chapter 22
After reaching the place, the car came to a smooth halt. Ishni stepped out gracefully, heels clicking on the pavement with a newfound purpose. Just as she adjusted her blazer, Rudra stepped out too, walking around the car and catching her by the waist from behind.
“You know…” he said softly, his lips brushing near her ear, “if you want, I can come with you.”
She smiled, turning slightly to face him. “Stop acting like a child, Rudra. I can take care of myself.”
He pouted dramatically, holding her a little tighter. “I know, I know… but I’ll feel lonely. Ab meri aadat lag gayi hai aap ke sath"
She rolled her eyes, trying not to laugh. “Rudra, pagal mat bano. You have your office too, right?”
He grinned, still refusing to let go. “Office can wait. My wife walking into court for the first time again after everything? I should be showering rose petals in front of you.”
“Bas karo, filmy hero,” she teased, pressing a light kiss on his cheek. “Go now before I actually drag you inside and make you sit in front row.”
“Tempting,” he smirked. “But fine. Go make the world remember who Ishni rudra Singh Rajput is.”
Their hands lingered for a moment before she turned toward the courthouse, her stride confident, fierce.
He stood back, watching with pride — his lioness walking into battle again.
Ishni’s POV:
After Rudra left with one last lingering glance, I turned and walked inside the building.
Something felt… off. A strange hush in the air, like whispers hanging unsaid. But I brushed it aside — I’ve felt heavier silence before. I’ve walked through darker halls. This? This was nothing.
The moment I stepped into the courtroom lobby, every eye turned to me.
Some widened in disbelief.
Some narrowed in judgment.
Some just… stared.
But me? I walked with my head held high. Chin lifted. Shoulders straight. Steps unshaken.
Because for the first time in years — I wasn’t walking in as a criminal.
I was walking in as a lawyer. A woman whose truth had finally roared louder than their lies.
I walked into my old cabin — still the same. The wooden desk, my books stacked neatly, My fingers grazed over the surface as a smile tugged at my lips.
“My place… where I serve justice,” I whispered to myself. “God, I missed this.”
Time passed.
People around started resuming their usual work — whispers faded, awkward glances turned into polite greetings, and a few familiar faces even approached me with hesitant smiles.
Some apologized quietly.
Some simply nodded with respect.
I welcomed it all with grace.
Because I wasn’t here to remember who turned their backs.
I was here to reclaim what was mine.
And as I sat in my chair — my throne — I whispered a silent thank you…
To the man who made this possible.
“My Rudra.”
It was lunch break, and I was finally beginning to feel like I belonged here again.
Sitting in the cafeteria with a few colleagues — some new, some old — the conversations flowed gently. They were mostly about upcoming cases, courtroom drama, and random gossip I wasn’t fully caught up on. But it felt… warm. Familiar.
I was midway through a bite of my paneer wrap when my phone buzzed.
Rudra calling...
Of course.
I sighed, already bracing myself.
“Drama incoming,” I muttered under my breath, making one of my colleagues raise a curious brow.
I answered, “Yes, Mr. Husband?”
His voice came through immediately, smug and playful.
“Mrs. Wifey, I miss you.”
I rolled my eyes, trying not to smile.
“You saw me three hours ago.”
“That’s three hours too long.”
I shook my head. “I’m at work. Eating.”
“So? Put it on speaker. I want everyone to know you’re already taken.”
“Rudra…” I warned in a soft hiss, glancing around the table. A couple of them had already figured out who was on the call judging by the smirks.
“What are you having?” he asked.
“Lunch.”
“What lunch?”
“Food.”
“I’m not hanging up until I know what kind of paneer it is.”
I covered my mouth to stifle a laugh. “It’s wrap. Paneer wrap. Happy?”
“Mmm... not as happy as I’d be if I was feeding you myself.”
I groaned dramatically. “Goodbye, Rudra.”
He laughed. “Okay, okay. Text me when you’re done, jaan.”
“I will,” I said, voice softening. “Now go pretend to be scary.”
“I’m only scary when you’re not around.”
I hung up, cheeks warm.
The moment I looked up, everyone was staring.
One of them smirked. “That was your husband?”
I just smiled, picking up my chai.
“Yeah,” I said.
Time slipped past quietly.
It was around six — the golden hour casting amber streaks across the glass windows of the office. Most of the staff had already packed up and left. A few were still scattered around, absorbed in their cases, typing away or whispering over files.
I was one of them.
My heels were off, tucked beneath my desk. I sat cross-legged on my chair, eyes locked on a pile of case documents spread across my desk. A familiar calm had settled in me — the kind that came when I was deep in work, chasing truth and justice like it was stitched into my veins.
Outside my glass cabin, I saw the junior associates whispering, yawning, packing up — but inside? I was wired, focused, driven.
The clinking of a coffee mug startled me. A colleague — Ravi — placed it at the edge of my desk.
“You look like you need this,” he said with a half-smile.
“Thanks,” I replied, offering a small one back.
As I took a sip, my mind flickered to Rudra. Had he eaten? Was he still at the office? Or planning to crash mine again like some romantic tornado?
I shook the thought away with a chuckle and returned to my papers.
This was the life I missed. The version of myself I thought I lost.
And yet… here I was again — not just as Ishni the lawyer — but Ishni the woman who burned down the past and rose from its ashes.
And then… the air shifted.
A strange stillness wrapped the office — the kind that felt like a slow gust before a storm. I blinked, watching how the casual buzz of conversation and keyboard taps suddenly died. Eyes widened. Whispers started. Heads turned.
I raised an eyebrow, setting down my pen.
“What now?” I muttered, confused.
Until I turned…
......only to see him.
My husband. Rudra Singh Rajput.
Wearing that damn sinful black-on-black suit, sleeves rolled, watch glinting under the fading sun — walking in like he owned not just the building, but time itself.
Every eye followed him, some in fear, some in disbelief…
and the rest? Stunned silence.
And as if his presence wasn’t enough, in one hand he carried a bouquet of blood-red roses.
Velvet, bold, unapologetically dramatic — just like him.
He walked past the stunned interns, past the dumbfounded seniors, all of whom looked as though they’d seen a lion walk through a courtroom.
Straight toward me.
“You forgot your 6 PM flower, jaan,” he said with the softest smirk, placing the bouquet gently on my desk like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Dead silence.
I could feel every soul in that office holding their breath.
I blinked. “…You seriously brought me roses? To my workplace?”
He leaned down, brushed his lips against my temple, and whispered low enough for only me to hear, “Your battlefield deserves flowers too.”
God. This man.
I should’ve been embarrassed… but all I could do was smile like an idiot while the entire floor processed the fact that the terrifying Rudra Singh Rajput — CEO, mafia don, absolute nightmare of a man — just strolled in to deliver flowers to his wife.
In a law firm.
“And look at you,” he said, staring at me as if I were a lost kitten, “so pale on your first day back.”
I blinked. “huh? What!!"
He looked around the office with a dramatic gasp. “Who gave my wife this much work? Huh? On her first day?” He turned back to me, scandalized. “Jaan, are you trying to bring back courtroom PTSD?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Rudra… you sure you’re a mafia?"
He smirked—that crooked, annoying, irresistible smirk. He leaned in closer and whispered near my ear.
“Mafia hoon… par sirf duniya ke liye. Aap ke liye toh main sirf ek besharam aashiq hoon.”
I covered my face, half laughing, half mortified.
“Oh my god, stop, Rudra. You’re embarrassing me.”
He only grinned wider. “Good. Let them all know that I’ll embarrass you every single day, if that means no one here ever dares to look down on you again.”
Before I could even respond, he picked up the lunchbox from my desk and waved it with flair. “Now, your very possessive husband is officially declaring a 10-minute break. Lawyer sahiba, you’re coming with me. No arguments.”
I rolled my eyes—but my smile betrayed me.
Because in a world full of fake justice and cold-hearted people, this dangerous man, my husband, was the only madness I would always choose.
“Now let’s go home, jaan. It’s getting late,” he said, already picking up my handbag like it was his moral duty.
I glanced at the clock. “Rudra, it’s just six o’clock.”
He gave me that dramatic head shake, the one that screamed “argument denied.”
“No. You’re coming with me now. I’ve been patient enough.”
I sighed, defeated, as I began arranging my papers into a neat stack. “You act like I don’t have a job. I just came back today.”
He leaned closer, brushing a few stray strands behind my ear. “Exactly. Which is why your husband is enforcing a strict ‘no overtime’ policy. Come on, Fireheart.”
I looked up at him—his tie slightly loosened, sleeves rolled, the soft worry hiding behind his usual mischief. And in that moment, how could I argue?
“Fine,” I mumbled, grabbing my coat.
He smirked in victory. “Smart girl.”
As we walked out, my colleagues tried to look busy while sneakily watching us. Rudra held the door open like a gentleman… but with the pride of a mafia king who just walked off with his queen.
Outside, the sky was painted in orange streaks, the air light, and my heart oddly warm.
Because somehow, even in this madness… I felt like I was exactly where I belonged.
After we sat in his car, I immediately started yapping about my day — how awkward the morning was, how one junior lawyer couldn’t even make proper coffee, how Mrs. D’Souza still wore that hideous neon green saree she thought was elegant.
Rudra didn’t interrupt once.
He just drove silently, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting between us, brushing against mine now and then. His eyes stayed on the road, but his attention? All on me.
“And then—can you believe it—someone actually asked if I was an intern,” I huffed, crossing my arms dramatically.
Still nothing. Just a soft smile tugging at his lips as he drove, like every word of mine was music.
“You’re very quiet today,” I finally said, raising an eyebrow.
He glanced at me briefly before returning his gaze to the road. “Just listening to my wife’s voice. It’s the only thing that calms the war in my head.”
I blinked. Just like that, he made my heart trip over itself.
“Rudra…”
He reached over, grabbing my hand and intertwining our fingers. “Keep talking, jaan. I like hearing how your world sounds now that you’re free again.”
And so, I kept talking — about cases, about clothes, about literally nothing.
But somehow, with his hand in mine and the city lights blinking past us…
It all felt like everything.
In the middle of the road, my eyes lit up seeing a tiny ice cream stall glowing under a dim streetlight.
“Rudra…” I tugged his sleeve like a child, pointing. “I want ice cream.”
He gave me a sideways glance, then looked at the stall, then back at me. “Jaan, don’t you think it’s a bit late to eat that?”
I crossed my arms and turned away dramatically. “I want it. That’s it.”
There was a pause.
Then I heard his deep sigh, the kind laced with surrender. “Of course you do.”
He pulled the car over without another word.
When he returned, I was already grinning from the passenger seat.
“See? That wasn’t so hard,” I said, taking a big lick of my ice cream.
He watched me, then smiled like I hung the stars in his sky. “For you, I’d even buy the entire damn truck.”
I snorted. “I don’t want the truck, just the ice cream.”
He leaned in close, his voice low, teasing, “You know what else I want?”
I blinked. “What?”
“Your lips. After that ice cream,” he smirked.
“Rudra!” I gasped, face heating up.
He chuckled deeply. “Drive-thru kisses should be a thing, jaan.”
After finishing my ice cream, I leaned against his shoulder — the safest, warmest place in the world. His one hand stayed on the wheel while the other rested protectively over my thigh, like it always found its way there on instinct.
Outside, the sky darkened, and within minutes, soft raindrops began to dance across the windshield. The sound — rhythmic, calming — made me smile. I pressed my palm gently to the glass, watching the streaks slide down like liquid stars.
Then I turned to him, eyes gleaming. “Rudra…”
He didn’t even glance. “No.”
I blinked. “But—”
“We’re not getting wet in the rain, jaan,” he said firmly, eyes still on the road.
I gasped, dramatically. “You didn’t even let me finish!”
“I didn’t have to,” he said, shooting me a side glance. “I know that look. That's your I-want-to-run-in-the-rain-and-drag-my-husband-with-me face.”
“Well,” I shrugged innocently, “you married the face.”
He groaned under his breath, jaw tightening. “Jaan… my shirt is new.”
“My heart is old and romantic,” I countered, placing a hand over it.
He gave me a deadpan look. “That line won’t work on me.”
“It worked the night you let me eat cake at 3 AM.”
He sighed, already losing the battle. “You were crying and threatened to punch a wall.”
“Still counts,” I smirked.
A few more moments of silent resistance… then, with a groan of resignation, he pulled over by an empty stretch of roadside trees, rain cascading in sheets outside the car.
I squealed, unbuckling instantly.
“I haven’t agreed yet!” he barked.
Too late — I was already out, spinning in the rain with my arms wide open.
From inside the car, Rudra watched me like I was a storm he’d gladly drown in. With another long sigh, he got out.
Soaked instantly, he walked toward me, hands slicking his wet hair back.
“You’re going to catch a cold,” he growled.
I only smiled, stepping closer. “You’ll take care of me, won’t you?”
He tugged me into his chest, rain pouring down around us. “Always.”
And then, in the middle of the road under the crying sky — he kissed me. Desperate. Deep. Drenched.
Because no matter how dangerous the world thought he was…
This man was mine. And in the rain, even the devil could melt.
His lips still brushed mine when the next roll of thunder made me shiver — not from cold, but from the way he held me like the storm was nothing compared to the chaos I caused in him.
I tilted my face upward, rain streaming down my cheeks like blessings, and whispered, “Dance with me…”
He raised an eyebrow. “In the middle of the road?”
I nodded, eyes gleaming.
He chuckled, brushing a wet strand from my face. “You’re insane.”
“You’re in love with me,” I replied, tugging his hand.
And just like that — the most feared man in the mafia, my husband, my Rudra — wrapped his arms around me and let the rhythm of the falling rain guide us.
We swayed, barefoot on the slick asphalt, laughter and water mingling as if the universe had paused just for us. No music. No people. Just two souls who found home in the chaos.
He twirled me suddenly, spinning like fire in a storm, and caught me again with a smirk. “You do realize we look like two mad people?”
I grinned, breathless. “Perfectly matched, then.”
He kissed me again — slower this time, with hands resting on my waist like he never planned to let go.
The world around us faded. The night, the rain, the road — all blurred into one beautiful, reckless memory.
Because when Rudra danced in the rain, it wasn’t just with his wife.
It was with the only person who could tame his storm.
After our romantic dance and kiss in the rain, we finally reached home. Walking toward our room, Rudra glanced at me, droplets still clinging to his lashes.
“Now go and change into something warm — you'll catch a cold,” he said, voice soft but firm, placing a hand gently on my back.
I nodded, my heart still fluttering from the way his wet shirt had clung to him during the dance. I walked into the bathroom, changed into a cozy sweatshirt and pajama pants, towel-dried my hair, and stepped out with a yawn—only to find the room empty.
“Rudra?” I called out, but there was no answer.
Curious, I padded down the hallway barefoot, the warmth of the fabric still settling into my skin. As I reached the staircase, my eyes fell on the scene below.
There he was.
In the kitchen. In grey sweatpants and a black T-shirt that clung to him in the most distracting way, sleeves pushed up, hair still damp and messy, looking like the most dangerously domestic man I’d ever seen. Stirring something in a pot, completely focused.
My lips curled into a smile as I leaned against the railing, arms crossed.
A mafia don. The king of the underground. Making soup like it was a normal Tuesday.
And he was mine.
He looked up, instantly sensing me. “Change done?”
“Yes,” I replied, slowly making my way down. “But… why is the mafia boss in my kitchen?”
He shrugged, without looking guilty. “Because his queen danced like a storm and now he doesn’t want her falling sick.”
He walked over with a bowl, blowing on the spoon before offering it to me. " jaan. One soup at a time.”
I made a face. “Noo… Rudra, you know it’s very bitter, I don’t want it.”
He looked at me with that patient-yet-dangerous glint in his eyes. “Baby, I know… but I don’t want you getting sick, so it’s better you drink it,” he said, bringing the spoon closer.
I scrunched my nose and turned my face dramatically. “Nooo,” I whined, and before he could react, I bolted out of the kitchen, running into the hall barefoot.
“jaaan!!" I heard him call behind me, clearly not expecting me to flee. “Are you seriously running away from a bowl of soup?!”
I giggled, dodging the corner. “I’d rather face your enemies than that bitter kadha!”
“I swear to God, woman—!” he muttered, then his tone dropped playfully, “You really want to test a mafia, huh?”
I squealed again as I heard his footsteps quickening behind me. My hair flew as I turned into the living room, trying to escape—
But he was faster.
Within seconds, his arms snaked around my waist and lifted me clean off the ground. “Caught you, Mrs. Rajput,” he whispered against my ear.
“No! Put me down, Rudra!” I kicked my legs, laughing breathlessly. “I don’t want that kadha!”
“Too late. Now you’ll drink double,” he said with a devilish smirk, walking us both back toward the couch.
“Rudraaa, noooo—!”
He sat down with me still in his lap, locking me in place with his arms around my waist like a warm cage. He picked up the bowl from the side table and brought the spoon to my lips.
“Say ‘ahh’, "
I turned my face with the stubbornness of a five-year-old. “Only if I get a reward after.”
He smirked, leaning in close. “You’ll get more than that. I’ll personally make sure it’s sweet enough to wipe the taste off your tongue.”
I blinked. “You’re impossible.”
He grinned. “And you love it.”
With a grumble, I finally opened my mouth and let him feed me the spoonful. It was just as bitter as I remembered, and I gagged dramatically.
He chuckled, brushing my hair back. “Brave girl.”
“I want chocolate now,” I mumbled with a pout.
He kissed the side of my cheek. “You’ll get chocolate… and kisses. Plenty of them.”
I sighed against him. Maybe the kadha wasn’t so bad after all.
Still in his lap, I looked up at him with a smug smile after swallowing the last spoonful of that bitter kadha. “Now where’s my chocolate?”
Rudra raised a brow. “So impatient, Mrs. Rajput.”
I folded my arms. “You promised.”
With a dramatic sigh, he reached behind the couch cushion and pulled out a bar of my favorite dark chocolate. My eyes lit up. “You actually hid it here?!”
He smirked. “I always keep emergency chocolates near you. For moments like this.”
I quickly unwrapped the bar and broke off a piece, popping it in my mouth. “Mmm… this is heaven,” I said, eyes closing in bliss as I leaned back against his chest. “Why can’t you make kadha taste like this?”
He laughed, his hand lazily rubbing my thigh. “If I could, you'd never run from it and I’d miss chasing you around the house.”
I looked up at him with chocolate smeared a little on the corner of my lips. He stared… and leaned in, licking it gently off my skin. “You’re messy,” he whispered, lips lingering for a second longer than necessary.
“Oops,” I smiled, breaking another piece and holding it up to his lips. “Want a bite?”
He took it slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’d rather bite you.”
I choked on my laugh, hitting his chest. “You’re terrible.”
“Terribly in love with you,” he whispered, burying his face in the crook of my neck. His arms tightened around my waist. “Let’s just stay like this tonight."
I melted into him, resting my cheek against his. “Deal. Just us.”
The TV played softly in the background, the rain tapped against the windows, and wrapped in his arms, on his lap, with chocolate and warmth — the world outside didn’t matter anymore.
Author pov
Still perched on his lap, Ishni let out a soft sigh when Rudra dipped his head, brushing his lips along the curve of her neck. His breath was warm, his movements slow—like he was savoring every second, every inch of her.
“Rudra…” she whispered, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
“Hmm?” he murmured against her skin, his voice low, rough, and filled with restrained hunger.
His hands slid beneath the hem of his shirt she wore—palms warm against her bare waist, fingertips tracing delicate patterns across her stomach. She shivered, not from cold, but from the fire that always came alive at his touch.
“You drive me insane, jaan,” he whispered into her collarbone, “and the worst part? I don’t want a cure.”
His lips traveled higher, trailing kisses along her jaw as one hand rose to cradle the back of her neck, pulling her in. Their lips met again, this time deeper—his kiss full of everything he couldn’t say with words.
Suddenly his phone started ringing—once, twice, thrice. At first, Rudra didn’t even notice, too lost in the warmth of her touch, in the moment that felt like home.
But the persistent buzzing cut through the quiet intimacy like an unwelcome blade.
With a frustrated sigh, he reached over and snatched the phone from the table.
“Yes?” he snapped, jaw clenched, eyes still on her flushed face.
Ishni narrowed her eyes, muttering under her breath, “If that person doesn’t have a romantic life, why ruin ours?” Her fingers toyed with the chain around his neck as she glared at the phone like it had personally wronged her.
Rudra’s expression changed subtly. Whoever it was, their words seemed serious. He listened in silence for a few seconds, his brows furrowing deeper.
Then he hung up.
Turning to her, his voice was softer—tinged with regret. “Jaan… go to sleep. I gotta go.”
Ishni blinked. “Now?”
He cupped her cheek, thumb brushing gently along her skin. “I wouldn’t leave if it wasn’t important. But something came up. I’ll be back soon.”
She stared at him, wanting to argue—but the look in his eyes said it all. This wasn’t just business. It was something more. Something that had to be handled by the devil himself.
She nodded slowly, trying not to let the disappointment show. “Be safe.”
He kissed her forehead, lingering a little longer than usual. “Always. And I’ll return to finish what we started…”
He smirked before walking out into the shadows.