I throw away all those novels and photos)"

Her eyes widened, not in fear, but in a fierce, protective spark for her fictional world. She poked a finger hard into my chest, right over my heart.

"Hath toh laga ke dikhao unhe! (Just try touching them!)" she warned, her voice rising in mock-defiance. "Chodh ke chali jaungi apne maayike! (I'll leave you and go to my parents' house!)"

The 'Maayike' threat. The ultimate weapon of an Indian wife.

I let out a dry, husky laugh, my hands sliding up her velvet-clad back to cup her face. "Maayike? You think your father would let you stay there once I tell him why you're angry? 'Papa, Rudra burned my books because I told him I had 7 boyfriends'?"

"He'd take my side!" she huffed, though she was smiling.

"Nobody takes your side against me, Ishi," I rasped, leaning down to nip her lower lip one last time before we had to be professional. "But fine. Keep your paper boyfriends. As long as the only man allowed to touch you, mark you, and wake you up at 4 AM is me. If I see a photo of a fictional character on your lock screen instead of me, though... then we have a problem."

"Possessive Prince," she whispered, patting my cheek.

"Obsessed, *Janna*. There's a difference," I corrected. "Now, let's go. If we stay here any longer, I'll give you a reason to stay in this room until next January."

I stood frozen for a split second, my brain processing the image on the glowing screen. It wasn't a book character or a faceless model-it was that Korean singer, V, looking back at me with a perfectly symmetrical, brooding expression that almost rivaled my own "Cold Prince" look.

"See! Mera boyfriend acha h na?" she chirped, her voice full of pure, unadulterated mischief.

Before I could even wrap my fingers around her waist to snatch the phone, she spun on her heels. The heavy burgundy velvet of her saree swished elegantly, but she didn't let the weight of the fabric slow her down. She bolted toward the bedroom door, her **chooda clinking** like a frantic alarm bell as she made her escape.

"ISHITA!" I roared, the sound echoing through the high ceilings of the Rathor villa.

I followed her out into the hallway, my long strides eating up the distance, but she was already halfway down the grand staircase, laughing so hard she had to hold onto the railing. **Oscar**, who was lounging by the landing, didn't even bother getting up this time-he just tilted his head, watching the CEO of the Rathor Empire chasing his wife over a wallpaper.

"A singer, Ishi? Really?" I called out, my voice dropping into that dark, possessive tone that usually made her shiver. "You have Rajasthan's Prince in your bed, and you have another man on your lock screen? That's treason!"

"He's a global icon, Ru! And he doesn't glare at people as much as you do!" she yelled back over her shoulder, finally reaching the bottom of the stairs and heading straight for the safety of the dining hall, where she knew I couldn't "punish" her in front of the family.

I stopped at the top of the stairs, adjusting my silk tie and smoothing down my vest. My **ocean-blue eyes** were burning, but a small, involuntary smirk tugged at my lips. She knew exactly how to ruffle my feathers, and God, I loved her for it.

"Jay!" I shouted down as I saw my younger brother peaking out from the dining room. "Get the IT team on the phone. I want a city-wide firewall on anything related to BTS!"

"Bhai, if you do that, Bhabhi will actually move to her *maayka*!" Jay yelled back, howling with laughter.

I took a deep breath, composed my face back into the "Cold Prince" mask, and began my descent. As I entered the dining room, the entire family was already seated. Ishita was tucked safely between her mother and **Ahana**, looking as innocent as a lamb in her velvet saree, sipping her orange juice.

I walked straight to the head of the table, but before sitting, I leaned over Ishita, my hand resting on the back of her chair, my shadow looming over her. I whispered low enough that only she could hear, "The wallpaper changes by the time I get to the office, *Janna*. Or I'm buying the agency that manages him just to send him to the North Pole."

"Eat your food, *Patidev*," she whispered back, winking at me. "Your jealousy is showing."

The drive to Ishita's makeup studio was uncharacteristically silent, but the air inside the Maybach was thick with my simmering, possessive energy. I drove myself today, sending the security detail in the car behind us because I wanted these last few minutes of her presence alone.

As I pulled up to the curb of her sleek, modern studio in South Delhi, I didn't unlock the doors. I shifted the car into park and turned in my seat, my **6'3" frame** dominating the limited space. I leaned over, one arm draped across the back of her passenger seat, effectively trapping her.

"We're here, Ru," she said, reaching for her designer bag, her **chooda clinking** softly against the leather. She glanced at the locked doors and then up at me, her **brown eyes** wide and innocent. "Unlock the door, *Patidev*. I have a high-profile bridal client in fifteen minutes."

"The client can wait five minutes," I rasped, my **ocean-blue eyes** fixed on the phone she was clutching. "The phone, Ishita. Give it to me."

"No!" She tucked it behind her back, a mischievous dimple appearing in her cheek. "It's my personal property. Even the great Rudra Singh Rathor can't interfere with a citizen's right to have a handsome man on her lock screen."

"A 'handsome man'?" I repeated, my voice dropping into that dangerous, low vibration that usually ended negotiations in the boardroom. I moved closer, my face inches from hers, the scent of her vanilla perfume mixing with my expensive cologne. "I am your husband. I am the man who spent the last ten days proving exactly why no other man-real, fictional, or global icon-should even cross your mind. And you have the audacity to walk into your studio with another man's face in your palm?"

"He's just a singer, Ru! Don't be so dramatic," she giggled, trying to push against my chest, but I was a brick wall.

"I am a Rathor. We don't do 'generic,' and we certainly don't 'share' attention," I said, my hand reaching behind her. She squealed as I easily retrieved the phone from her grip. I held it up, the screen lighting up to show V's brooding gaze again.

I looked at the screen, then at her. "He doesn't even have ocean-blue eyes, *Janna*. His jawline isn't as sharp as mine. And I'm fairly certain he hasn't spent the morning worshiping you in a velvet-draped bed."

"You're comparing yourself to a K-pop star? The Prince of Rajasthan is jealous of a wallpaper?" She was clutching her stomach now, laughing so hard her **long curly hair** fell over her face.

"I'm not jealous. I'm territorial," I corrected, my thumb already sliding over her screen. "Change it. Now. Or I'm sitting in this car, blocking your studio entrance, and every client you have today will have to explain to my security team why they're interrupting my 'quality time' with my wife."

"You wouldn't!" she gasped, though the look in my eyes told her I was 100% capable of it.

"Try me," I challenged, holding the phone out to her.

With a dramatic sigh and a playful roll of her eyes, she took the phone. "Fine! You are such a baby, Rudra."

"Don't call me that," I warned, though my heart leaped as I watched her fingers move.

She swiped through her gallery and selected a photo from our Paris trip-one where I was holding her from behind on the balcony, my face buried in her neck, looking completely and utterly gone for her. She set it as her lock screen and showed it to me.

"Satisfied, your Highness?" she teased.

I looked at the image-the raw, unfiltered possession in my eyes in that photo was unmistakable. I leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep, lingering kiss that tasted of victory and obsession.

"Much better," I murmured against her mouth. I finally clicked the door unlock button. "Now, go. But if I call you for lunch and I hear a BTS song in the background, I'm buying the music streaming platform and deleting their entire discography."

"I love you too, you crazy man!" she yelled, hopping out of the car and waving her **chooda-clad hand** before disappearing into her studio.

I watched her go, a slow, triumphant smirk on my face. I picked up my own phone and sent a quick text to Laksh: *"Find out which brand that singer represents. We're outbidding them for the Indian market. If she has to see his face, it'll be on a Rathor Company billboard."*

The glass doors of The Rathor Company headquarters hissed open as I stepped into the lobby, the atmosphere instantly shifting. Employees straightened their ties, voices dropped to whispers, and the air seemed to chill by a few degrees. I didn't stop to acknowledge anyone; my stride was purposeful, my **6'3" frame** draped in a charcoal grey three-piece suit that screamed power.

I had just come from a grueling session at Eternity, but my mind was still stuck on a certain **velvet-clad woman** and her "7 boyfriends."

As I entered the executive floor, **Akshat** was standing by the mahogany desk, reviewing some blueprints with **Laksh**, my head of security and operations. Akshat looked up, a knowing, brotherly smirk playing on his lips.

"The Prince has arrived," Akshat teased, leaning back against the desk. "I heard you were late to the board meeting at Eternity this morning. Something about... 'unforeseen domestic negotiations'?"

I ignored him, walking straight to my chair and tossing my leather briefcase onto the table. I looked at Laksh, who stood at attention.

"Laksh," I said, my voice cold and business-like.

"Yes, Sir?"

"That Korean singer. V. From BTS," I started, my **ocean-blue eyes** narrowing. "I want to know every brand he is currently endorsing in India. Fashion, tech, skincare-everything. And I want a report on the cost to outbid them for a three-year exclusive contract with The Rathor Company or Eternity."

The room went dead silent. Laksh blinked, his professional mask flickering for the first time in years. Akshat, on the other hand, let out a bark of laughter so loud it probably reached the lobby.

"No way," Akshat gasped, clutching his sides. "Rudra bhai , tell me you are not trying to 'corporate-war' a K-pop idol because bhabhi has a crush on him? You're a Top 5 businessman in the world, and you're acting like a jealous teenager!"

"It's not jealousy, Akshat. It's market dominance," I lied smoothly, though my **veins popped** slightly in my hand as I gripped my fountain pen. "If my wife is going to look at a face on a screen, I want the Rathor logo stamped right next to it so she remembers who actually pays for her luxury lifestyle."

"You are insane bhai ," Akshat chuckled, shaking his head. "She's got you wrapped around her little **chooda-clad finger**, doesn't she?"

I didn't answer. Instead, I turned my chair around and pulled up the live feed on my private monitor. My eyes softened instantly. On the screen was the high-definition CCTV feed of Ishita's studio.

She was there, her **long curly hair** tied up in a messy bun, a makeup brush in her hand as she worked on a client. She looked focused, beautiful, and completely unaware that her husband was watching her like a hawk. I watched as she laughed at something her assistant said, her **brown eyes** crinkling at the corners.

"She looks happy," Akshat's voice softened as he walked over, looking at the monitor over my shoulder. "You did good, bhai seeing her like this, in her own space, safe... it's worth a few petty jealousies, isn't it?"

I leaned back, my gaze fixed on the screen as Ishita reached for her phone-*my* photo was still on the lock screen. I felt a surge of triumph.

"She's my life, Akshat," I whispered, the 'Cold Prince' mask slipping for a brief second. "Every breath she takes is because I allow the world to keep spinning for her. If she wants a singer, I'll buy the singer. If she wants a moon, I'll build her a rocket. But she stays mine."

"Okay, Majnu-CEO," Akshat joked, patting my shoulder. "But stop staring at the screen. We have a merger to sign. And Laksh? Don't actually buy the K-pop agency. Ishita will kill him if she finds out he's the reason her favorite band can't tour."

I looked at Laksh. "Ignore Akshat. Get me the report."