chapter 24
Author’s POV
After what felt like surviving a full feature film in one car ride, Rudra finally pulled into the mansion's driveway , stars shimmered above, but nothing sparkled more than the drama sitting on his lap.
“I think it’s enough for today,” he mumbled under his breath as he carried her bridal style into the house. “Absolutely enough.”
But fate had other plans.
Because her drunk majesty? She was not done.
The moment he gently placed her on the couch and turned to lock the door, she stood up dramatically, wobbling slightly, arms stretched like she was about to perform on Broadway.
“Excuse me, sir!!” she pointed at him, her tone suddenly mock serious. “You haven’t appreciated me today!”
Rudra blinked. “I kissed you seventeen times in the car.”
She squinted. “But did you appreciate my existence?”
He sighed, walking toward her, amused but tired. “Jaan, I literally carried you out of a police station like a queen.”
“And now,” she said, spinning slowly, “I want to dance!”
“In the living room?”
“Yes. With lights on. And music. Romantic wala!”
Rudra had seen bloodbaths, survived bullet storms, and stared death in the eye countless times—
but nothing… nothing prepared him for what his drunk wife just said.
“I want to dance,” she announced proudly.
“We already did, jaan,” Rudra said, gently pulling her closer.
She narrowed her eyes like a villainess in a 90s serial.
“Not to that romantic crap.”
He blinked. “Then to what?”
She smirked. Dangerous. Wicked. Unpredictable.
“Chikni. Chameli.”
Rudra went still.
And then, as if that wasn’t enough to send a shiver down every mafia man’s spine, she added, “And you, Mr. Mafia Boss, will be dancing with me… wearing a saree.”
Dead.
He was spiritually deceased.
“You want me to… what?” he asked, blinking like his soul just left his body.
But before he could react—
She clapped her hands like a royal empress summoning her court, and within seconds, two of Rudra’s grown, gun-carrying, life-taking men entered the living room, confused and terrified.
“Aap log idhar aao,” she said, waving them over like a desi choreographer.
“You all are my backup dancers.”
Rudra stood there, frozen, watching as one of his most feared men was handed a dupatta and told to spin.
His face?
Pure. Deadpan. Existential crisis activated.
One man whispered to the other, “Bhai, bullet mar deta toh better hota…”
Meanwhile Rudra muttered under his breath, “I run an empire. I own weapons that can destroy cities… and now I’m about to wrap a saree.”
She looked at him, hands on her hips, “I’m waiting, Mr. Rajput.”
Rudra turned slowly, glaring at the camera that didn’t exist like a sitcom husband stuck in hell.
Then without a word, he grabbed the saree she threw and began draping it like a defeated soldier accepting his fate.
Somewhere in the background, Chikni Chameli blasted through the mansion’s speakers.
The music was loud.
And there she was—Ishni Rajput—in her full glory, doing Chikni Chameli steps in the middle of the living room, while three deadly mafia men, trained in combat, were awkwardly trying to follow her choreography like confused toddlers in a school annual function.
One slipped on a dupatta.
One twirled in the wrong direction and hit a flower vase.
The third one… accidentally ended up facing the wall.
Ishni paused the dance mid-step, looked at them with eyes sharper than Rudra’s favorite dagger, and snapped,
“Kya yeh hai tumhari chameli energy?”
The poor men froze.
One whispered, “Chameli humein maar degi…”
Another tried to correct his step, only to end up doing bhangra mid-item song.
Rudra—still in a half-draped saree, standing awkwardly in the corner—was watching the chaos unfold with the expression of a man who had truly lost all hope.
He joined his hands like a schoolboy praying before an exam, muttering under his breath,
“God, if you ever truly loved me, abhi earthquake bhej do. Please.”
But Ishni wasn’t done.
She walked up to Rudra, narrowed her eyes, and said, “You haven’t even danced yet.”
“Jaan… I handle guns, not ghungroos,” he said, horrified.
“No excuses,” she declared. “Wrap that pallu tight and get ready to burn the floor.”
Rudra closed his eyes and whispered, “I should’ve just gone to that armys deal…”
At that moment, one of his men bumped into a table and the lamp fell with a loud thud.
Ishni gasped dramatically, “Mere dance ka decor!!!”
The man fell on his knees, “Maaf karo mam… mujhe stage pe chadhne ki aadat nahi hai…”
And right in the center of the mafia mansion, with Chikni Chameli still blaring in the background, Rudra accepted his destiny, tightened his makeshift saree, and joined the choreography—
After what felt like a full Bollywood concert in a mafia den, Ishni dramatically collapsed onto the couch like she’d just performed at Wembley Stadium.
“Ahh… I’m exhausted now…” she sighed, fanning herself with her hands, her messy bun now falling apart, kajal slightly smudged, but still radiating absolute queen energy.
Rudra, who was still fixing the pallu on his shoulder from her saree stunt, stood there like a survivor of a natural disaster.
He looked at her—laying like a tornado who had just spun itself out—and muttered, “You danced. We survived.”
One of his men whispered from behind, “Boss… humne toh sirf mission ke liye training li thi… yeh kya tha…”
Ishni peeked open one eye and dramatically called out,
“Rudraaa… paani…”
He raised an eyebrow, “Baby, you literally just had three glasses between the item songs.”
“I want that husband-waala paani,” she mumbled with a pout.
Rudra chuckled, walked to her with a glass, bent down, and held it to her lips.
“Here’s your award-winning dance water, Mrs. Rajput.”
She sipped slowly, smirked, and said in her dazed, proud tone,
“Applaud karo sab… I gave y’all a performance of a lifetime.”
All the guards looked at each other and clapped weakly, still in trauma.
Rudra just shook his head with a smile, sat next to her, pulled her feet into his lap.
After signaling his men to flee the disaster zone, Rudra scooped her up gently in his arms — his very own hurricane wrapped in a soft cotton saree and chaos.
Once in their room, he placed her on the bed with utmost care. She mumbled something incoherent, arms flailing like she was still choreographing moves in her sleep.
“Calm down, na…” he whispered, trying not to laugh as she swatted at the air dramatically.
He opened her wardrobe, took out her comfy oversized tee and shorts, and with the tenderness only Rudra Rajput could possess behind that terrifying mafia mask — he helped her change into something soft and cozy.
As he tucked her under the blanket, brushing away strands of her hair from her face, she blinked sleepily.
“Rudra…” she mumbled again, voice thick with sleep and mischief.
“Hmm?” he leaned down, thinking she’d say something cute.
But no....
“Do you… do you think aliens wear sarees?”
Rudra blinked.
“I—I don’t know jaan.”
She nodded like a philosopher. “I think they should. Might bring peace to the galaxy.”
He sighed, suppressing a laugh, “Of course, darling. Galactic sarees, noted.”
“Also… do snakes have boyfriends?”
Rudra sat on the bed beside her, watching her drunkenly kick the blanket off for the third time. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes half-lidded, and yet her mouth… oh, her mouth wouldn’t stop moving.
"Rudraaaa... why do fish sleep with eyes open, hmm? What if they see a shark and panic in their dreams?"
He blinked. "Baby... please sleep now," he whispered, softly tucking the blanket around her again.
But inside? Inside he was a volcano ready to erupt.
Whoever the fuck got her drunk—he didn’t care if it was a bartender, a colleague, or the damn waiter—he was going to find that bastard. And when he did? God save them.
He clenched his jaw, rage silently building as she cuddled into him like a kitten, her arms wrapped around his waist.
“You’re warm,” she murmured, half asleep.
His hand gently moved through her hair as he thought darkly, I swear, if anyone spiked her drink or encouraged this… I’ll bury them alive.
But all he said was, “I’m here jaan. Just rest now.”
She smiled softly against his chest, "You’re angry... huh?"
He kissed the top of her head, voice low, “Only at the world. Never at you"
Next Morning
Ishni's POV
I groaned as I slowly opened my eyes. My head felt like a cement truck had run over it, backed up, and hit replay. Ugh… why does my skull feel like it's hosting a rock concert?
I turned to my side, half-asleep… only to find him staring at me.
There was Rudra Singh Rajput—my husband, the mafia king, the most feared man in India—looking at me like I had committed a serious crime. Arms crossed, eyes sharp, hair perfectly styled despite the chaos I probably created last night.
“What…?” I croaked, rubbing my temple.
He didn’t say anything. Just kept staring at me. Judging. Processing. Trying not to burst into flames.
“What… why are you staring at me like that?” I asked, confused.
“You really don’t remember anything… do you?” he asked slowly.
I blinked. “No? What did I do?”
He scoffed dramatically. “You wanted to dance on Chikni Chameli.”
“Okay, so?”
“With my men.”
“Oh.”
“And you wanted me to wear a saree.”
My eyes widened. “I… what!?”
He nodded solemnly, rubbing his forehead like he had trauma. “And you gave my men death glares for not getting the steps right.”
I gasped and covered my mouth. “Nooo... did I really?”
He leaned in closer. “You sat on my lap and told me to drive like a fictional man. And threatened police officers that your possessive husband would kill them all. Should I continue?”
I collapsed into the pillow and groaned, “Just bury me now.”
He chuckled darkly, then softly kissed my temple. “Too late, jaan. Damage done. Now get up. I made you lemon tea for your hangover…"
I peeked at him from under the blanket. “Will you forgive me?”
He smirked. “Always. But the saree? That’s never happening.”
I smiled sheepishly. “Fair enough.”
After freshening up, I tied my hair into a loose bun and walked downstairs, bracing myself for a wave of teasing, judgmental stares, or at least a sarcastic comment or two from Rudra’s men.
But to my surprise?
Silence.....Peace.
Absolute normal.
They were going about their duties like nothing had happened. No smirks, no whispers behind my back, no one reenacting my Chikni Chameli steps with trauma in their eyes.
I blinked. Wait... did last night even happen?
I walked further in, cautiously scanning everyone’s face. The guards nodded politely, the staff smiled as usual—nothing unusual.
That’s when it hit me.
Rudra must have told them to keep quiet... just so I wouldn’t feel embarrassed.
My lips curled into a soft smile, and I felt a wave of warmth spread through my chest.
Oh, my husband.
My dramatic, dangerous, over-the-top—but emotionally soft and thoughtful—husband.
I turned slightly, only to catch him standing near the kitchen door, leaning against the wall with his arms folded and a proud smirk on his face.
He giggled. Yes, Rudra Singh Rajput just giggled.
Like a child who had done something sweet and was waiting to be praised for it.
“You told them not to tease me, didn’t you?” I asked, trying not to blush.
He winked. “Well, I figured one more ‘Chikni Chameli’ step and my men would apply for leave.”
I rolled my eyes. “Rudra!”
“What?” he said, walking over and wrapping an arm around my waist. “I’m just protecting my wife’s dignity… and my men’s sanity.”
I chuckled, hiding my face in his chest. God, how did I get so lucky with this man?
He kissed the top of my head and whispered, “Now come, sit. I made your favorite breakfast. No drama today… unless you start it.”
Time skip
Author's POV
As usual, Ishni was lost in her ocean of files and legal papers, her brows slightly furrowed, glasses perched on her nose as she typed out an important argument.
Her cabin, though quiet, occasionally echoed with the buzzing of her phone—because of course, her overly dramatic, overly in-love husband had to make his presence known... even from afar.
Rudra calling…
She sighed with a smile and picked it up.
"Yes, Mr. Rajput?" she asked, not looking away from her screen.
“Mrs. Rajput,” his voice came smoothly, “did you eat lunch?”
“I’m working,” she replied, typing furiously. “And yes, I did. Now shush.”
He paused. "Hmm. What did you eat then?"
She blinked. “…Food.”
“I’m sending Vipul to spy if you're lying,” he warned in a mock-serious tone.
“Rudra,” she warned back, holding back a laugh. “If you send someone again, I swear I’ll file a restraining order.”
“Jaan,” he drawled. “You say the sweetest things to me.”
She rolled her eyes but the curve on her lips gave her away.
“Go back to work, Rudra.”
“I am working,” he said proudly. “Multitasking, you know? Mafia business in one hand, and wife’s mood board in another.”
“Oh my god.”
He chuckled. “Just tell me you’re okay. Then I’ll hang up.”
She softened. “I’m okay, baby. I promise.”
He hummed in satisfaction. “Fine. I’ll call you in thirty minutes.”
“Don’t—”
Beep. He had already hung up.
She stared at the phone and shook her head.
“I married a literal chaos in the name of love,” she muttered, but the smile on her face never faded.
Ishni POV
After sitting through hours of files, hearings, and endless paperwork, I needed a breather. My mind was foggy, my body stiff from sitting too long. So, I stepped out of the office for some fresh air.
The breeze hit my face, cool and soft, like nature’s gentle reminder to breathe. I walked slowly, letting my heels click against the pathway, my eyes scanning the quiet courthouse premises.
And then I saw them.
A small family sitting on a bench in the far corner—mother silently sobbing, father looking defeated, and between them, a girl. Maybe 17 or 18. She looked empty. Hollow. Her hands clutched tightly around her dupatta, eyes red from crying.
A few feet away stood a man in a black coat. A lawyer. I could tell from his posture that he was already done with them.
“Sir, please,” the father said again, folding his hands. “She’s our only daughter… please take the case.”
The lawyer scoffed. “I told you already, I can’t fight this. You’re up against powerful people. I have a career to save.”
The mother burst into fresh tears.
My feet moved before I realized it.
The lawyer turned around at the sound, clearly irritated — until he saw her.
“A-Advocate rajput…” he stammered, straightening instantly.
Ishni didn’t smile. She tilted her head slightly. “And you are?”
“Vikram, ma’am… Vikram Sharma…”
I didn’t respond to that. My eyes were already on the girl. I knelt gently in front of her, lowering herself to eye level. The girl's body stiffened.
“Baccha…” I said softly, “kya hua tha?”
The girl flinched. Her lips quivered as her eyes filled with tears. Her voice wouldn’t come out.
Her mother wiped her tears and answered instead. “Madam… iske saath zabardasti ki gayi hai…”
My chest tightened. My hand instinctively reached out and rested gently on the girl's knee.
“Kaun tha?” my voice remained low, but firm.
The father glanced around hesitantly. “schools principal Rajvir’s son… Aman. We went to three police stations. No one filed an FIR. They said it's political and we don’t have money for this kind of fight.”
The lawyer tried to speak again, “Ma’am, you understand—”
“I didn’t ask you anything, Mr. Vikram,” I cut him off, her voice razor sharp.
I stood slowly, turned toward the family, and spoke clearly, my voice like a silent storm.
“Kal subah 10 baje court mein milo. FIR main khud file karungi. Case main khud loongi.”
The girl looked up at me through teary eyes.
I smiled gently and tucked a loose strand of hair behind the girl’s ear.
“Mai aap se sath hu"
After handing them my card, I offered a small, firm smile. “Please visit me tomorrow morning,” I said gently, and without waiting for their gratitude, I turned and walked away.
My heels echoed down the corridor — each step heavy, not with doubt, but with memory.
As soon as I entered my cabin, the mask cracked.
I shut the door quietly, pressing my back against it for a second. My hands trembled slightly. That laugh… the screaming… the helplessness from years ago — it had returned in flashes.
I walked toward my desk, picked up the glass of water with shaky fingers, and took a long sip. The cool liquid did little to calm the burn in my chest.
I sat down slowly, exhaling through my nose.
“Be strong, Ishni,” I whispered to myself.
“You’re not the same girl anymore. You’ve learned to hold the sword now. And this time… this time, you’ll fight not just for yourself. But for every girl who never got the chance to speak.”
I closed my eyes for a moment. Composed.