Ishita's Perspective

The moment the music shifted to a heavy, rhythmic bass—a fusion of traditional Rajasthani beats and modern house—the spotlight slashed through the darkness, hitting the start of the ramp. This was it. I took a deep, shaky breath, feeling the weight of the **Janna Set** around my neck and the familiar jingle of my **payal**.

I stepped out.

The second my heel hit the polished wood, something shifted inside me. The nervousness vanished, replaced by the fire that had made me a top model four years ago. I didn't just walk; I glided. My **5'3" slim figure** moved with a grace that was both delicate and dangerous. I channeled that iconic walk—the one with the slight, rhythmic sway of the hips that made my **knee-slit lehenga** flare out, revealing a glimpse of my **toe rings** and the intricate henna on my feet.

The cameras started flashing like a thousand tiny stars. I could hear the collective gasp of the audience. They hadn't seen *this* Ishita the dignity of a Rathor Bahu with the fierce confidence of a runway queen. My **long curly hair** bounced with every step, and my **chooda** shimmered under the high-intensity lights, a scarlet blur of tradition against the gold of the stage.

I kept my gaze fixed straight ahead, my smoky eyes narrowed and piercing, just like **Jay** had coached me, but with my own signature softness. Then, as I reached the midpoint of the ramp, I looked down.

There he was.

**Rudra** was sitting in the center of the front row, his **6'3" frame** draped in that black velvet, looking like a king observing his realm. His arms were crossed over his chest, his **ocean-blue eyes** narrowed, tracking my every move with a gaze so intense it felt like he was touching me. He wasn't clapping; he was just staring, his jaw clenched, looking both incredibly proud and dangerously possessive.

I reached the very edge of the ramp, right in front of him. I paused, letting the music swell. I didn't give the crowd a pageant smile. Instead, I remembered what he said backstage. I looked him dead in the eye and gave him a slow, tiny, secretive smirk—a look that said, *'I see you, Patidev.'* I slowly turned, my **saree-style lehenga** swirling around me in a perfect circle, the bells of my **payal** ringing out over the music. I walked back with even more power, my head held high, the **sindoor** in my hair a reminder to everyone that while the world might be watching the model, I belonged only to the man in the front row.

As I disappeared behind the curtain, the applause was deafening, but all I could hear was the frantic beat of my own heart and the echo of Rudra's voice in my head. I had done it.

The moment I stepped into the wings, I was swamped by designers and other models screaming in excitement. "Ishita! That was legendary!"

But I wasn't looking for them. I was waiting for the one person who I knew would be breaking all the 'backstage' rules again in approximately thirty seconds.

👑 Rudra's Perspective

The flashbulbs were a constant, rhythmic pulse in the room, but I barely noticed them. The after-party was packed with the elite of the fashion and business worlds, all whispering about the "Rathor Bahu" who had just reclaimed her throne on the ramp. But my world had narrowed down to the woman walking toward me.

**Ishita** had changed into a sleek, knee-length dress that hugged her **thin, slim figure** perfectly, showing off her toned legs. Despite the modern outfit, she still wore the marks of my name—the **sindoor** vivid against her skin, the **mangalsutra** resting on her chest, and her **red chooda** clinking with every step she took in those high heels. She looked like a lethal combination of a modern siren and a traditional queen.

I didn't wait for her to reach me. I moved through the crowd, my **6'3" frame** parting the sea of socialites until I was standing right in front of her. I wrapped my arm around her waist, pulling her flush against my chest with a force that made her gasp.

"Ru..." she whispered, her **brown eyes** wide and shimmering with the thrill of the night.

"You're not going anywhere now, Janna," I growled, my voice vibrating deep in my chest. I leaned down, ignoring the dozen cameras clicking away, and pressed a firm, lingering kiss to her temple, then her cheek. "You were incredible. But seeing you in that slit lehenga for twenty minutes was the ultimate test of my patience. I almost walked onto that stage to cover you up myself."

She giggled, her **long nails** grazing the back of my neck as she draped her arms around me, her **engagement ring** catching the disco lights. "And ruin the most iconic walk of the decade? The 'Cold Prince' would have made national headlines for being a jealous husband."

"I don't care about headlines, Ishi. I care about the fact that every man in that front row forgot to breathe when you looked at them," I murmured, my hand sliding down to the small of her back, holding her so tightly that not even a sliver of air could pass between us.

"I wasn't looking at *them*, Ru," she teased, her voice a playful lilt. She reached up, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw. "I told you, I only have eyes for my **Patidev**. Did you see the smirk? That was just for you."

"I saw it," I said, my **ocean-blue eyes** darkening as I looked down at her red lips. "And it’s going to cost you. I’ve spent the last two hours playing the 'supportive husband,' but now? Now I’m just a man who hasn't had his wife to himself all day."

Suddenly, **Jay** bounced over, his camera in hand. "Bhai! Bhabhi! Look over here! The 'Power Couple' shot! Come on, Rudra, stop acting like a bodyguard and smile for once!"

I didn't move an inch. I kept my face buried in the side of her neck, inhaling her scent—vanilla and the faint metallic tang of the stage lights. "Go away, Jay. Take a picture of a wall. I'm busy."

"See?" Jay laughed, turning to a group of models. "I told you! He’s obsessed. He’s राजस्थान का राजकुमार (Prince of Rajasthan) but for her, he’s just a puppy."

"A puppy who can have you fired from every modeling agency in the country by sunrise," I countered smoothly, without even looking up.

Ishita burst out laughing, the sound like bells in the crowded room. She pulled back just enough to look at me, her face glowing with happiness. "Chodiye na, Ru. Let him take one. Look how happy everyone is."

I sighed, finally relenting. I turned slightly toward the camera, but I didn't let go of her waist. I kept my arm hooked around her possessively, my expression softening only when I looked down at her.

"One photo, Jay," I warned. "Then I'm taking her home. This party is over for the Rathors."

💖 Ishita's Perspective

The flashbulbs were nearly blinding as we exited the venue, a constant rhythmic strobe light against the dark Rajasthan night. The media was in a frenzy, shouting questions, throwing compliments, and trying to get that one "money shot" of the top businessman and the showstopper.

"Ishita ji, one look here!"

"Rudra sir, just one more

I smiled, waving gracefully, thanking them with a "Namaste" while **Rudra** acted like a human shield. His **6'3" frame** towered over me, his hand a heavy, warm weight on the small of my back. He didn't say a word to the press—his face was set in that "Cold Prince" mask—but the way he tucked me under his arm and glared at anyone who got too close told the whole story. He was Rajasthan’s most powerful man, and he was currently on "wife-protection" duty.

The moment the heavy door of the black SUV shut, the chaos of the world was replaced by a luxurious, leather-scented silence. Before I could even buckle my seatbelt, Rudra leaned over, his hand cupping my jaw, and gave me a deep, lingering peck on my lips. *Mmuah.*

"Finally," he exhaled, the tension leaving his shoulders as he shifted the car into gear. "If one more photographer had asked you to 'pout,' I would have bought that news agency just to shut it down."

I laughed, my **chooda clinking** as I reached over and looped my arm through his, leaning my head against his broad shoulder while he drove. The city lights blurred past us, reflecting off my **engagement ring**.

"Oh, come on, Ru. They were just doing their job. Did you hear that one reporter? He called us the 'Soul of Rajasthan.' Isn't that sweet?"

"It’s accurate," he murmured, his **ocean-blue eyes** focused on the road, but his hand sought mine, intertwining our fingers. His thumb traced the gold of my bangles. "But I don't like the 'Soul of Rajasthan' being stared at by five hundred people. You looked too beautiful tonight, Ishi. That dress... the way you walked... it’s a miracle I didn't stop the show midway."

I looked at him, my **brown eyes** soft with love. I reached up with my free hand, my **long nails** lightly tracing the nape of his neck, just above his collar. "You’re so possessive, Patidev. I was wearing your **sindoor and mangalsutra** on a national stage. Everyone knew exactly who I belong to."

"They need to know it, and I need to feel it," he replied, his voice dropping into that husky, velvet register that always made my heart skip. He took a sharp turn toward the private road leading to the Rathor mansion. "I’ve spent the whole night sharing you with cameras and designers. Now, the world ends at the gates of our home. No more 'Ishita the Model.' Just my Janna."

I leaned in closer, inhaling his expensive cologne. "I like the sound of that. But you know, I’m quite tired from those high heels. My feet are aching."

"Then it’s a good thing your husband is obsessed with you," he smirked, pulling the car into the grand driveway. "I'll carry you from the car to the bed. And don't even think about walking to the bathroom to remove that makeup. I’ll do it myself."

"You? The ruthless Rudra Singh Rathor is going to use micellar water and cotton pads?" I teased, giggling as I looked at his rugged, masculine profile.

"For you? I’d burn the world down, Ishita. A little makeup removal is nothing," he whispered, stopping the car and turning to look at me with such raw, pure adoration that it took my breath away.

The moment the bedroom door clicked shut, the world ceased to exist. The heavy mahogany and soundproof padding acted as a barrier, leaving only the two of us in our private sanctuary. I felt the plush carpet beneath my feet, but even that felt like a chore after hours in six-inch heels.

Before I could even reach for the zipper of my dress, I felt those familiar, powerful arms wrap around my waist from behind. **Rudra** pressed his chest against my back, his **6'3" frame** a warm, solid wall of safety.

"Sit, Janna," he commanded softly, his voice a low vibration against my ear.

He guided me to the edge of our massive, silk-draped bed. As I sat down, a soft *purr* rumbled from the corner of the room. **Oscar**, our black tiger, trotted over with regal grace. He looked at me with his blue eyes, then looked down at my feet. With surprising gentleness for a predator, he nudged my heels with his nose. As I slipped them off, Oscar picked up one heel in his mouth—holding it carefully—and trotted over to the walk-in closet to drop it exactly where I usually keep my shoes.

"See? Even he knows you're exhausted," Rudra murmured, kneeling on the floor between my legs.

The "Cold-Hearted Prince" of Rajasthan was now at my feet. He took my right foot in his large, warm palm. His **ocean-blue eyes** darkened as he saw the red marks the straps had left on my **brown skin**. He began to massage my arches with a rhythmic, firm pressure that made a soft moan escape my lips.

"Ah... Ru, that feels so good," I whispered, my head falling back, my **long curly hair** spilling over the pillows.

"You pushed yourself too hard today," he rasped, his thumbs circling my ankles, his fingers brushing against my **silver payal** and the **toe rings** that marked me as his. "But you were magnificent. Every step you took was like a heartbeat. *My* heartbeat."

He moved up, his hands resting on my knees, then stood to reach for my jewelry. My **chooda clinked** as he raised my arms, slowly unhooking the heavy diamond necklace Ahana had designed. He placed it on the nightstand and then moved to my ears, his breath fanning my neck.

"You're teasing me, Patidev," I breathed, my eyes fluttering shut as his lips grazed the spot behind my ear. "First the massage, now the jewelry... what's next?"

"Next," he whispered, his voice turning thick and possessive, "is me reminding you that while the world gets to see the model, only I get to see the woman. Only I get to hear the way your breath hitches when I touch you like this."

He turned me around, his hands sliding up to the back of my dress. The zipper gave way with a soft hiss. He didn't rush. He lingered, his lips tracing the line of my spine, making me shiver.

"Ru... the media... they were saying you're too possessive," I teased weakly, trying to maintain our playful banter even as my heart raced. "They said you look like you want to lock me in a tower."

"They're right," he growled, pulling the dress off my shoulders. He trapped my face between his hands, his gaze burning into mine. "I'd lock you away in a heartbeat if it meant I never had to share your smile with a single camera again. You're my addiction, Ishita. A dark, beautiful addiction I never want to recover from."

I wrapped my arms around his neck, my **long nails** digging into his shoulders, my **chooda** creating a frantic melody in the quiet room. "Then don't recover. Just stay here. With me."

He didn't need to be told twice. He claimed my lips with a hunger  all of it melting into the heat of the present. The night stretched before us—long, intimate, and filled with the kind of soul-deep romance that only "Destiny Collide" could produce.

In the dim light of the room, the only sounds were the distant, contented huff of Oscar in balcony and the soft, broken whispers of two people

👑 Rudra's Perspective

The morning sun filtered through the heavy velvet curtains of the Rathor mansion, but the light stood no chance against the cocoon of the heavy silk blankets where we lay. I didn't need the sun to wake me; my body was already tuned to the warmth of the woman beneath me.

I was hovering over her, my **6'3" muscular frame** pinning her **5'3" slim figure** into the mattress. Our skin was direct, unshielded contact—a friction of heat and silk. Even with the haze of sleep still in my **ocean-blue eyes**, the hunger I felt for her hadn't subsided; if anything, the darkness of the night had only sharpened my appetite.

"Ru..." she whispered, her voice a sleep-heavy rasp that acted like a match to gasoline.

I didn't answer with words. I leaned down, my lips claiming hers in a slow, deep, possessive kiss that tasted of the intimacy we’d shared just hours ago. I felt her **long curly hair** fanning out across the pillows like a silken halo, her **chooda** clinking softly against my forearms as she reached up to pull me closer.

"Good morning, Janna," I growled against her lips, my voice vibrating with a primal dominance. I shifted my weight, making her feel every inch of the tension in my body. "Did you think I was done with you just because the sun came up?"

Her **brown eyes** fluttered open, hazy with desire, her **sindoor** slightly smudged from the night’s passion. "You're... you're impossible. Don't you have a board meeting at **Eternity**? A multi-million dollar empire to run?"

"The empire can wait. My wife can't," I murmured, my hand sliding down her side, tracing the curve of her waist with a slow, agonizing deliberation. I felt her shiver, her breath hitching in that perfect way that told me exactly how much power I had over her. "Besides, I’m the President. I decide when the day starts. And right now, the only thing on my agenda is you."

I began to trail kisses down her jawline, moving to the sensitive spot just below her ear. I bit down gently, a silent claim, and she let out a soft, broken moan that filled the quiet room.

"Ah... Ru... you're so bossy today," she breathed, her **long nails** raking down my back, leaving faint red marks on my skin.

"I'm not bossy, Ishi. I'm possessive," I corrected, my gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that made her flush. "Every inch of this skin, every sound you make... it all belongs to me. I spent three years dreaming of this silence being filled by your voice. Now that I have you, I’m never going to get enough."

I pulled the blanket higher over our heads, creating a private, dark world where only our breaths and the frantic jingle of her **payal** existed. I was the "Cold-Hearted Prince" to the world, the ruthless CEO who never blinked at a billion-dollar loss. But here, in the shadows of our bed, I was a man addicted to the soul of the woman beneath me.

I captured her lips again, harder this time, my dominance undisputed. "Tell me you're not going anywhere," I demanded against her mouth.

"Never," she gasped, her hands tangling in my hair, pulling me down as if she wanted to merge our very souls. "I'm yours, Ru. Always."

The heavy silk duvet felt like a world of its own, a warm, dark cocoon where the rest of the Rathor mansion—and the rest of the world—simply didn't exist. I stayed hovered over her, my weight supported by my elbows, looking down at my **Janna**. Her face was flushed, her **long curly hair** a beautiful mess against the white pillows, and her **brown eyes** were filled with that soft, sleepy glow that only I ever got to see.

I leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering peck on her forehead, then her closed eyelids, then the tip of her nose. I felt her giggle against my skin, the sound vibrating through my chest.

"Ru... stop it, it tickles," she whispered, her voice like honey. She tried to hide her face in the crook of my neck, but I nudged her chin up, wanting to see every bit of her.

"No," I murmured, my voice a deep, affectionate rumble. I peppered her entire face with tiny, soft kisses—her cheeks, her jaw, the corners of her mouth. "I missed this for three years, Ishita. I’m making up for lost time. Every second of it."

She sighed, a sound of pure contentment, and wrapped her arms around my neck. The **chooda** on her wrists made a delicate, musical clinking sound that was far better than any melody I'd ever heard. She pulled me down for a proper kiss—soft, slow, and deep—that spoke of a thousand unspoken promises.

"You're such a clingy prince this morning," she teased, pulling back just an inch, her breath fanning my lips. Her **long nails** toyed with the hair at the nape of my neck. "What happened to the 'Cold-Hearted' Rudra Singh Rathor? If your board members saw you right now, snuggling and whispering like this..."

"He’s dead and buried," I whispered back, a small, genuine smile tugging at my lips—a smile only she could provoke. I tucked her head under my chin, pulling her **5'3" slim figure** even closer until she was completely enveloped by my **6'3" frame**. "The only version of me that exists right now is the one who belongs to you. The one who just wants to stay under this blanket and listen to your heartbeat."

I felt her small hand move to my chest, her fingers tracing the rhythm of my heart. We stayed like that for a long time, just snuggling and breathing each other in. I’d kiss her temple, and she’d respond by pecking my shoulder. It was a soft, addictive intimacy—a quiet romance that was the polar opposite of the high-stakes world I lived in.

"I love you, Ru," she murmured into my chest, her voice muffled but clear.

I tightened my grip, my chin resting on the top of her head. "I love you more than life itself, Janna. Now stay still... I'm not letting you get up for at least another hour."

"But Oscar will be hungry!" she laughed softly, trying to wiggle away.

"Oscar can wait. He’s a tiger; he can hunt. I, however, am a husband who is starving for his wife's attention," I replied, pulling her back and rolling us over so she was tucked into my side, her head on my chest, as we drifted into a soft, blissful haze of morning cuddles.

💖 Ishita's Perspective

I stood in the center of the sprawling, ultra-modern kitchen of the Rathor mansion, feeling like the eye of a very stylish, very loud storm. I was fully decked out for my **pehli rasoi** (first kitchen ceremony)—draped in a heavy red silk saree that felt like it weighed more than I did, my **long curly hair** tied back in a neat bun, and my **chooda** and **payal** jingling with every nervous twitch of my fingers.

In front of me, the chaos was peak Rathor family.

"Nahi! Bilkul nahi!" **Siya Maa** was practically shielding the stove from me. "My Ishu has just come back after so much struggle. Look at her, she’s so delicate, so thin! If she stands near the heat, she’ll melt. I will touch the ladle, she will just look at it, and we will call the rasam complete!"

"Bhabhi, be realistic," **Lakhan Chacha** chimed in, leaning against the marble island while checking his watch. "We are the Rathors. We own half of Rajasthan's business. Why should my niece-in-law cook? I’ve already put the five-star catering on standby. One call, and we have 50 types of kheer delivered!"

"Exactly!" **Jay** added, popping a grape into his mouth. "Bhabhi ji’s hands are for wearing diamonds, not for scraping milk from a pot. Let the servants do it! I’ll even help them if it means we eat faster!"

I looked over at **bebe**, who was standing next to me. She was the only one holding a traditional silver bowl of rice and a packet of saffron, looking like she wanted to smack everyone with her walking stick. She looked at me, I looked at her, and we both shared a "Can you believe these people?" look.

"CHUP!" **bebe** finally yelled, her voice echoing through the kitchen. The silence was instant. Even the servants stopped mid-step. "It is a tradition! The Bahu makes kheer to bring sweetness to the house. It’s about love, not about labor, you fools!"

Suddenly, a heavy shadow fell over the doorway. **Rudra** walked in, looking sharp in his white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his muscular forearms. He didn't even look at the others; his **ocean-blue eyes** went straight to me, scanning my face for any sign of distress.

"What is this noise?" he asked, his voice a low, commanding rumble.

"Ru! Tell them!" I pleaded, gesturing to the pot of milk. "I want to make the kheer. I’m a makeup artist, I handle heat and lights all day! I won’t break."

Rudra walked over to me, his **6'3" frame** towering over everyone else. He looked at the stove, then at my **chooda-clad hands**, and then at his family. "Maa is right," he said coolly.

My jaw dropped. "Ru! You too?"

"She’s right about you being fragile," he continued, a tiny, possessive smirk playing on his lips as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his thumb lingering on my **brown skin**. "But bebe is right about the tradition. So, here is the deal: Ishita will make the kheer. But I will stay right here. If she gets too hot, I’ll turn on the industrial AC. If she gets tired, I’ll hold the spoon. And if any of you say one more word about 'ordering from outside,' I’m cutting off your credit cards for a week."

Jay turned pale. **Siya Maa** sighed in defeat. **bebe** grinned triumphantly.

"Fine," I laughed, the bells of my **payal** ringing as I finally reached for the milk packet. "Now, everyone out! Except my 'Bodyguard Patidev.' He can stay and provide the 'security' he’s so obsessed with."

As the family grumbled and filtered out, Rudra didn't move. He leaned against the counter, watching me with an intensity that made the kitchen feel smaller. "Go on then, Janna," he whispered, his eyes following the movement of my **long nails** as I started the gas. "Let's see if your kheer is as sweet as the girl who's making it."

The kitchen was finally quiet, save for the low hum of the refrigerator and the gentle bubbling of the milk. I stood there, focused on the heavy silver pot, stirring slowly with a long wooden ladle. I wanted this kheer to be perfect—the right amount of cardamom, the perfect crunch of almonds—but there was one major distraction.

**Rudra.**

He wasn't just standing there; he was hovering. His **6'3" frame** was practically draped over my back, his chest a warm wall against my shoulders. Every time I reached for the sugar, his hand was already there, "helping" me, but really just grazing his fingers against mine.

"Ru, stop it," I giggled, trying to nudge him away with my elbow. "Aap gas ke paas mat khade hoiye, aapko garmi lagegi. (Don't stand near the gas, you'll feel the heat.)"

"I'm fine, Janna," he murmured, his voice a deep, velvet rasp right against my ear. He reached around me, his large hand covering mine on the ladle, forcing us to stir the milk together. His **ocean-blue eyes** were fixed on me, not the pot. "I’m just making sure my wife doesn't overexert herself. It’s a very heavy spoon, you know."

"It's a wooden ladle, not a dumbbell!" I huffed, turning my head to glare at him, but my **brown eyes** only met his intense, smoldering gaze. He leaned in and nipped at my earlobe, making me jump and almost spill the saffron. "Ru! **Aap bahar jaao, main khud kar lungi! Aap mujhe pareshan kar rahe ho!** (Ru! Go outside, I'll do it myself! You are bothering me!)"

He didn't budge. Instead, he tightened his grip on my waist, pulling my **5'3" slim figure** even closer. "Is it bothering you, Ishi? Or is it distracting you?"

"Both!" I cried, trying to hide my blush. "How am I supposed to concentrate on the consistency of the milk when you’re breathing down my neck like a hungry tiger?"

Just then,  (Bebe)** walked back in to check on the progress. She stopped at the doorway, taking in the sight of her "Cold-Hearted" grandson acting like a lovesick teenager, refusing to let go of his wife even for a second.

She shook her head, a suppressed smile playing on her lips as she tapped her walking stick on the floor. "**Rudra! Bahar jaao!** (Rudra! Go outside!)" she scolded playfully. "Let the poor girl breathe! At this rate, the kheer will turn into burnt caramel before it’s even done. Chalo, go wait at the table with Jay!"

Rudra let out a frustrated groan, but he finally let go of my waist. He leaned down, giving me one last, lingering peck on the cheek—right in front of Bebe, who just gasped and covered her eyes.

"I'm going," he muttered, pointing a finger at me. "But the moment that bowl is empty, you're mine for the rest of the evening. No more 'rasams,' Janna."

I stuck my tongue out at him as he walked away, his **muscular frame** disappearing into the hallway. "Finally!" I exhaled, turning back to the stove with a wide smile, my **chooda clinking** happily as I finally added the rice.

I walked into the grand dining hall, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I was holding the large crystal bowl with trembling hands, the silver ladle clinking softly against the glass. The kheer looked beautiful—creamy, ivory-colored, and garnished with a perfect spray of rose petals, slivered almonds, and strands of saffron.

The entire **Rathor family** was seated at the long mahogany table. **Rudra** was at the head, his **ocean-blue eyes** tracing my every movement, his expression unreadable.

I started serving them one by one. First ** Papa ji and Maa**, then **bebe**, chacha ji and chachi ji **Akshat and Dhristi**, vardaan , reet , ahana and finally **Jay**. My **chooda** made a frantic *chan-chan* sound as I filled their bowls. After I finished, I stood at the side, **fighting with my long nails**, picking at my cuticles in pure nerves.

They all took a spoonful at the same time.

Silence.

Total, deafening silence. **Ram Papa** chewed slowly, looking thoughtfully at the ceiling. **Siya Maa** closed her eyes. **Dadi** just stared at her bowl.

My stomach dropped. *Is it that bad? Did I put salt instead of sugar?*

Then there was **Jay**. He took a huge bite, his eyes widened, and he suddenly made a horrific, disgusted face, dropping his spoon with a loud *clatter*. He started coughing dramatically, clutching his throat.

"Bhabhi... oh god, Bhabhi," Jay gasped out, looking like he was about to gag.

My eyes filled with tears instantly. "Is it... is it really that bad?" I whispered, my voice breaking.

Rudra’s chair screeched as he stood up, his **6'3" frame** radiating a sudden, dangerous coldness. He didn't even taste his own bowl yet; he just glared at Jay. "Jay, if you've insulted her cooking, I will literally—"

"I'll finish it!" Jay suddenly screamed, his disgusted face vanishing into a manic grin as he grabbed the entire crystal serving bowl from the center of the table. "It's so good I wanted to trick you all so I could have the whole thing for myself! Bhabhi, this is better than the Royal Palace chef's!"

The table erupted. **Ram Papa** laughed, patting his stomach. "Ishita, beta, this is the best sweetness this house has ever tasted. Truly."

"It's perfect, Ishu," **Siya Maa** beamed, wiping a stray tear of joy. "Exactly like my mother used to make."

I let out a breath I felt like I'd been holding for a century. I looked at **Rudra**, who was still standing. He slowly picked up his spoon, took a bite, and his intense gaze softened. He walked over to me, ignoring everyone, and took my hand, kissing the palm where a little bit of flour still lingered.

"Ignore the idiot," he murmured, his voice a possessive velvet rumble. "It’s perfect. Just like the woman who made it. But Jay... if you ever make that face at her again, I don't care if you're my brother, I'm throwing you in the tiger enclosure with **Oscar**."

"Worth it for this kheer, Bhai!" Jay muffled through a mouth full of rice and milk.