chapter 20
Ishni's POV:
After freshening up and slipping into a soft pastel kurti, I joined Rudra at the breakfast table. The air was filled with the scent of buttery parathas and adrak wali chai — the kind of morning that felt stolen from a peaceful dream.
He was feeding me bites like the dramatic husband he was — refusing to let me lift a finger.
"Ek aur," he grinned, holding the spoon to my lips.
I giggled. “Main bachhi hoon kya?”
He leaned in, voice dipped low, “Bachhi toh nahi, lekin meri ho… aur mujhe apni cheezein khud feed karne ki aadat hai.”
Just as I was about to tease him back, my phone buzzed with a notification.
I lazily picked it up, thinking it was another random update — but then I froze.
The headline blazed in bold.
? Ishni Oberoi — whom the world labeled a criminal two years ago — is now revealed to be a victim. New evidence shows that her ex-husband, Karan dewaana, had multiple affairs, emotionally and physically abused her, and manipulated legal systems using his influence. ?
My breath hitched. My hands trembled.
I clicked the link. More details followed. Court files. Anonymous witness confessions. Surveillance clips. Whispers of people who finally spoke the truth.
Tears pricked my eyes.
The world… the same world that spat on my name… was now beginning to understand.
I looked up slowly — Rudra was already watching me, his gaze unreadable but intense.
“You…?” I whispered.
He didn’t answer immediately. Just reached over and gently wiped away a tear I didn’t know had fallen.
“I told you,” he said, his voice deep, protective, fierce, “main sab theek kar dunga. Ek ek jhooth ko jala ke sach ka ujala le aunga aap ka liye, meri jaan.”
“Rudra…” My voice cracked.
He stood, came to my side, and crouched in front of me — resting his hands on my knees.
“You gave them silence,” he said, “I gave them truth. Aur ab poori duniya aap ko wapas dekhegi — sirf ek criminal ke roop mein nahi… ek survivor, ek warrior, merii queen ke roop mein.”
I didn’t know when I dropped the phone… or when I wrapped my arms around his neck and held him like I’d never let go.
Because for the first time in years… the world was hearing my story.
And for the first time ever, I wasn’t facing it alone.
My hands trembled as I clutched his shirt tightlythe breakfast long forgotten, replaced with the bitterness of memories I could never erase.
"You know how I felt when the same world humiliated me?"
My voice cracked.
Rudra’s eyes never left mine, but I couldn’t look at him. Not now.
"The case I fought tooth and nail for… the evidence I gathered with trembling hands — all of it, gone in one sweep. Like my voice didn’t matter. Like I never mattered.”
I felt my heartbeat echoing in my ears. My lips quivered.
“But when they hurt me… when they broke me from inside, when no one came, when silence became my answer…”
I swallowed hard.
“I realised something.”
I finally looked at him. My eyes burning. My throat dry.
“I had to fight on my own. So I did.”
A long pause. Then:
“I turned my hands into weapons. I painted them with his blood.”
Tears spilled freely now.
“And Rudra… I don’t regret killing him.”
The silence between us was deafening.
I waited — for judgment, for disgust, for him to pull away.
But Rudra didn’t move.
His thumbs brushed away the tears gently, reverently.
“jaaan…” he whispered. “You didn’t become a monster.”
“You became a fire. Because the world tried to burn you first.”
His voice trembled, and his eyes — those fierce, lion-like eyes — were misted with emotion.
“I see you,” he whispered, “not as a murderer. But as a woman who refused to die quietly. And if the world couldn’t hear your scream then, I’ll make damn sure they hear it now.”
“I don’t care what you did. I care why. And that why… was survival.”
He pulled me into his chest, arms wrapping around me like armor.
“You’re not alone anymore,” he said, kissing my head.
“Your past won’t define you, jaan… but I will protect your future with every breath I take.”
And in that moment — broken, confessed, embraced — I knew I was finally home.
In him.
After sometime
"Rudra..."
My voice barely escaped my lips as I sat in his embrace, the words thick in my throat, a wound still bleeding deep within.
"Will I ever be able to be a lawyer again?"
I felt his breath still.
"They took everything from me. My license. My dignity. My career. The courtroom that once echoed with my voice now laughs behind closed doors…"
My fingers clutched his shirt tightly, as if holding onto something—anything.
"They took my job, Rudra…"
A pause.
"I don’t even know who I am without it anymore."
The silence was thick—until I heard his voice.
Steady. Commanding. Yet full of heart.
Rudra’s POV:
I cupped her face, gently lifting it to meet my gaze.
“No.”
She blinked. Her eyes shimmered with pain and confusion.
“No, jaan..They didn’t take your job.”
“They just delayed your return to it.”
Her lips parted, as if to argue — but I didn’t let her.
"You’re still a lawyer. The kind who fought for justice when the world spat on your name. The kind who fought alone when no one stood by her. That doesn't disappear because of a piece of paper or a corrupt system."
I held her face tighter, forehead pressed against hers.
“And if the system dares to say otherwise… I’ll burn the system down and rebuild it with your name engraved at the top.”
“I’ll get your license back, your name cleared — everything. And one day, you’ll walk back into that courtroom not just as a lawyer… but as the woman who fought, fell, rose, and conquered.”
“You’ll win again, jaan.. Not because I believe it — but because you’re made for it.”
She choked back a sob, her hands wrapping around me like she was clinging to her lost dreams… and I swear on every god and demon I’ve known — I’ll bring that dream back for her.
Even if I have to rewrite the laws myself.
Author's POV
Rudra Singh Rajput wasn’t a man of empty words —
He was a storm dressed in tailored suits and unshakable intent.
And when he promised Ishni her life back,
He meant every syllable with blood, fire, and war.
While the world slept under illusion,
He tore through the justice system like a raging god.
Old case files reopened.
Evidence resurrected.
People who once sat on thrones of corruption now trembled in basement cells — begging for mercy that would never come.
Every false testimony — crushed.
Every bribe — exposed.
Every lie that buried her — dug up and set ablaze.
And finally, the day came.
The bar council reversed their verdict.
The courtroom that once humiliated her… now awaited her return.
Her license — returned.
Her dignity — restored.
Her name — reborn, not as a victim...
But as a symbol of fire that refused to die.
And as she held that paper in her trembling hands,
The one thing she whispered wasn’t “thank you”…
It was:
“Now it’s my turn to fight — for others like me.”
Standing beside her, Rudra didn’t speak.
He just looked at her —
As if the sun had finally risen in his storm-ridden world.
Ishni's POV
It was an as-usual day… sunshine flooding through the curtains, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifting in the air, and him — my husband — standing shirtless near the mirror, getting ready.
After our breakfast, I sat on the edge of the bed, watching him move around the room with that effortless grace. Uff… my eyes are so blessed. I giggled quietly, unable to contain the rush of butterflies.
He turned sharply at the sound, his brow cocked, smirk playing at his lips.
“Something interesting about your husband, jaan?” he asked, clearly enjoying the attention — as if he didn’t already know.
Well, of course he knew.
I walked over slowly, wrapping my arms around his neck. His hands instinctively found my waist, pulling me close.
“So… don’t you think it’s a crime to eye someone with such shameless intentions?” he whispered, that signature teasing tone laced with something darker, more delicious.
I tilted my head and smirked, “I don’t think it’s a crime to look at my own husband. And when my husband is this hot…” I let my finger trail down his bare chest, “...it’s kind of your fault, Mr. India.”
He chuckled low in his throat, that deep sound that always gave me goosebumps.
“Oh? My fault, haan? Then should I get punished for being irresistible?”
He leaned in, brushing his lips against my ear.
“Or… should I punish you for staring, Mrs. Rajput?”
My breath hitched. “Try me.”
He grinned like the devil himself, lifting me effortlessly and placing me on the dressing table counter.
“In that case… court is in session.”
his body pressing into mine. The cool surface beneath me contrasted with the burning heat between us.
“In fact…” he murmured, his lips hovering over mine, “I should be the one punished. For letting you out of my sight for even a second.”
I didn’t get a chance to reply — his mouth claimed mine, slow but desperate, his kiss tasting of hunger, need, and years of longing.
His hands roamed possessively, gripping the curves he called his, his touch sending a tremble through my spine. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, breathing him in like oxygen.
“Rudra…” I whispered against his lips, dazed. “You’re being dangerous…”
He smiled, voice low and wicked, “Good. Because loving you was never meant to be safe.”
His lips found the corner of my neck, trailing kisses down to the hollow of my throat. My fingers tangled in his hair, gasping as he nipped gently at my skin.
he whispered, “in this moment, there’s nothing else I want. No kingdom. No empire. Just you… trembling beneath my hands.”
And his eyes locked with mine, dark and full of reverence. “You’re not just mine, Ishni… you’re my religion.”
Rudra’s fingers brushed her cheek as if memorizing the softness. His gaze locked with hers — not lustful, but reverent, as if he couldn’t believe she was real, was his.
Ishni’s breath hitched as his touch trailed down her jawline, tracing the pulse that fluttered at her neck. “Rudra…” she whispered, her voice like silk unraveling.
He leaned in, pressing a kiss just beneath her ear, his voice low and possessive. “aap meri ho… har roop mein, har saans mein.”
With a single tug, he loosened the knot of her kurti .The fabric slipped from her shoulders like a secret revealed. His eyes drank her in — not with hunger, but with awe.
She shivered as his warm palms slid over her waist, fingers spreading over her skin like fire. He pulled her closer, their bodies aligning, the heat between them growing unbearable.
Their mouths met again — slower this time, deeper — a kiss that spoke of promises, of pain healed, of storms weathered together. She clutched his arms, dragging him closer, needing him like air, like truth.
His hands roamed her back, tracing the arch of her spine, pressing her flush against him. “You drive me mad,” he murmured, lips brushing her collarbone. “Mad with love. Mad with need.”
She gasped as he lifted her, laying her down gently, the sheets cool beneath her burning skin. He hovered over her, watching her, memorizing every breath, every flutter of her lashes.
“Rudra,” she whispered, chest rising and falling with anticipation.
He leaned down, kissing every inch of skin he could reach — her neck, her shoulder, the curve of her waist. Each kiss was a vow. Each sigh from her lips, a surrender.
They moved in sync, a rhythm as old as time — a dance of fingers, lips, breath, soul. There were no words, only moans swallowed by kisses, only heat and devotion tangled together.
Time blurred.
she curled into his chest, heart thundering. He held her like she was the only thing keeping him alive.
“aap sirf meri ho,” he whispered against her hair. “Aur main aap ka hoon… poora.”
Time Skip
Author’s POV
Inside the towering glass building of rajput Industries, the conference room buzzed with suits and voices — directors discussing expansion plans, projections flashing across the screen.
But Rudra Singh Rajput?
He was somewhere else entirely.
Leaning back in his leather chair, one hand fisted beneath his chin in a thoughtful pose, he stared blankly at the screen — but the images playing in his head weren’t graphs or business slides.
It was her.
Beneath him.
Eyes fluttered shut, lips parted, her fingers clutching his back like he was her entire world.
His jaw tightened, remembering the soft whimper she made when he whispered in her ear.
The way her body arched into him like she was born for it.
The raw vulnerability in her eyes… and the fire that replaced it.
“Mr. Rajput?” a voice called out cautiously.
He looked up slowly, eyes stormy.
“Meeting’s adjourned.”
No one dared to question him.
As the room emptied, Rudra leaned back again, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips.
“Damn you, jaan..…” he muttered to himself.
“You’ve ruined me for everything else.”
Rudra’s POV
“What have you done to me, jaan…” I whispered, leaning back in my chair, my fingers brushing against my jaw as a rare smile tugged at the corner of my lips.
The projector light flickered across the room, but none of it mattered.
All I could see was her.
Messy morning hair. Bare shoulders peeking through my shirt she stole. That sleepy smile she gave me when I kissed her forehead.
God.
“You’ve ruined me, Ishni…” I murmured.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to pull myself back into reality — the deals, the papers, the empire I had to run.
But she…
She had become my reality.
“You made me so selfish,” I admitted to the silence, “that I want to leave everything — the boardrooms, the business, the entire goddamn world…
“…and just be wrapped in your arms.”
I chuckled under my breath, shaking my head as I looked out the window at the city I once thought belonged to me.
But now?
Now, nothing felt mine unless she was in it.
My wife.
My jaan.
My peace.
And the chaos I’d willingly drown in.
The irritation burned hotter than the espresso I hadn’t touched yet.
I was already wrestling the memory of her lips, her voice echoing in my mind like a sweet curse—and now, this.
A knock. A stuttering voice. Useless updates.
“Come in,” I snapped, not even glancing up.
The girl tiptoed inside like I was about to devour her. She should’ve been more scared—I was never in the mood for nonsense when I was missing my wife.
"What do you want? And if it was important, did you consult with Vipul first?"
“N-no, boss… He went to the factory for goods check,” she stammered.
I sighed, clenching my jaw. “Then what the hell are you doing here wasting my time?”
“Boss… there’s a lady—she… she wants to meet you. Doesn’t have an appointment… but said she doesn’t need one. We tried to stop her, but—”
I cut her off, glaring. “You couldn’t stop a single woman?”
I dragged a hand through my hair, barely holding my temper. “Are you seriously standing here feeding me this nonsense?”
“S-sorry, boss. She… said she knows you.”
"Tell her to go back. I’m not in the mood to meet anyone today," I barked, already turning back toward my desk.
But then—
The door burst open.
“Boss!”
Vipul’s voice. Urgent. Breathless. Alive.
“Mam is here.”
Everything inside me froze. My hands, my breath. My heart? That thing took off running like it belonged to her.
Jaan?
I didn’t wait.
I rushed out like a man possessed, brushing past stunned staff, ignoring all questions
Running like a madman through my own damn company — I must’ve looked like a CEO possessed. But none of that mattered.
Because there she was.
My jaan.
Standing in the middle of the lobby like she owned every inch of the marble floor — which she did — but right now, she was in full fire mode.
Hands on her hips, eyes blazing, voice loud enough to echo through the building.
“Excuse me!! How dare you try to stop me? Don’t you know my husband owns this company?!”
The poor lady staff looked like she’d just been dragged into court without a lawyer.
“Mam, please… it’s protocol. We can't just let anyone—”
“Mai unki wife hu, samjhe tum? Mujhe koi nahi rok sakta!” she snapped, eyes wild.
I stopped. Just stood there for a second, watching the drama unfold like a free reality show I never knew I needed. A slow chuckle escaped my lips.
Of course she’s like this. Of course.
This is the same woman who tore a system down with her bare hands. Who made the world regret underestimating her.
And now here she was — going full courtroom mode in the lobby because someone dared to slow her down.
Smiling, I walked toward her, voice warm but low enough to melt steel.
“Bas jaan, company to meri hai, par drama ka poora contract aap ke paas hi lagta hai.”
She whipped around, fire still flashing in her eyes — until they landed on me.
And just like that, everything softened.
“Rudra!” she gasped.
“Arre haan, Rudra hi hoon. Aap ka pati. Jise aap bina appointment ke milne aayi ho,” I teased, pulling her gently into my arms in front of the stunned staff.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” I whispered into her hair.
“Why are you here, jaan?” he asked, voice softer than the silk shirt he wore.
She turned, lips curled in that killer smile. “Brought you lunch. Since you apparently enjoy eating alone like some lost orphan.”
Before he could react, she plucked her handbag off her shoulder and—without warning—looped it around his neck. “Hold this,” she said simply, like it was routine.
And Rudra… Rudra, the man who had once broken a man’s ribs for interrupting his meeting… said nothing.
He let the pink glittery handbag dangle from his neck like a proud trophy, ignoring the collective gasps from his stunned staff.
They watched — some horrified, some awestruck — as their deadly boss stood there with a bunny keychain bouncing off his chest and his wife confidently holding his hand.
Because while the world feared his trigger…
And he kneel for her zipper
Rudra Singh Rajput happily held his wife’s bag like it was the only weapon he needed.