AUTHOR POV

The desert moon hung low over the **Raj Mahal**, casting a silver glow on the white marble as the motorcade swept through the grand gates. The dust of the village was left behind, but the weight of the night still clung to the air.

As the lead car came to a halt, the massive teak doors of the palace swung open. Standing there, framed by the warm glow of a thousand chandeliers, was the heart of the Rathor and Sharma families.

**Siya Maa** and **Urmila Chachi** stood at the front, their faces etched with a month’s worth of worry that instantly melted into relief. Beside them, **bebe** held a silver *thali*, her eyes shimmering with tears.

Behind the elders, the next generation waited. **Akshat** and **Vardaan** stood with their arms crossed, pride radiating from them as they looked at their brother. **Jay** was there, his usual model-like composure replaced by genuine anxiety for his 'Ishu Bhabhi.' **Ahana** and **Drishti** stood close by, and **Reet**, glowing in her **three-month pregnancy**, leaned into Vardaan, her hand resting protectively on her stomach as she watched her best friend return.

Rudra stepped out of the car first, his  frame stiff and protective. He turned and reached back into the seat, carefully lifting Ishita’s frame as if she were a delicate glass sculpture. Her long curly hair was a mess, her saree was stained, and her brown eyes were red-rimmed from sobbing—but to the family, she had never looked more like a Queen.

"Shukr hai Waheguru!" Bebe whispered, her voice cracking.

She hobbled forward before anyone could help her. She cupped Ishita’s pale face in her withered, trembling hands, pulling her close to kiss her forehead. She took a pinch of salt and dried chilies, circling them around Ishita’s head to take off the *nazar* (evil eye) of the trauma she had just witnessed.

"Mere bache... ghar aa gayi," (My children... you've come home,) Dadi murmured.

Bebe then turned to Rudra. She looked up at her grandson—the Top 5 businessman who had just spent a month in the dirt for love. She saw the **ocean-blue eyes** that had turned cold to protect his wife, and she saw the **tattoo of Ishita’s name** peeking through his torn shirt.

She performed the same ritual for him, her hands lingering on his muscular arms. "Jeete raho, mere sher. Tune aaj Rathore khandaan ka sar ooncha kar diya." (Long live, my lion. Today you have made the Rathore family proud.)

Rudra didn't speak; he just bowed his head, his hand never leaving Ishita’s waist. He felt the gaze of Akshat and Vardaan—a silent acknowledgment between brothers that the "Cold-Hearted Prince" had officially been replaced by a man who would burn the world for his Janna.

👑 Rudra's Perspective

The marble floors of the **Raj Mahal** felt cold beneath my boots, a stark contrast to the dust and heat of the village we had just left behind. I kept my arm anchored around Ishita’s waist, feeling her small, frame leaning into me for support. She was exhausted, her spirit drained from the horrors she’d witnessed, yet she still moved with the grace of a Queen.

Ishita stepped forward first, her long curly hair falling over her shoulders as she bent to touch *bebe’s** feet. Dadi’s eyes filled with tears again as she placed her trembling hands on Ishita’s head, murmuring blessings that only a grandmother’s heart can provide. I followed, mirroring her respect, feeling the solid ground of my heritage beneath me.

We moved toward **Siya Maa** and **Urmila Chachi**. Before Ishita could even bend to touch their feet, they both stepped forward together, catching her by the shoulders.

"Nahi, meri bachi," (No, my child,) Maa whispered, pulling her into a fierce, maternal hug that seemed to shield her from the memory of the village. Chachi joined in, the two of them cocooning her in the scent of sandalwood and home.

I didn't escape so easily. I bent and touched their feet, feeling their hands linger on my back—a silent "thank you" for bringing their daughter-in-law back in one piece.

**Drishti**, **Ahana**, and **Reet** swarmed her the moment she was released from the elders. Reet, despite her **three-month pregnancy**, reached out with a trembling hand to check the scratches on Ishita’s arms.

"Are you okay, bhabhi? We were so scared when we heard about the ravine," Drishti whispered, her eyes searching Ishita’s pale face.

Meanwhile, the boys closed in on me. **Akshat**, **Vardaan**, and **Jay** didn't need words. We traded heavy, bone-crushing hugs. I could see the questions in their eyes—the curiosity about the "Dark Prince" who had resurfaced tonight—but they kept it back for now.

"The hunt was successful?" Akshat murmured into my ear as he gripped my shoulder.

"They won't be bothering anyone ever again," I replied, my **ocean-blue eyes** flashing with a cold finality

My father, **Ram Singh Rathore**, finally stepped in, his voice grounding us all. "Ok, let them rest. We will talk tomorrow. They have been through enough."

Ishita looked around, her brow furrowing as she realized two members of our family were missing. "Bache kahan hain?" (Where are the kids?) she asked softly.

I knew exactly who she meant. She wasn't looking for the staff; she was looking for **Oscar** and **King**.

"They’re with Laksh," I said, rubbing the small of her back. "They need cleaning and feeding after how they followed your command tonight. They were... thorough, Janna. They'll be back in their enclosures by morning."

Ishita nodded, her gaze turning to Drishti with a softness that only children can bring out in her. "Aur Krish? Woh so gaya?" (And Krish? Did he fall asleep?)

"Long ago, bhabhi," Drishti smiled, tucking a stray curl behind Ishita’s ear. "He was asking for his 'ishu bhabhi' all evening, but he finally gave in to sleep."

I didn't wait for any more talk. I swept Ishita up into my arms again, ignoring her tired protest. I needed to get her away from the lights, away from the bloodstains on her saree, and into the safety of our royal suite.

The heavy doors of our royal suite clicked shut, finally sealing out the world, the family, and the echoes of those village screams. The air here was cool and smelled of fresh lilies, a sharp contrast to the dust and iron-scent of the ravine.

I didn't set her down. I carried her frame directly into the massive marble bathroom, where the sunken tub was already steaming with warm water infused with sandalwood and rose oils.

Ishita was so exhausted she couldn't even keep her head up; it lolled against my shoulder, her long curly hair tangling in the buttons of my shirt. Her breathing was shallow, her small hands limp in her lap.

"Ru... I can't move," she whispered, her voice a mere thread of sound.

"I know, Janna. I've got you," I murmured, my ** eyes** softening with a devotion that would have terrified my business rivals.

With practiced tenderness, I began to unwrap the blood-stained cotton saree—the one she had worn to defend a girl's life. I worked slowly, my large, viney hands trembling slightly as I saw the faint bruises and scratches on her pale skin.

I lowered her into the warm water. She let out a long, shaky sigh as the heat hit her tired muscles. I sat on the edge of the marble, rolled up my sleeves, and took a silk sponge.

I started with her hands. I carefully scrubbed away the dried blood from under her fingernails—the remnants of the justice she had delivered. I moved to her arms, then her shoulders

"It's gone, Ishi," I whispered, washing the dirt from her neck, lingering over the spot where those moles sat. "The village is gone. The cowards are gone. There is only you and me now."

She was nearly asleep in the water, her eyes fluttering shut. I lifted her out, wrapping her in a plush, oversized towel that made her look even smaller. I carried her to the bed—our real bed—and laid her down on the silk sheets.

She was too tired to even reach for the covers, so I tucked her in, my hand lingering on her cheek. She was pale, her body looking fragile against the vastness of the royal bed, but the fire I’d seen in her tonight told me she was the strongest person I had ever known.

"Ru... stay," she breathed, her fingers feebly catching the edge of my sleeve.

"Always," I promised. I kicked off my boots and lay down beside her, pulling her into the crook of my arm. She molded her body into mine, her head resting right over my heartbeat.

When i was sure she asleep i got up softly putting her head on pillow and move to bathroom took of clothes and took shower

The warm water of the shower hit my shoulders, but it couldn't wash away the adrenaline still humming in my veins. I leaned my forehead against the cool marble tile, letting the steam fill my lungs. My mind was a whirlwind of the night’s images—the blood on her hands, the fire in her brown eyes, and the way she had stood her ground in that dust-choked village square.

I had always known Ishita was strong, but tonight... tonight she was a force of nature. As I stood there, the ** eyes** reflecting in the glass were dark with a new kind of pride. Most women in her position would have broken, but my 30 kg "porcelain doll" had become a shield for a girl who had no one else.

I thought about the moment she had turned to the village, her voice ringing out with a royal authority that even I hadn't expected. But what stuck in my throat, what made my chest tighten with an unfamiliar warmth, was the way she had gestured to the men behind her.

*"Mere pati... mere papa."* (My husband... my father.)

She hadn't just called my father and uncle "Hukum" or "the King." She had claimed them. She had looked at **Ram Singh Rathore** and **Lakhan Singh Rathore** and called them *hers*. In that one sentence, she had bridged the gap between the Sharma and Rathor bloodlines more effectively than any marriage contract ever could. She wasn't just a daughter-in-law; she had truly become the heart of the family.

I stepped out of the shower, drying myself off and pulling on a pair of silk pyjama bottoms. I walked back into the dim bedroom, the only sound being Ishita’s soft, rhythmic breathing. I stood by the bed for a long time, watching her.

She looked so peaceful now, her long curly hair fanned out across the white silk pillow. The marks I’d left on her neck earlier were fading, replaced by the pale moonlight. I sat on the edge of the bed, carefully avoiding any movement that might wake her.

I reached out and brushed a stray curl from her forehead.

I leaned down and pressed a ghost of a kiss to her temple. "You made them proud, Janna," I whispered into the silence. "And you made me the luckiest king to ever walk this earth."

I lay down beside her, pulling her small frame back into my arms. She sighed in her sleep, instinctively tucking her head under my chin

💖 Ishita's Perspective

The sunlight filtered through the heavy silk curtains of the Raj Mahal, casting golden streaks across the familiar ivory-and-gold walls. My body felt heavy, a lingering ache in my muscles reminding me of the dust, the fear, and the sheer exhaustion of the night before.

Half-asleep, I reached out my hand across the vast expanse of the bed, searching for the heat of his skin, the steady thrum of his heartbeat. But the sheets were cool. I blinked my eyes open, my brown eyes scanning the empty side of the bed.

Before the panic of the village could resurface, the heavy mahogany door to the balcony creaked open. Rudra stepped in, the early morning light catching the sharp, Greek-god angles of his shirtless chest. He was on a call, his voice a low, gravelly rumble as he spoke to Laksh.

"Make sure the village school gets the new supplies by noon," he was saying, his **ocean-blue eyes** instantly finding mine the moment I stirred.

I didn't say a word. I just stayed lying there, my long curly hair a wild mess against the pillow, and stretched my arms out toward him in a silent, needy plea.

He didn't even hesitate. Without breaking his conversation with Laksh, he walked over and leaned into my reach. I sat up slightly, the plush white towel he had wrapped around my frame last night still tucked securely around me.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling his solid, warm weight down until my face was buried in the crook of his shoulder. He smelled of expensive soap and that faint, metallic scent of the desert. He shifted his phone to his other ear, his free hand coming up to stroke the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my curls with a possessive tenderness.

"Yes, Laksh... and the culprit’s family? Ensure they are evicted from the village lands by sunset. I don't want a trace of that bloodline near Priya," he commanded, his voice cold and ruthless even as his thumb traced a soothing circle against my spine.

I snuggled deeper into him,  I could feel the vibration of his voice in his chest, a grounding rhythm that finally made me feel safe.

Through the ajar door of our suite, the sounds of the palace began to drift in. I could hear the distant clatter of silver, the frantic barking of orders from the head butler, and the low, resonant hum of the palace workers preparing for the **Raj Tilak**. Even though the ceremony was still a few days away, the energy was electric. The kingdom was preparing for its new King and Queen.

But here, in the quiet of our room, I didn't want to be a Queen yet. I just wanted to be Ishi, held tight by her Ru, hiding from the world for just a few more minutes.

He finished the call, tossed the phone onto the nightstand, and used both arms to pull me into his lap, his bare chest pressing against the soft cotton of my towel.

"Good morning, Janna," he whispered into my hair, his voice losing its "Cold Prince" edge. "Did you sleep well, or should I tell the whole palace to be quiet so my Goddess can rest?"

I smiled, my heart melting as I felt his shirtless chest rise and exhale against me. The "Cold-Hearted Prince" who ruled a global empire was currently being reduced to a puddle by my sleepy voice.

"Bhuk lagi hai..." I murmured into his shoulder, my voice small and raspy from the night's crying. (I'm hungry...)

Rudra pulled back just enough to look at me, his **ocean-blue eyes** softening into that private, tender gaze he saved only for his Janna. He leaned in and pressed a lingering, warm kiss to my cheek, his stubble grazing my skin.

"I’ll tell the servants to bring up a full royal breakfast, hmm? You just rest. You worked way too hard yesterday,"

I shook my head against his neck, my long curly hair tickling his collarbone. "Nahi, Ru... you did all the work. I just stayed at the house, cooking a little and teaching the kids. But you?" I looked at his viney, muscular arms, remembering the sight of him in the village sun.

"You worked in the fields. You did all that heavy lifting, carrying water and wood, pretending to be a simple man when you're actually a Greek god who has never touched a plow in his life. You must be the one who’s exhausted."

Rudra let out a low, dark chuckle that vibrated through my frame. He tucked the towel tighter around my shoulders, his hands lingering on my waist.

"Janna, I would plow every field in Rajasthan if it meant I got to come home to you in a mud hut every night," he said, his voice dropping to a husky, serious tone. "The heavy lifting was nothing. Watching you stand up for that girl... that was the real strength. Now, no more talking about work. You are the Yuvrani of the Rathors again, and your only job today is to let me spoil you."

He reached for the bedside intercom to order a feast of parathas, fresh white butter, and kesar milk, but before he could press the button, the sound of **Siya Maa’s** laughter echoed from the hallway, followed by the heavy thud of jewelry trunks being moved.

"It sounds like the family isn't going to let us stay hidden for long," he muttered with a playful groan, pulling me closer for one last private second.

The breakfast was a decadent affair of butter-soaked parathas and saffron milk, a far cry from the simple dry rotis of the village. Once the trays were cleared, I slipped away for a much-needed transformation.

I spent hours in the royal bath, scrubbing away every last grain of village dust from my long curly hair. I indulged in a deep skincare routine, feeling my brown skin glow again as the rose-water serums soaked in. I even took the time to do my own **manicure and pedicure**, painting my nails a regal, matte navy blue with gold accents that matched the ocean-blue of Rudra’s eyes.

When I finally stepped into the grand hall, the "village teacher" was gone. I was draped in a stunning **royal purple saree** with heavy gold embroidery that cascaded over my  frame. felt light as I walked in high-heeled rose-gold sandals, the **heavy gold jhumkas** with blue stones dancing against my jawline.



"Hayeeeeee! Ab lag rahi hai hone wali Rani!" (Wow! Now you look like the future Queen!) Dadi exclaimed, her eyes widening with delight.

Ahana let out a long, loud whistle that echoed through the marble hall. "Damnnnn, Ishu Bhabhi! You’re putting the palace chandeliers to shame!"

I giggled, the sound light and free, and sat down on the silk-cushioned sofa beside Siya Maa. "Kya ho raha hai?" (What's going on?) I asked, smoothing the silk of my saree.

"Sabko invitation bhej rahe hain," (We're sending invitations to everyone,) Siya Maa said, her lap covered in heavy cardstock and gold envelopes. "Tu bhi aa aur mujhe bata kis kis ko call karun tere ghar? Tune call kari apne ghar?" (You come and tell me who to call from your house. Did you call home?)

I blinked, realizing how disconnected I’d been. "Mujhe toh yeh bhi nahi pata phone kahan hai! Ahana Di, maine aapko diya tha gaon jaane se pehle." (I don't even know where my phone is! Ahana Di, I gave it to you before going to the village.)

Before Ahana could answer, the heavy doors of the study opened. Rudra stepped out, looking every bit the Greek-god businessman in a crisp black shirt. He walked straight to where I was sitting, his **ocean-blue eyes** sweeping over my royal attire with a possessive, dark heat that made my breath hitch.

"Maine call kar diya Mummy-Papa ko," (I called Mom and Dad,) he said, his voice a low rumble. "Voh kal aa jayenge." (They will arrive tomorrow.)

He leaned down, his hand resting on the back of my sofa right behind my head, his thumb almost grazing the

"Chalo, badiya hai," (Good, that's great,) Papa (Ram Singh Rathore) said, nodding with a smile. "The Sharma family should be here for the start of the occasion

I looked up at Rudra, a small, grateful smile playing on my lips. Even when we were busy with village drama, he was always ten steps ahead, making sure my world was taken care of.

The conversation in the hall shifted, the heavy gold-embossed invitation cards scattered across the mahogany table like fallen leaves. Siya Maa looked up from her list, her spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose.

"Rudra, tune sirf Gayatri aur Ravi ji ko bola hai ya sabko?" (Rudra, did you call only Gayatri and Ravi or everyone?) she asked, her voice filled with maternal curiosity.

Rudra leaned against the back of my chair, his presence a warm, solid weight behind me. "Nahi, sirf unhi ko. And Ishi’s brother, bhabhi, and Purav, of course. He wouldn’t miss this for the world."

Urmila Chachi chimed in, her bangles clinking as she gestured toward the list. "Aur iske chacha-chachi ko? Aur iske cousins? It’s a Raj Tilak, everyone should be here."

Rudra’s **ocean-blue eyes** dropped to mine, seeking my reaction. "Yeah, I was about to ask her whom to call next."

"Puchna kya hai? Call kar do," (What is there to ask? Just call them,) Lakhan Chachu added with his usual straightforwardness.

"Nahi, nahi Chachu! Rehne do... unhe nahi bulana," (No, no Chachu! Let it be... don't call them,) I blurted out, my fingers twisting the silk of my purple saree. The memory of their snide remarks and cold glares at our wedding flashed through my mind.

Papa (Ram Singh Rathore) looked at me, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Why, beta?"

"Nahi... woh positive nahi hain. Faltu ki baatein karte hain," (No... they aren't positive. They talk nonsense,) I explained, my voice dropping.

"Matlab?" (Meaning?) Siya Maa asked, pausing her pen.

"Matlab ego and arrogant types, Maa. They don't value relationships, only status," I said, leaning back into Rudra.

Chachi looked torn. "Par rishta hai, bulana toh chahiye na? (But it’s a relation, we should call them, right?) Even Reet and Drishti’s families are coming. This is the biggest event of the decade."

I looked at Rudra—his Greek-god face, the way the sunlight caught his sharp jawline, and the sheer power he radiated. The thought of my jealous relatives whispering about his "cold heart" or eyeing our wealth made my skin crawl.

"Haan Chachi, par woh na jealous types log hain," (Yes Chachi, but they are jealous types,) I insisted, my brown eyes turning serious. "Woh khush nahi hote kuch dekh kar... khamaka mere pati ko nazar lag jayegi." (They don't get happy seeing others succeed... they'll unnecessarily cast an evil eye on my husband.)

A low, dark chuckle vibrated through Rudra’s chest behind me. He reached down, his large hand resting protectively on my shoulder, right where the heavy gold embroidery of my saree met my skin.

"If my Janna says no, then it’s a no," Rudra said, his voice dropping into that authoritative tone that brooked no argument. "I don't need guests who bring negativity into this palace, especially if it makes her uncomfortable."

He looked at his father. "We have enough people to celebrate. We don't need a crowd of critics."

Papa nodded slowly, respecting the boundary I’d drawn. "The Yuvrani's peace comes first. We'll stick to the close family then."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, leaning my head back against Rudra's arm.

The soft clink of tea cups against the marble table was the only sound for a moment as the tension in the room thickened. Siya Maa sighed, her gentle heart clearly struggling with the traditional duty of a royal hostess.

"Phir bhi achha nahi lagta, beta," (Still, it doesn't feel right,) Maa said, her brow furrowed. "Everyone else is coming. How can we not invite them?"

"Haan bhabhi, sahi keh rahi hain," (Yes, sister-in-law is right,) Chachi added, adjusting her gold bangles. "Log kya kahenge?" (What will people say?)

I felt a spark of the same fire that had driven me to stand up in that village square. I straightened my posture, my frame suddenly feeling much taller.

"Log... logo ka toh kaam hai kehna, Maa," (People... it's their job to talk,) I said firmly. I looked from Maa to Chachi, my brown eyes serious. "Chachi aur Maa, aap dono na shayad Satyug se aayi ho. You both are so pure-hearted that you think everyone wants the best for others. But this is Kalyug. Not everyone is like you."

"Par beta..." Maa tried to interject, but I held up a hand, my royal purple saree shimmering in the morning light.

"Achha thik hai, suniye," (Okay, listen,) I said, my voice dropping to a cold, steady register. "When Vardaan Bhaiya got married, Rudra and I weren't even officially together, means our roka yet you invited everyone. You opened your hearts and palace to them."

I leaned forward, the **heavy gold jhumkas** catching the light. "But look at how they treated us. It had only been two months since Ru and I got married. Prachi’s brother was getting married. Did they ask about us? Forget asking, they didn't even send a message. Knowing we were still newly married."

I felt Rudra’s hand tighten on my shoulder behind me, his **ocean-blue eyes** likely turning into dark ice as he listened to my words.

"And the worst part? They didn't even invite Mummy or Papa," I said, my voice trembling with suppressed anger. "They had the audacity to say it was 'only a family function.' What the hell do they mean? Are we not family? If we aren't family for their celebrations, then why should we be family for ours?"

The hall went silent. Siya Maa and Chachi looked at each other, the weight of my words finally sinking in. They were from a generation of unconditional kindness, but they couldn't ignore the blatant disrespect shown to the Sharma family.

Rudra finally spoke, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through my chair. "I didn't know about the 'family only' excuse," he said, his grip on my shoulder possessive and fierce. "If they insulted my in-laws and ignored my wife when she was a new bride, they have no place in this Raj Mahal. Not today, and not ever."

He looked at his father, **Ram Singh Rathore**, whose humble expression had hardened into a protective mask. "Papa, the guest list stays as it is. We are celebrating with those who actually care, not those who treat relationships like a convenience."

The tension in the hall snapped like a dry twig, replaced by the warm, echoing laughter that only a family like the Rathores could provoke. Siya Maa surrendered with a gentle smile, raising her hands in defeat.

"Thik hai, jaisa sabko thik lage," (Fine, whatever everyone thinks is best,) she murmured, finally setting aside the disputed invitations.

Bebe, who had been watching the whole exchange with a mischievous glint in her eyes, adjusted her dupatta and looked at my 6'3" husband.

"Rudra, teri bahu toh bahut bolti hai!" (Rudra, your wife talks a lot!) she teased, her voice cracking with age and humor.

Rudra didn't even flinch. He leaned his weight against my chair, his **ocean-blue eyes** dropping to mine with a look of mock exhaustion. "Isliye toh main chup rehta hoon," (That’s why I stay quiet,) he retorted, his voice a low, playful rumble.

Jay, never one to miss a chance to poke the tiger, leaned forward from across the table. "Kya matlab aapko bolne ka mauka nahi milta? Kya matlab Bhabhi chance hi nahi deti?" (What do you mean you don't get a chance to speak? What do you mean Bhabhi doesn't give you a chance?)

The entire hall erupted. Even Papa and Chachu were chuckling into their tea. I felt the heat rise to my brown cheeks, my **heavy gold jhumkas** swaying as I turned my head to glare at the two brothers.

"Kya matlab aap dono bhaiyon ko pitne ka mann kar raha hai?" (What do you mean I feel like beating both you brothers?) I snapped, though a giggle was bubbling in my throat. I straightened my **royal purple saree**, trying to look intimidating despite my 30 kg frame.

"Kya matlab aapki khaal masaal maang rahi hai?" (What do you mean your skin is asking for a thrashing?) I added, pointing a finger at Jay and then up at Rudra.

Rudra just laughed—a real, deep sound that vibrated through my shoulder. He reached down and caught my pointing finger, his large, viney hand swallowing mine whole. He squeezed it gently

"See, Jay? I told you. Dangerous," Rudra teased, his eyes sparkling.

"The village might have changed us, but it definitely didn't quiet her down," Akshat added, grinning as he watched our banter.

The playful atmosphere shifted slightly as I cleared my throat, the **heavy gold jhumkas** catching the light as I looked at Siya Maa with a mischievous, slightly pained expression.

"Maa... yeh bol rahi thi ki... puchna toh nahi chahiye par... kya Bua-ji bhi aayengi kya?" (Maa, I was saying... I shouldn't ask but... is Bua-ji also coming?) I made a funny, scrunched-up face that had Rudra’s hand tightening on my shoulder in a silent chuckle.

Maa let out a long, dramatic sigh, the kind only a mother-in-law dealing with difficult relatives can give. "Maa... bulaana toh padega hi na," (Maa... we have to call her, right?) she said, her voice resigned to the inevitable royal drama.

Vardaan broke into a full chuckle, his eyes dancing with the memory of my last "performance."

"Phir toh Bhabhi-ji ki zubaan bahut kaam aayegi!" (Then Bhabhi-ji’s tongue will be very useful!) he teased, leaning back. "Kyuki sab jaante hain last time kya hua tha." (Because everyone knows what happened last time.)

The room went quiet for a split second as everyone remembered the legendary showdown where I, the"soft" Sharma girl, had basically dismantled Bua-ji’s arrogance with a few choice words.

Urmila Chachi looked at me, her expression a mix of amusement and genuine concern. "Ishu beta, this time control your anger. Kyuki sabke saamne ladna achha nahi lagta." (Ishu, control your anger this time. Because fighting in front of everyone doesn't look good.)

I immediately pouted, looking up at my 6'3" husband with the most innocent, wide-eyed expression I could muster.

"Main kahan ladi thi?" (When did I fight?) I asked, my voice pitching higher in mock offense. "Woh hi bol rahi thi... haina Ru?" (She was the one talking... right, Ru?)

Rudra didn't even try to hide his smirk. He looked down at me, his **ocean-blue eyes** reflecting a mix of pride and pure entertainment. He reached out and tucked a stray curly hair behind my ear, his thumb grazing my jawline where those tiny new moles sat.

"Bilkul, Janna," (Absolutely, Janna,) he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "You were just... clarifying things. Very loudly. And very effectively."

"See!" I said, pointing at him as if he were my star witness. "Mera pati mere saath hai!" (My husband is with me!)

"God help Bua-ji," Jay muttered under his breath, causing another round of giggles to ripple through the hall.