Taqdeerein alag hui, magar rooh ka rishta toot na saka,

Woh yaadon se door hua, magar dil usse chhod na saka.

Ek bhool gaya mohabbat, ek mohabbat bhula na paayi,

Kaisi dor thi darmiyaan, jo har faasle ke baad bhi unhe alag kar na paayi.

Five minutes later, the locked door finally opened.

Eklavya had fixed me as best he could. My dress was smoothed, the worst of the wrinkles pressed out by his careful hands. But the makeup — the perfect, camera-ready armor I had worn for the final walk — was ruined beyond saving. Mascara had smudged beneath my eyes. The lipstick was gone. The careful contouring had melted under heat and tears and his mouth.

He didn’t try to repair it.

Instead he took a clean cloth, dampened it, and wiped everything away with quiet, deliberate strokes. Foundation, blush, the last traces of liner — all of it disappeared under his hands until my bare face stared back at me in the mirror. No filters. No perfection. Just skin and the faint marks he had left on my neck.

I waited for the familiar panic.

It never came.

For years I had believed the polished version of myself was the only one allowed to exist in rooms like this — the version that walked runways, smiled for cameras, and never let the cracks show. Makeup had been my shield. My proof that I was still standing.

But looking at my reflection now, with Eklavya’s presence solid and silent behind me, I understood something simple and devastating.

Makeup was never the thing that made me beautiful.

It was only the thing that made me safe.

And safety, I realized, had never lived in powder or lipstick. It lived in the man who had just erased every careful layer and still looked at me like I was the only woman in the world worth claiming. The runway could wait. The designer could wait. The entire industry could keep searching for the perfect, painted version of Paridhi.

The real one had already been found.

And she was done hiding.

I walked out of the room with as much dignity as a woman who had just been thoroughly ruined could manage.

Eklavya followed right behind me, still fixing his pants and buckling his belt with zero urgency, as if we hadn’t just scandalized an entire floor. The corridor lights felt far too bright. My bare face felt even brighter.

Two assistants were huddled near the end of the hallway, whispering urgently about the missing model and the delayed final walk. They turned at the sound of my heels.

They saw me first.

Then their eyes drifted past my shoulder.

And landed on the six-foot-five, still slightly disheveled, extremely recognizable billionaire tycoon currently adjusting his belt behind me.

The color drained from both their faces so fast I almost heard it.

One of them actually took a step backward like she was preparing to flee the country. The other opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again with no sound coming out. I could practically see the headlines writing themselves behind their eyes.

Eklavya Sai Raizada caught in restricted backstage corridor after locking himself in a room with the missing model.

I cleared my throat.

Both girls jumped.

“Do you have concealer and a lipstick?” I asked calmly, as if this was the most normal request in the world.

They nodded so hard I worried their heads might fall off. One of them fumbled a makeup pouch out of her bag with shaking hands and held it out like an offering to an angry goddess.

“Th-this is the good one, ma’am,” she whispered. “Full coverage. Waterproof. It can hide… anything.”

I took it with a polite smile.

Behind me, Eklavya finally finished with his belt. He didn’t say a single word. He simply stood there, towering, silent, and staring at the two assistants with the exact expression he used in boardrooms right before someone lost their entire department.

The poorer girl looked like she was about to cry.

I turned slightly toward the mirror on the wall and began dabbing concealer over the very obvious love bites scattered across my neck, pretending I couldn’t feel the weight of my husband’s silent glare cooking the two assistants alive.

“Thank you,” I said sweetly once the worst of the marks were covered. “You can tell the designer I’ll be ready in two minutes.”

They both made a sound that might have been “yes ma’am” and then practically sprinted down the corridor.

Eklavya stepped up behind me, voice low and darkly amused.

“You asked them for concealer.”

I met his eyes in the mirror and raised one eyebrow.

“Would you prefer I walked out there looking like I got attacked by a very enthusiastic vampire?”

He only smirked, completely unrepentant, and followed me toward the stage like the most dangerous, best-dressed bodyguard in the building.

I finished blending the last of the concealer and handed the pouch back without looking at the trembling assistant. She snatched it like it was on fire and vanished down the corridor with her colleague, leaving only the faint scent of panic behind.

Eklavya stepped up beside me, still looking far too satisfied for a man who had just terrorized two innocent staff members with a single glare.

“Ready?” he asked, voice low.

“As ready as a woman with half her makeup missing and a husband who just announced our private business to the entire floor can be,” I replied, smoothing my dress one last time.

He only smirked and offered his arm like we were about to walk into a gala instead of a delayed fashion finale. I ignored the arm on principle and started walking. Of course he followed anyway, matching my pace with that effortless, predatory calm that made every person we passed freeze for half a second.

The backstage area was controlled chaos. Designers, stylists, and coordinators were rushing around, voices rising in stressed whispers about the missing final model. The moment I appeared, a collective sigh of relief swept through the space.

Then they saw who was walking two steps behind me.

The relief turned into pure, wide-eyed shock.

Someone dropped a clipboard. A junior stylist actually whispered “Holy shit, that’s Eklavya Sai Raizada” loud enough for half the room to hear. The head designer’s mouth opened and closed twice before she remembered how to speak.

“Paridhi, darling, there you are! We were about to send a search party—” Her eyes flicked to Eklavya, and her voice climbed an octave. “Mr. Raizada. What an… unexpected honour.”

Eklavya gave her a polite, razor-sharp nod that somehow still managed to feel like a warning.

I smiled the calm, professional smile I had perfected over years of runways.

“I’m ready for the final walk,” I said. “Let’s finish the show.”

The designer blinked rapidly, clearly trying to process the fact that the most ruthless billionaire in the country was currently standing in her backstage area looking like he had every intention of watching me walk. She recovered with impressive speed, clapped her hands, and started barking orders.

I felt Eklavya’s hand brush the small of my back — a brief, possessive touch that no one else saw — before he stepped back into the shadows near the exit curtains, arms folded, stardust eyes never leaving me.

I took my place at the start of the runway, bare-faced except for the emergency concealer and a quick swipe of borrowed lipstick, heart still racing from everything that had happened behind that locked door.

The music started.

And for the first time in a long time, I walked out onto the stage not as the polished, untouchable model the cameras expected… but as the woman who had just been thoroughly claimed by the most dangerous man in the building, and somehow felt more powerful because of it.

The music swelled the second my foot touched the runway.

Blinding white lights hit me from every angle, sharp and unforgiving. For a heartbeat the old instinct rose — the urge to hide behind perfect makeup, perfect posture, perfect distance. But the concealer on my neck was already warm from my skin, and the memory of Eklavya’s mouth was still vivid enough that the instinct died almost as quickly as it appeared.

I walked.

Each step was measured, deliberate, the high heels striking the glossy surface with clean, confident clicks. The midnight gown moved around my legs like liquid shadow. Cameras flashed in rapid bursts from both sides of the long white strip, capturing every angle. I kept my chin high, expression calm, but inside my pulse was still racing from the locked room, from his voice growling through the door, from the way he had looked at me while I covered the marks he left.

Halfway down the runway I allowed my eyes to drift toward the front row.

He was there.

Eklavya sat exactly where he had been earlier, still in the black three-piece, one ankle resting over the opposite knee, posture relaxed in the way only truly dangerous men could manage. The studio lights caught the sharp line of his jaw and the small scar between his brows. His stardust-grey eyes tracked every step I took with that same unhinged, possessive focus that had stopped my heart the first time I saw him in the audience.

A few of the other VIP guests had noticed him too. Soft whispers moved along the front row. Someone leaned toward their neighbour, clearly recognizing the Raizada name. Eklavya didn’t look at any of them. His gaze stayed locked on me alone, dark and unmistakably satisfied, as if the entire show existed only so he could watch his wife finish what she started.

I reached the end of the runway, paused for the required beat, and turned.

The return walk felt longer. Every camera flash seemed brighter. Every step carried the weight of the last hour — the confession, the locked door, the way he had taken me while the world knocked outside. Yet my shoulders stayed straight. My expression never cracked.

When I finally stepped back through the exit curtains, the head designer was waiting with shining eyes and a flood of relieved praise. I accepted it with a small, professional smile, already scanning the shadows near the side exit.

Eklavya was still there, waiting.

And the moment our eyes met again, the rest of the backstage noise faded into nothing.

The brief sanctuary of the backstage shadows didn't last. Before the quiet focus between Eklavya and me could deepen, the stage handlers swarmed the exit tunnel. The grand finale segment had officially been called, forcing every model and designer back out into the open to face the judges' final review and press evaluation.

Stepping onto the glossy surface for the second time felt entirely different. I took my place at the center of the stage, the heavy fabric of my midnight gown pooling around my feet as the bright overhead lights locked onto my position.

The head judge, a prominent figure in the international fashion circuit, adjusted his microphone. His gaze fixed on me, clearing his throat as a sudden hush fell over the entire auditorium.

"Paridhi," he began, his voice echoing clearly through the speakers. "Your walk tonight was flawless. Yet, your presence in this industry continues to spark fierce debate on global forums. Every single day, your social media accounts are flooded with endless criticism and bitter online attacks. The public is deeply divided: as a daughter of one of the country's most powerful, traditional dynasties, why choose this? Why subject yourself to the harsh scrutiny of the world when your family already dictates everything from behind closed doors?"

The question was a calculated provocation, openly hinting at the shadowy underworld influence my family kept hidden away.

A tight knot formed in my throat as the collective gaze of the audience pressed into me. Out of pure habit, my eyes drifted down to the center VIP seats, immediately finding the massive, solitary figure of the man watching me. Eklavya sat with total calm, his face partially cast in shadow, but the absolute clarity in his stare acted like a sudden brace for my spine. He wasn't looking at a fragile girl; he was looking at his queen.

I stepped directly up to the microphone, letting a long, quiet breath steady my nerves before I spoke.

"People look at the boundaries of my family name and assume it should dictate where I belong," I said, my voice sounding calm, steady, and entirely independent in the vast room. "They trade rumors, launch attacks from behind computer screens, and assume that inheriting a legacy means I should remain hidden away in a safe, quiet exile. But I have never allowed the opinions of strangers to define my worth."

I looked directly at the judges' panel, refusing to let my gaze waver for even a fraction of a second.

"This runway isn't a rebellion, and it isn't an escape—it is my own choice. Real power isn't about staying tucked away where no one can challenge you. It is about having the courage to stand completely exposed under the brightest lights in the world, entirely untamed by the noise people try to create around you. I own my identity, I own my past, and I own every single step I take. The internet noise doesn't break me; it simply proves that when I choose to enter a space, I do it entirely on my own terms."

The silence held for a single, breathless beat before a deafening wave of applause rippled through the front rows, completely drowning out the camera shutters. Looking down, I caught the slight, proud shift in Eklavya's expression, his silent gaze telling me everything I needed to know.

Before the applause could even fully die down, another judge on the far edge of the panel leaned forward. Unlike the others, she didn't hesitate. Her expression was completely fearless, her voice cutting through the microphone with a sharp, calculated precision that made the entire arena drop back into a sudden, tense silence.

"That independent choice is admirable, Paridhi," she said, her eyes locking onto mine without an ounce of apology. "But your privacy isn't just an abstract debate anymore. A month ago, a set of candid photographs went completely viral on international social media forums. You were spotted in Germany, shopping in broad daylight, and you weren't alone. You were standing right beside the reclusive tycoon, Eklavya Sai Raizada. The internet has been tearing those images apart, demanding to know if the rumors are true. Are you secretly married to the Raizada kingpin?"

The question hit the stage like a physical blow. The air in my lungs completely froze.

A suffocating panic rushed under my skin, my fingers tightening so hard against the fabric of my gown that my knuckles turned white. C'mon... how much could we possibly hide? For weeks, Eklavya’s high-tier PR teams had been working around the clock across global networks, systematically erasing those photos from search grids and taking down viral threads. But the digital footprint had already left its stain.

The weight of the room became crushing. I knew that at this exact second, my family—Riddhimaan bhaiya, my parents, and our entire network—were watching this live broadcast on television back at the palace. If I lied on international television, the fallout would be catastrophic. If I told the truth, the entire underworld structure would fracture before the morning broke.

Paralyzed by the sheer gravity of the moment, my eyes drifted helplessly down to the VIP section.

Eklavya sat perfectly still in the dim light. He didn't look panicked. He didn't look like a man trying to shield an empire anymore. Instead, his sharp stardust eyes locked onto my face with absolute, unblinking clarity. Slowly, deliberately, he gave me a single, firm nod of his head. He was giving me his permission. He was telling me to release the secret.

I closed my eyes for a fraction of a second, inhaling a long, deep breath of the freezing auditorium air to steady the violent racing of my pulse. Opening my eyes, I stepped directly up to the microphone, looked straight into the flashing press cameras, and spoke.

"Yes," I said, my voice cutting through the heavy quiet of the auditorium with an absolute, steady calm. "The rumors are true. Eklavya Sai Raizada is not a stranger, and he is not a passing headline. He is my husband."

The massive crowd seemed to instantly vanish into a blur, the sudden explosion of camera flashes and the collective shock of the arena fading into a distant, meaningless hum. The secret we had spent months guarding at the cost of our own happiness was out, broadcasted live to every screen in the country. Yet, as the press erupted into complete chaos around me, a profound, beautiful stillness settled over my soul. The suffocating burden of the quiet months completely melted away, replaced by the deep, soothing warmth of his presence.

I kept my chin held high, my eyes refusing to waver from the front row. I didn't offer a single word of apology to the judges, nor did I care about the headlines that would dominate the morning news. I stood perfectly still, claiming my truth on my own terms.

Down in the center VIP seats, Eklavya did not break eye contact with me for even a fraction of a second.

A slow, fierce warmth filled his stardust gaze, a look of such absolute, unshielded devotion that it made my breath catch in my throat. I could see the slight, emotional rise and fall of his chest beneath his tailored suit, his broad shoulders relaxing as if a heavy, invisible burden had finally been lifted from his heart. The unspoken language between us across that crowded stage was absolute. In his eyes, there was no reclusive tycoon left—there was only the man who loved me with every fabric of his being, silently vowing that his silent gaze promising me that from this very moment onward, our hearts would never have to breathe in the dark again.

"And he holds my entire heart," I continued, my voice softening as the words flowed from a place of pure, unshielded truth.

I looked past the flashing lights, completely tuning out the massive room until the only thing that existed was the man watching me from the front row. The murmurs of the audience faded into an absolute quiet. Every wall I had built to protect myself during our time apart was gone, leaving nothing but the raw, beautiful reality of how much I loved him.

"Our connection doesn't exist because of a name, a contract, or the expectations of the world," I said, my gaze anchoring entirely into his stardust eyes. "It lives in the quiet, undeniable truth of who we are to each other. I have spent so long hiding what I feel, letting fear dictate my steps, but standing here tonight, I realize that my only true home is wherever he is."

I took a slow, deep breath, letting the genuine warmth in my chest steady the trembling thread of my voice. I didn't care about the consequences or what tomorrow would bring. I wanted the world to know the depth of my devotion.

"Eklavya is the anchor to my soul. He is the peace I look for in the dark, and the warmth that makes me whole. To the rest of the world, he might be a powerful headline, but to me, he is the man I love with every single breath inside my body. I am his, completely and boundlessly, and I am choosing to stand by his side from this moment forward, without any hesitation or fear."

The announcement did not just break the news grids—it caused an absolute, chaotic meltdown for every single girl in that massive arena. The moment the words left my lips, the entire fashion show transformed into a scene of pure, theatrical mass heartbreak.

Down in the public seating tiers, rows of elite ladies and young girls went completely pale, clutching their designer handbags like their lifelines had just been disconnected. The realization that the nation's most eligible tycoon—a man regularly voted the most handsome billionaire in the country—was officially off the market hit them out of nowhere.

"Hey Bhagwan! Yeh kya sun liya maine? a girl in the second row cried out, dropping her smartphone straight into her expensive mocktail. "Mera dil toot ke chura-chura ho gaya hai! I spent six months following his business acquisitions just to find out he's taken on live television?!"

(Oh my God! What did I just hear? My heart has been smashed into absolute pieces!)

Right beside her, another woman grabbed her head, breathing rapidly into a silk preview brochure. "Arey yaar, look at him! Itna handsome, itna rich, aur direct married?! Hamaari toh line maarne se pehle hi game over ho gaya! Eklavya sir, yeh aapne sahi nahi kiya!"

(Oh man, look at him! So handsome, so rich, and directly married?! Our game is over before we could even try to flirt! Eklavya sir, you did not do the right thing!)

Backstage, the international modeling contingent was descending into total panic. A group of top models and local showstoppers stood frozen behind the costume racks, their eyes darting between the runway and the VIP row.

"Suno toh, did she just say husband?" a model whispered frantically to the head stylist, accidentally snagging the lace border of her outfit. "Mera toh poora plan hi chaupat ho gaya yaar! I literally requested the coordinators to place my slot near his seating zone just so he would look at me! Aur yahan toh baat hi khatam ho gayi!"

(Listen, did she just say husband? My entire plan is ruined, man! And here, the matter is already finished!)

The head stylist dropped her hairspray bottle, staring blankly at the curtains. "Tumhara plan? Arey, yahan toh meri poori styling script hi kharab ho gayi" Every girl in the VIP lounge was skipping meals just to look perfect in front of his security perimeter, aur yeh toh direct trophy le gayi!"

(Your plan? Oh, here my entire styling script has been ruined! and she just walked off with the direct trophy!)

Up on the primary judges' platform, the chic female panelist who had been aggressively grading the models completely lost her professional composure. She stared at her microphone, then at the front row, clearing her throat with a strained, squeaky pitch.

"Pari, beta, tumne toh pure desh ki ladkiyon ka dhandha hi band karwa diya," she muttered under her breath, completely forgetting that the secondary audio line was still active. "Hum yahan designs rate kar rahe hain, aur tumne direct top-five list hi scan kar li? Khatam. Tata. Bye-bye. The entire eligible bachelors chart of India needs to be reprinted tomorrow morning!"

(Pari, dear, you just shut down the entire business for every girl in the country, we are here rating designs, and you directly scanned the top-five billionaire list?Finished. Over. Goodbye.)

I looked straight into the lens of the primary live broadcast camera, slowly lifting my shoulders into a completely unapologetic shrug.

The gesture popped up on millions of television screens and digital streams across the nation—a silent, hilariously casual “it is what it is” delivered directly to the roaring press arena and my completely blindsided family back at the palace.

Down in the center of the restricted VIP front row, the absolute madness of the room didn't seem to faze him at all. Eklavya leaned back slightly against his leather seat, his massive shoulders shaking as a deep, low chuckle escaped his lips. The man who usually controlled every variable from the shadows just sat there laughing at the beautiful mess we had made, his eyes holding mine with a look of pure, relaxed amusement. The entire country was left staring at their television screens in complete, open-mouthed disbelief as the live broadcast feed abruptly cut straight to black.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

1st January 2027.

A new year. A new beginning. At least that was what the rest of the world believed.

My life, however, felt neither new nor particularly peaceful. Not when the man who was supposed to be standing on a stage in a perfectly tailored suit, cutting a ribbon for the Meridian Raizada Company’s Paris inauguration, was currently buried inside me under the steaming shower of our penthouse bathroom.

Downstairs, the voices carried clearly through the open bathroom door and the rest of the suite.

Eshwari Maa’s sharp tone rang out first.

“Where is this boy even?”

Akhil answered immediately, sounding stressed. “I called multiple times, Badi Maa. Bhaiya isn’t picking up.”

Eshwari groaned loud enough for the entire floor to hear. “What am I supposed to do with this useless boy? Does he even realise today is the company inauguration? Abhishek, stop staring at my face and go search for him right now!”

Papa’s calmer voice followed. “I’m searching, darling. Please cool down at least.”

I dropped my forehead against the cool tiled wall and let out a helpless, breathless laugh that turned into a moan when Eklavya thrust particularly deep.

“This man is going to embarrass me into an early grave,” I whispered, voice shaking. “That’s final.”

After everything we had endured — the crash, the memory loss, the two months of silence — we had refused the original plan of settling in Germany. Instead we chose Paris. Peace. A fresh start. Eklavya had even built an entire branch of the Meridian Raizada Company here, and today was supposed to be its official inauguration.

Instead, the entire joint family was downstairs in our penthouse while their CEO had me pinned against the shower wall, water cascading over both of us, one of my legs hooked high around his waist.

“Eklavya—” I tried again, breathless. “They’re going to break the door down.”

He only hummed against my neck, completely unbothered, and rolled his hips in a slow, devastating circle that made my toes curl against the wet floor.

“Let them look,” he murmured, voice low and rough with pleasure. “I’m busy inaugurating something far more important.”

“That is not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” Another deep thrust. “You’re squeezing me so tight every time Maa raises her voice. Keep doing that.”

I glared at him over my shoulder as best I could while being thoroughly ruined under running water.

“If we get caught, I am telling everyone this was one hundred percent your idea.”

He laughed softly, the sound dark and satisfied, and kissed the wet skin just below my ear.

“Deal. Now be quiet and take it like the future mother of my children you’re trying so hard to become.”

Outside, Akhil’s voice rose again.

“Bhaiya! The car is waiting! The press is already at the venue!”

Eklavya’s only response was to cover my mouth with one hand and thrust harder, water and steam swirling around us while the entire Raizada family continued searching for a man who had absolutely no intention of being found until he was finished.

“Ahhh… Eklavyaaa!”

The scream tore out of me as he thrust against that perfect spot again and again, relentless and precise. My body squirmed helplessly under the cascading water. I wrapped both arms around his neck and dragged him down into a deep, open-mouthed kiss, tasting steam and skin and the lingering intensity of everything we had already done. At the same time his longer fingers slipped between us and rubbed slow, firm circles over my swollen clit.

The dual sensation shattered me within a minute.

I came hard, walls clenching around him in tight, pulsing waves while a broken moan spilled into his mouth. My legs trembled. My lungs burned. For a moment the only thing holding me upright was the solid wall of his body and the arm he kept locked around my waist.

Then he turned me to face him.

Water streamed over both of us as I tried to catch my breath. My voice came out soft and wrecked.

“Eklavya… no more, please.”

He bit his lower lip, the sharp edge of hunger in his eyes softening into something almost boyish. One hand came up to brush wet hair away from my face.

“One last time, baby,” he murmured, voice low and coaxing. “I won’t push your muscles or tire you out. Just once more. That’s all.”

I stared up at him — at the damp dark hair sticking to his forehead, at the way he was looking at me like I held every answer he had ever needed — and felt the last of my resistance dissolve.

Who could say no to him when he looked like that? Like a dangerous man temporarily disguised as the softest, most irresistible version of himself.

I exhaled shakily.

“Okay.”

A slow, satisfied smile curved his mouth. He leaned in, brushed his lips against mine, and whispered,

“Rub your clit for me, baby.”

My right hand slipped between our bodies without hesitation, fingers finding the still-sensitive peak. The moment I began to stroke myself, he pushed back inside me in one smooth, deep thrust — and the final round began under the endless fall of warm water.

An hour later, the mirror reflected a completely transformed reality.

I stood before the full-length glass, adjusting the heavy, intricate folds of a molten gold silk saree that wrapped around my frame like liquid sunlight. The fabric clung to every curve before cascading to the floorboards in rich, elegant lines. The heavy embroidery on the pallu caught the ambient lighting of the Paris penthouse, casting a brilliant glow against my skin. I left my dark hair down in loose, glossy waves, applying minimal cosmetics except for a bold, classic lip that masked any remaining traces of the morning's exhaustion.

Then, the heavy click of the adjoining wardrobe door drew my gaze upward.

He had bypassed the traditional corporate attire for something that didn't just command attention—it instantly a breathtaking hotness. The tailored fabric hung perfectly across his massive shoulders, emphasizing his imposing frame and the sharp, rugged angles of his jawline. As he adjusted his cuffs, his unblinking stare met my reflection in the mirror, radiating a pure, magnetic confidence that made my pulse instantly skip a beat.

He walked over, his slow, deliberate strides closing the distance until his shadow completely consumed mine. Standing right behind me, his large, calloused hands came around to rest gently against my waist, the dark contrast of his sleeves matching the rich gold of my saree.

"You look absolutely beautiful," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, rough whisper against the shell of my ear that sent a sudden, warm shiver cascading straight down my spine.

I leaned back into his weight, letting my head rest against his shoulder as my hands rose to cover his. The steady, heavy thud of his heartbeat beneath my palms immediately quieted the lingering anxiety in my chest. Downstairs, the frantic voices of his family were still echoing through the suite, but inside this room, the air was perfectly still. I looked up at him through the glass, seeing the fierce, quiet pride written across his features. It didn't matter how loud the shouting became or how disorganized the inauguration layout was below us; we were completely ready to step out and take over the room on our own terms.

I turned around slowly within the tight circle of his arms, the heavy gold silk of my saree rustling softly against his trousers as I faced him. I reached up, my fingers smoothing down the high, stiff collar of his dark bandhgala jacket, ensuring every line looked as flawless as the man wearing it. He looked down at me, his hands shifting to rest flat against the small of my back, holding me steady in the quiet room.

"We should go down," I whispered, though my fingers lingered on the dark fabric of his shoulders, reluctant to break the peace we had built up here. "Your mother sounded like she was about to fire the entire executive board five minutes ago."

A faint, lazy smile touched the corner of his lips. He didn't look toward the door, nor did he show a single ounce of urgency. Instead, he leaned down slightly, pressing a slow, warm kiss against the side of my neck that made my breath catch in my throat.

"Let her fire them," he murmured against my skin, his deep voice carrying a relaxed, heavy weight. "They don't sign the paychecks. I do."

Before I could reply, the sudden, heavy thud of footsteps echoed right outside our dressing suite, followed by a loud, aggressive knock that rattled the thick oak paneling.

"Bhaiya! Arey yaar, open the door!" Akhil’s voice barked frantically from the corridor, his tone completely stressed out. "The media cars are already lining up outside the main entrance, and Badi Maa is literally pacing the lobby like a prison warden. If you don't come down in the next two minutes, she’s going to come up here with the security keys herself!"

Eklavya didn't flinch at the interruption. His jaw tightened just a fraction, but his hands remained perfectly steady on my waist. He took a slow, deep breath, his chest expanding against my palms before he finally looked toward the locked door.

"Get the cars ready, Akhil," Eklavya commanded, his voice cutting through the thick wood with a sharp, effortless authority that instantly silenced the shouting outside. "We are coming down."

"Two minutes, Bhaiya! Only two minutes!" Akhil muttered quickly, his hurried footsteps fading rapidly back down the carpeted hallway toward the stairs.

The sudden silence returned to the dressing room, but the private bubble had finally popped. Eklavya stepped back slightly, offering me his arm with a classic, formal grace that completely suited his imposing frame. I slipped my hand through the crook of his elbow, the gold embroidery of my sleeve resting neatly against his charcoal sleeve. We walked across the room together, the heavy weight of the penthouse doors clicking open as we stepped out into the grand hallway, ready to descend into the family madness waiting below.

We walked arm-in-arm down the sweeping grand staircase of the penthouse, the heavy silk of my gold saree trailing smoothly along the steps behind us. The moment our shoes cleared the final landing, the frantic noise in the lobby came to a sudden, dead stop.

"There! There they are!" Keerthi chachi cried out, gesturing dramatically toward the stairs as she adjusted the heavy emerald necklace around her neck.

Every single head in the room snapped in our direction. Standing by the large floor-to-ceiling windows, my father, Manveer, and my father-in-law, Abhishek Papa, turned in unison. Both of them stood with their arms crossed, their expressions locked into twin expressions of sheer, unadulterated irritation. The glares they directed straight at my husband were intense enough to melt the glass panels behind them.

Eklavya didn't even blink. He adjusted his charcoal cuff with total calm, his six-foot-five frame absorbing their silent fury without a single hint of hesitation.

I quietly slipped my hand out from the crook of his elbow, taking a polite half-step away from his side. Yeah, absolutely not. It was definitely better if I didn't put my own feet anywhere near the boundary of the intense glare competition currently targeting my husband. I had no intention of getting caught in the crossfire of three massive Raizada egos before the morning coffee had even kicked in.

Down in the center of the lounge, Eshwari Maa stopped her furious pacing. She turned around slowly, her sharp gaze locking onto Eklavya's undone collar buttons before she tapped her gold watch with a terrifying precision.

"So, the kingpin has finally decided to bless us with his presence," Eshwari Maa remarked, her tone carrying a dangerous, low frequency that made Akhil, Neeraj, Vishal quietly step back behind a decorative pillar. "The international board members have been sitting in the conference cars for twenty minutes, the Paris press is waiting, and my son was busy hiding in the bathroom. Outstanding."

Abhishek Papa stepped forward, his jaw clenched as he glared at Eklavya. "Do you realize today is the global launch, or did the memory blocks take out your calendar skills along with everything else?"

"The launch happens when I sign the operational papers, Papa," Eklavya responded smoothly, his voice dropping into that flat, effortless authority that immediately cut through the family friction. He didn't offer a single word of apology. Instead, he simply extended his hand toward the entrance, his posture completely untamed by the collective scolding. "The cars are idling. Let's move."

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