chapter 19
"Jaan Calling..."
For a second — just a second — the monster inside him paused.
He stepped into the far corner of the place, and answered, wiping his bloody hands quickly on a towel.
His voice softened instantly. “Hello, jaan...”
Ishni’s voice chimed through, bright and sweet.
“Rudraaa... kya kar rahe ho? Mujhe yaad toh karte ho na? Or again lost in your Mr. Mafia mode?”
He chuckled under his breath, his bloodstained hand clutching the phone tighter.
“Nahi baby, just… handling a little business.”
“I knew it,” she said playfully. “You forgot me, na? Abhi dekho, main nakhre karungi. Mujhe hug chahiye, chocolates chahiye, and one forehead kiss minimum.”
Rudra closed his eyes, letting her voice wash over him. It was the only thing that made him feel alive.
“Hug? Aap kapati pura duniya jala raha hai sirf aap ke ek aansu ke liye… aur aap ko ek hug se kam milega kya?”
“Aww,” she giggled. “You’re so filmy sometimes.”
A tortured scream erupted faintly in the background.
Ishni paused. “Rudra… was that…?”
Rudra turned, eyes deadly again for a second.
“nothing jaan i guess someone is screaming in happiness,” he lied smoothly.
She didn't said anything, then she spoked with excitement "okay okay jadil aao i have a surprise for you"
He smiled faintly, his heart bleeding in contrast to his hands.
“I’m coming soon Jaan"
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I love you more,” he replied, eyes flicking toward the five broken men behind him. “And I’ll burn the earth if anyone tries to hurt you again.”
He cut the call, screen fading to black.
Rudra exhaled slowly, letting go of the softness… letting the demon return.
He turned back to the place buring in ashes.
The phone call ended. The softness in Rudra’s eyes dissolved like mist in fire.
He turned to Vipul.
“And what about the footage, boss?”
“Send it anonymously… to every media house. To every person who ever called my wife characterless.”
He picked up his phone again.
His lockscreen?
A picture of Ishni laughing, flour on her nose, from the breakfast they had just yesterday.
The contrast was maddening.
He kissed the screen softly and whispered,
“Khatam hua ek adhyay… ab meri rani ko sirf pyaar milega.”
Rudra stood in silence, blood still staining his knuckles, his shirt unbuttoned slightly as sweat clung to his collarbones.
The heavy scent of iron still lingered in the air behind him.
Vipul walked beside him, quiet, waiting for instructions — knowing this version of Rudra was not just a mafia king, but a storm in human form.
Rudra stopped midway, turned slowly, eyes sharp as razors.
“Vipul,” he said, voice low, deep, brimming with unshakable authority.
“Ab meri patni ke naam pe koi scandal nahi hona chahiye. Not one more rumor, not one whisper.”
Vipul nodded, “Yes, boss. We’ll wipe everything. No one will dare—”
Rudra raised his hand to silence him.
He walked closer, eyes fixed ahead like he could already see the future burning in his favor.
He paused.
“My wife — my Ishni — was judged for surviving. For fighting. For not dying silently.”
His voice thundered now.
“But now, these bastards' confessions, this evidence… I want it everywhere. I want every screen in this country to flash the truth.”
He stepped closer to Vipul and looked him dead in the eye.
“Jab log raat mein apne bistar mein chain se soyenge… unhein yaad ho, ki ek ladki jisko woh badnaam kar gaye the—was innocent.”
“My lord… my queen… she’s not a criminal. She’s a survivor. And anyone who still doubts it…”
His smile twisted dark.
“…will face Rudra Singh Rajput's version of justice.”
Vipul swallowed hard. “Yes, boss, I’ll handle it.”
Rudra turned, running a hand through his hair, exhaustion beginning to show — but his fire still burning bright.
He pulled out a silver lighter, lit a cigarette, then flicked the flame toward a bloodied scarf on the ground. It caught fire instantly.
“Time for the world to kneel.”
Rudra pov
The moment I stepped into the mansion, a strange stillness greeted me. No sound of her humming, no clinking of bangles, no tiny chaos that usually filled our home.
“Jaan?” I called out, walking deeper. “Kaha ho aap?”
Silence.
Until… my eyes fell on a folded note resting on the dining table.
In her handwriting — soft and swirly, like her mood swings.
“After getting freshened up, come to the terrace… Mr. India ??”
I smirked.
“Pagal hai, par meri hai.”
I took a deep breath, letting the warmth of her mischief dissolve the lingering scent of blood in my memory. After all, in her world — I was not a mafia king, not a man who just burned his enemies… I was just her husband.
After a quick shower, I slipped into a black t-shirt and sweatpant and moved toward the terrace, heart strangely racing.
As I opened the terrace door… I froze.
Fairy lights danced across the railing, candles glowed around a low table set for two.
The moment I laid eyes on her… time, the wind, the stars — everything bowed.
My eyes drank her in, not blinking — afraid I’d miss a second.
That waist chain hugging her like it had more right than me? No. That was my place. My fingers itched — not for violence this time, but to trace every inch that belonged to me.
Her hair, loose like velvet threads, danced gently in the breeze, brushing her cheek.
And her maang? Filled red — for me. With my name. My rights. My everything.
She looked up from the candles — eyes glinting, innocent yet mischievous — and smiled.
The moon above us hid behind a cloud.
Good. Even it didn’t dare outshine my queen.
I stepped closer, slow, like a predator savoring every second. The gravel under my feet crunched like a soft warning to the universe:
She is mine.
"Well… aaj kuch zyada khush lag rahi ho aap," I said, my voice low and laced with desire.
She giggled — god, that sound was my personal heaven — and reached for my hand.
"Because mera Mr. India finally took a break for me."
Her fingers locked into mine.
We sat across from each other at the candlelit table, but I didn’t touch the food.
How could I? My feast was sitting right in front of me, smiling like I hadn’t just returned from hell itself.
She served me with her hands, lovingly.
"Yeh sab aap ne banaya?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
She nodded proudly. "Haan. Aur itna mat sochiye, khana khayiye warna... main hi—"
I leaned in, not letting her finish.
“aap hi khilaogi? Thik hai. Lekin aapko pata hona chahiye… main sirf khana nahi khata,” I whispered near her ear.
She blushed, her cheeks turning that soft pink I could spend a lifetime memorizing.
And at that moment, under the golden glow of fairy lights and soft rustling wind, we weren’t Ishni and Rudra — broken and vengeful.
We were just… husband and wife.
Two scarred hearts finally beating in rhythm.
After feeding each other like literal lovebirds, we sank into the soft cocoon of blankets and fluffy pillows she had arranged on the terrace. The sky above was full of stars, but my universe was pouting right beside me, wrapped in a saaree, hair tousled, nose slightly red from the breeze.
“You know,” I grumbled teasingly, stretching out lazily, “I have a huge king-size bed inside. Memory foam. Imported pillows. Yet here my wife… has decided her six-foot-three husband will sleep on the terrace tonight.”
She turned to me with a dramatic glare and puffed cheeks.
"Rudra, aapko toh romantic banna aata hi nahi!” she huffed, folding her arms like a baby.
I smirked and rolled onto my side, resting my head on one hand. “Romantic banna hota toh kya ye terrace mein chand taare leke na aata? You’re literally lying under the galaxy for god’s sake.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Chand taare toh theek hai… lekin baatein? Aap toh bas sarcastic ho.”
I leaned in closer, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear.
"Baatein? Chalo sikhata hoon tumhe kaise karta hoon main romance."
I cupped her jaw gently and whispered,
“aap jo ho na… mere liye dua bhi ho… aur hasil bhi. Jab saans leta hoon, lagta hai aapki khushboo se bhari ho hawaa. Main romantic nahi hoon, jaan… main bas aap mein khoya hoon.”
Her eyes widened slightly, lips parting.
“Mere ragon mein khoon nahi, bas aapki tasveer chalti hai.”
I pulled her into my chest.
“Mujhe romance ka tareeka nahi aata… par aapki chhodne ka bhi toh nahi.”
She melted like butter, hiding her face in my chest.
“Bas... aise hi baatein kiya karo na Rudra,” she whispered.
I kissed her forehead, tightening my arms around her.
“Bas aap saath ho, toh main kuch bhi seekh sakta hoon… chahe woh romance ho ya sapne dekhna.”
And just like that — with her tangled in my arms, under the sky, her heartbeat echoing against mine — I realized:
“Ab dikhata hoon aapko … meri romance ka dusra side,” I whispered, voice dipped in heat, eyes fixed on her lips.
“Huh? Kya—”
She didn’t finish.
Because I didn’t let her.
I leaned in and crashed my lips onto hers — slow at first, just enough to make her breath hitch. Then deeper, fiercer — pulling her onto my lap like she was mine to claim all over again.
And she was.
Her soft gasp vanished into my mouth. My hands gripped her waist, feeling the silk of her saree bunch under my fingers.
Her fingers tangled into my hair, eyes fluttering shut as she melted against me. The stars above blurred, the world stilled — only her soft breaths, her heartbeat thudding against my chest, existed now.
I kissed her like I was carving my name into her soul.
When we pulled back, both breathless, I rested my forehead against hers, whispering:
“Yeh jo aapki saansein hai na, sirf mere liye chalti hai… aap meri ho, sirf meri…”
She blushed, her palm resting on my heart.
"Rudra..." she breathed, lips swollen, eyes glazed with love and disbelief.
I grinned, leaning down to nibble gently at her jaw.
“Main kuch bhi ban sakta hoon... jab baat aapki ho.”
I laid her down gently, like she was made of stars and silk.
Her breath hitched as I hovered over her, eyes locked — not with lust, but with something far deeper… something only she could pull out of me.
My hand found hers, fingers entwining before I slowly trailed the other up her side — finding the delicate tie of her blouse string.
She didn’t move… only watched me.
Trusting me.
And that trust? It made my heart thunder louder than any battlefield I’ve ever ruled.
Her lips trembled, and she bit down gently on the lower one.
"Shhh… don’t bite it," I whispered, brushing her lip with my thumb.
"That’s mine to taste."
She gasped softly, her cheeks blooming with color.
I leaned in, lips brushing just against her jaw.
"You don’t know what you do to me, jaan… I can conquer empires with a smirk, but one look from you? And I’m ready to burn the world down… just to protect your smile."
Her hand cupped my face now — her touch trembling, but eyes fierce.
“Rudra…” she whispered. “I trust you. With everything I have.”
I kissed her palm. “You’re everything I have.”
Her lips found mine, slow but sure, I let my forehead rest against hers, the scent of her skin grounding me in ways fire never could. My hand found her waist, pulling her close, skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat.
And as her blouse slipped open beneath my fingers, as her breath hitched and her body melted into mine,
My hand traced from her collarbone down the center of her chest — slowly — feeling her shiver under my touch. Not from cold. From knowing.
From being seen. Worshipped.
I cupped her face again, our foreheads pressed together as my thumb brushed her trembling lips.
“I’ve broken bones without blinking… but this—” I whispered, voice raw, “this is the only thing that terrifies me. Because I don’t want to hurt you… even by accident.”
Her fingers unbuttoned my shirt in silence, one by one.
“You won’t,” she said softly.
“Because this… is the first time I’m not afraid.”
I leaned down, lips meeting hers — not with hunger, but with devotion. The kind that says I’ve waited a thousand lives to taste this moment.
My hands explored her slowly, learning every curve, every breath, every place that made her whimper into my mouth.
I rested my face between her breasts, letting the sound of her heartbeat ground me — steady, strong, and yet so vulnerably real.
My lips brushed across her skin, slow and reverent, until I reached the peak of her nipples. I pressed a gentle kiss there, feeling her breath hitch beneath me.
She arched slightly, her fingers tightening in my hair, silently asking — needing — more.
And I gave it.
My lips wrapped around nipples,warmth meeting warmth, as I tasted her slowly, savoring every soft gasp she gave me. She melted into me, her hand sliding down my back, nails dragging gently along my skin as her body quivered beneath mine.
“Rudra…” she breathed, voice trembling like the air before a storm.
I looked up at her through half-lidded eyes, her face flushed, her gaze dark with desire and trust — complete trust.
“I’ve destroyed kingdoms with these hands,” I whispered, trailing my tongue across her skin, “but with you… all I want to do is worship.”
And just like that…
The monster.
The mafia.
The revenge.
All of it faded — like smoke in the aftermath of fire.
There was no blood.
No screams.
No rage pulsing through my veins.
Only her.
Wrapped in each other’s arms, tangled limbs and tangled fates, our bodies still humming from the storm we created together.
My mouth still rested against her breast — not out of lust now, but comfort.
A place I never knew I needed, and never wanted to leave.
Her warmth cradled my face. Her fingers stroked my hair in lazy, fading patterns.
And as the world outside burned or healed or waited for the next war...
We slept.
Next day
Ishni’s POV—
The sunlight kissed our faces, gentle and golden, as if even the universe wanted to be part of our world.
My lashes fluttered open, and the first thing I saw… was him.
Rudra.
Lying next to me, the light dancing across his skin like it belonged there. His sharp jaw bathed in sunlight, lips parted slightly, that perfect nose scrunching as a breeze passed.
He looked like a sunbathe dream.
So bright.
So breathtaking.
So impossibly mine.
My fingers itched to touch him — not like last night when I was trembling with want, but now… with reverence.
With disbelief that someone like him — powerful, feared, fire incarnate — could sleep so peacefully beside me.
I brushed a soft kiss on his bare shoulder, letting my fingers trace his collarbone.
“Tum jaise dikhte ho… lagta hai bhagwaan ne khud sculpt kiya ho,” I whispered softly, careful not to wake him.
But of course… Mr. India doesn’t sleep when I want to admire him.
His lips curved lazily into a smirk, eyes still closed.
“Toh meri tarif kar rahi thi, Mrs. Singh Rajput?” he muttered, voice husky, still dipped in sleep.
I flushed instantly. “Shut up,” I mumbled, hiding my face in his chest.
He pulled me in tighter, kissing the crown of my head.
“Nahi jaan… bolte raho. Mujhe yeh subah roz chahiye… aap ke yeh bikhre baal, aapki khushboo, aur yeh pyaar bhari awaaz.”
I smiled against him, heart full.
And just like that — wrapped in his arms, under the leftover whispers of moonlight and golden sun — I knew…
No matter how dark our pasts were, this man… this moment… was the kind of forever I never believed in.