chapter 12
Author pov
We both rushed out of the room. In the living room stood his father, stepmother, aunt, and grandmother—everyone glued to the television, their faces tense.
The news anchor’s voice echoed through the room.
“Shocking headlines this morning: Rudra Singh Rajput, heir of the Rajput empire, has secretly married a woman once accused of murdering her own husband in a brutal fashion. Not only that—he reportedly used his influence to secure her release from prison. The question on everyone’s mind: why did Rudra marry a criminal? ”
The camera flashed images of her mugshot from years ago, headlines like "Black Widow?", "From Convict to Queen?", and "Rajput Family Tarnished?" scrolling across the screen.
Rudra clenched his fists, jaw tight.
But Rudra stepped forward calmly, his voice steady.
"I have nothing to hide. And she is not a criminal."
Rudra’s words had barely settled in the room when his stepmother scoffed, arms crossed tightly.
"Not a criminal?" she repeated, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Oh please, Rudra. You think you’re defending some innocent saint? The whole country is calling her a murderer!"
His aunty jumped in, not missing her chance.
"Maine toh pehle hi bola tha!" she said loudly.
"Yeh ladki sahi nahi hai—criminal hai! Aur ab dekho, poori duniya dekh rahi hai hamara tamasha!"
She looked at ishni with narrowed eyes, voice sharp like a blade.
"Ek hi baat poochh lo sabse—kya kisi izzatdaar ghar ki bahu jail se aati hai?"
but her eyes shimmered with tears she refused to let fall.
Just then, ishni finally spoke. Her voice was calm but cold.
"Aap sab ke liye main sirf ek headline hoon. Lekin kisi ne yeh nahi socha ke mere saath kya hua tha us raat... jisne meri poori zindagi badal di."
Swetha’s voice had barely faded when her aunty scoffed again.
"Oh please, now she’ll play the victim? First she kills her husband, now she fools you—"
"ENOUGH!" Rudra’s voice thundered through the room, cutting her off mid-sentence. Everyone froze.
He stepped forward, his eyes burning with fury.
"Not a word. Not a single word against her."
Rudra didn’t say another word.
He gently took Ishni’s hand and led her away from the place, leading her to their shared room.
Once inside theroom, Rudra shut the door behind them and turned to her.
"I’m sorry," he said softly. "I should’ve stopped them earlier."
Ishni looked at him, trying to steady her breath.
"You did. When it mattered."
He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
"No one will hurt you again. I’ll make sure of it."
He pulled her into a warm, grounding embrace.
"Jaan," he whispered against her hair, "I have to go. I’ll handle this."
Ishni tightened her arms around him, not wanting to let go.
,He kissed her forehead, holding it there for a beat longer—as if transferring every ounce of strength he had.
Then, with one last look, Rudra turned and walked toward the door.
??
As soon as Rudra stepped out of the room, his calm expression shifted into one of determination. He pulled out his phone and dialed quickly.
"Vipul," he said, voice low and commanding. "I need you. Now."
Within minutes, Vipul—Rudra’s most trusted right-hand man—arrived at the estate’s gates, sharp-eyed and ready.
Rudra didn’t waste time.
"Search the entire house. Every room. Every device. I want to know if there’s a leak—and who’s feeding the media. Swetha’s playing a game, and I want to flip the board."
Vipul nodded instantly
Rudra’s jaw was tight, his eyes cold.
"Someone planted that story. And when I find out who—"
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.
Vipul nodded again.
"Understood. Give me an hour."
Rudra sank into his chair, eyes narrowing as the room grew quiet around him.
“Vipul,” he said, his voice low but sharp, “Swetha can’t be doing all this on her own. Someone’s backing her—pulling strings from the shadows.”
He leaned forward, steepling his fingers.
“Have you found anything on who might be helping her?”
Vipul nodded, tapping on his tablet.
“There are some unusual calls and transfers—small, indirect—but definitely suspicious. I’m digging deeper into her contacts and financials. If someone’s funding this, we’ll find them.”
Rudra’s gaze hardened.
“This isn’t just family drama anymore. It’s a calculated attack. We expose whoever’s behind it—and we take the fight to them.”
Vipul gave a tight nod.
“I’m on it, sir.”
Rudra glanced toward the window where the media crew was still camped outside.
“Vipul, along with tracking Swetha’s backers, you need to manage the media frenzy. Control the narrative. Get our side out there—fast and clear.”
Vipul nodded sharply.
“I’ve already got a team preparing statements and social media responses. We’ll counter every false story before it spreads.”
Rudra’s eyes gleam with determination.
“Good"
While Rudra was deep in strategy, coordinating with Vipul, his phone suddenly rang. The screen flashed Ishni’s name.
He answered immediately.
“R... Rud... Rudra...” Her voice was barely audible, trembling, fragile.
“Jaan… what happened?” Rudra’s voice cracked, panic creeping in.
“Jaa… breathe, jaan,” he urged softly, trying to keep her calm despite his own fear.
“Hold on, jaan. I’m coming.”
With those words, Rudra dropped everything—plans, strategy, even the media storm—and sprinted toward the door.
For the first time in his life, the mafia god wasn’t afraid for himself.
He was terrified for her—his jaan, his love.
Every step echoed with fierce determination as he raced to save her.
Rudra dashed through the sprawling estate, his mind a whirlwind of fear and fury. Every second felt like an eternity.
The moment Rudra burst into the mansion, his heart pounded louder than ever. Without hesitation, he raced straight to his room.
He flung the door open—and there she was.
His jaan.
Ishni sat on the floor, curled up tight, gripping her knees like a shield against the world. Her breath came in ragged, shallow gasps. Her eyes were wide, unfocused—a storm of panic raging inside.
“Jaan…” Rudra’s voice softened, dropping to a whisper as he knelt beside her.
“No... no... please... save me...” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, carving silent paths through the fear etched on her face.
For the first time, Rudra felt a wrench deep in his chest—a helplessness he had never known before.
He held her tighter, swallowing the knot in his throat.
“I’m here, jaan. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”
But inside, the mafia god—the man who controlled empires—felt powerless against the pain she was drowning in
“Ru… Rudra…” she gasped between sobs, her voice breaking.
“They… no… don’t… touch me…”
Her hands trembled as she clung tightly to the fabric of his shirt, as if holding onto him was the only lifeline she had left.
“Ah… Ru… please… save me, Rudra… save me…”
Her tears soaked into his shirt, her grip desperate and unrelenting.
Rudra’s heart shattered at her pain. He tightened his hold around her, whispering fiercely,
“Jaan, I’m here. No one will ever hurt you again. I swear.”
He wrapped his arms around her tightly, whispering soothingly,
“Shh… my love… please, it’s okay.”
Ishni buried her face in his chest, the tremors of her sobs slowly fading.
After what felt like an eternity, her body went limp—she had passed out in his arms.
Panic surged through Rudra as he gently laid her down on the bed.
Without hesitation, he grabbed his phone and called the doctor.
“Get here immediately. It’s urgent—she’s had a severe panic attack and just lost consciousness.”
His voice was steady but filled with worry.
Within minutes, the doctor arrived, brisk and professional yet compassionate.
He entered the room, immediately assessing Ishni’s pale face and shallow breathing.
“mr.rajput, you did the right thing calling me,” the doctor said calmly as he checked her pulse and monitored her vitals.
“She’s had a severe panic attack—stress-induced. We need to keep her calm and hydrated.”
Rudra nodded, his eyes never leaving Ishni.
“Is she going to be okay?”
The doctor offered a reassuring smile.
“With rest, medication, and support, she will recover. But she needs to be safe—and feel safe. Stress like this can be dangerous if prolonged.”
Rudra’s jaw clenched.
“I’ll protect her. No matter what.”
The doctor prepared a mild sedative to help her rest, carefully administering it.
As Ishni’s breathing evened out, Rudra sat beside her, holding her hand gently.
“We’ll get through this, jaan. Together.”
Wrapping the soft blanket snugly around Ishni, Rudra sat beside her, fingers gently brushing her hair away from her face. Yet his mind was far from calm—whirling with questions and unease.
Something’s wrong, he thought, eyes fixed on her peaceful, unconscious face.
She killed her own husband, the world believed. But Rudra knew there was more. When she discovered his true intentions—how he used his power to destroy her—she fought back. The case was filled, the truth twisted… and still, she took the blame.
Ishni never showed regrets. She stood strong through it all.
So why now? What triggered this heavy panic attack?
He swallowed hard. The woman he loved was haunted, yes—but by what?
Rudra’s jaw clenched with resolve.
I will find the answer. Whatever it takes.
Ishni pov
I slowly opened my eyes.
But something felt... off. This wasn’t our room.
The walls were a cool shade of grey, everything sleek, expensive—luxury wrapped in silence. The kind of elegance that didn’t comfort, but screamed power.
I turned my head.
There—Rudra. Seated on the couch, his sleeves rolled up, fingers tapping away on his laptop like nothing had happened.
But everything had happened.
My heart raced. My mind spiraled.
The media. The chaos. The accusations.
Did he see me?
Did he see me break?
Was my panic written all over my face?
Before I could piece together a single word, he looked up, closed his laptop softly, and said—
“Jaan… you’re up. How are you feeling?”
He closed his laptop and set it aside.
Without a word, he walked toward me—each step deliberate, steady, like he was holding something heavy inside.
He reached the bed and pulled me into his arms, wrapping me in a warmth I didn’t know I needed.
"You scared me…" he whispered against my hair, voice breaking just slightly.
My throat tightened. He must’ve seen it—my panic, my breakdown, the storm I couldn’t hide.
"Rudra, we—" I tried to speak, but he gently cut me off.
"This is my mansion. Our mansion. Far away from that house."
His voice was low but firm, each word carrying a weight.
"I don’t want to live in a place that disrespects my wife. That place suffocates me too."
“Enough. No more questions now.”
His tone was gentle, but final.
“You must be hungry. Stay here, I’ll bring something for you.”
He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead—so tender it almost hurt. Then, just like that, he walked out of the room.
And me?
I just sat there. Frozen.
Confused.
Shaken.
He didn’t ask about my panic attack.
He didn’t flinch.
He didn’t accuse.
He didn’t mention the media chaos or how I had dragged his name into it by just existing.
No blame.
No questions.
Just… care.
And that?
That scared me more than anything.
Just then, the door creaked open.
Rudra walked in with a tray—warm food, fresh fruit, even my favorite tea. He moved quietly, like he was afraid even the noise might overwhelm me.
He sat beside me on the bed, balanced the tray, and without a word, picked up the spoon.
Bringing it gently toward my mouth.
I reached out and held his hand, stopping him.
“Rudra… I’m not hungry.”
My voice was barely a whisper, but laced with everything I couldn’t say—confusion, guilt, pain.
He didn’t pull away. He didn’t insist.
He just looked at me with those steady eyes, full of something fierce and soft all at once.
And that silence—his silence—was louder than any comfort I’d ever known.
He didn’t move the spoon again.
He just set it back down on the tray, and turned fully toward me.
His hand stayed in mine—his thumb gently brushing over my knuckles like he was trying to calm a storm I hadn’t even spoken out loud.
“You don’t have to eat,” he said softly, his voice low, controlled. “But I need you to know… you’re not alone. Not in this.”
I blinked fast. My throat burned.
He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t cold.
Why wasn’t he yelling? Why wasn’t he asking?
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” I finally breathed, my voice cracking.
“Why aren’t you asking about the panic attack? The news? The headlines dragging your name?”
He looked at me for a long moment, then said simply:
“Because I saw it.”
“I saw what it did to you.”
“And right now, your healing matters more than my reputation ever will.”
My chest caved, and the tears I had buried for days finally broke free.
He didn’t say a word.
He just pulled me into his arms and held me while I shattered quietly against him.
And in that silence, I realized—
Sometimes love isn’t loud.
Sometimes it’s just safe.