Gala day 2
The golden glow of dusk spilled into the marble bathroom as Reewa stood before her vanity, fingers trembling slightly as she clasped her diamond earring. Her reflection stared back—flawless, regal, distant. But beneath the perfection was a storm. One that refused to settle.
The gala was being hosted at The Royal Courtyard—a property rooted deep within the Rathod legacy. Tonight was about philanthropy and royal grace on the surface. But Reewa knew better. Beneath the couture and champagne would be secrets, intentions, and eyes that never looked away.
Especially his.
Rudraksh Singh Rathod.
The man who had kissed her and vanished like smoke.
She hated herself for remembering the taste of him. The danger of him. The warmth that threatened everything she’d built.
“You’re glowing,” Ira said behind her, stepping into the bathroom dressed in an emerald lehenga that shimmered with every movement. “Like... sunlit rage.”
Reewa smirked faintly. “Sunlit rage. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Ira grinned. “You should. It’s the only thing that’ll keep you standing tonight.”
A pause.
“You know he’ll be there,” Ira added softly.
Reewa’s hands froze mid-motion.
“I know.”
“Then why did you come?”
Reewa turned toward her friend, brushing past her to grab her clutch. “Because I’m done running from things that should’ve never had power over me.”
Ira followed. “That includes Rudraksh?”
Reewa gave her a look. “He never had power. He had presence.”
A lie. A beautiful lie. One Reewa kept telling herself just to breathe.
----------
Reewa’s car glided through the polished streets of Jodhpur, its tinted windows hiding the chaos within.
Her manicured fingers drummed against the leather seat. Her heart was a riot beneath her couture—faster, louder, betraying every ounce of the calm expression on her face. As the driver took the turn into the old royal sector of the city, her mind slipped into the past.
She hadn’t seen Rudraksh since that night on her balcony.
The kiss.
The confession.
The damn midnight rose.
And yet, ever since, she’d felt him everywhere—in the sudden protection around her company, the silent retaliation against Yug Bedi’s underhanded moves, the increase in surveillance around Dewdrops.
He hadn’t said a word, but his silence was louder than any of the declarations she’d heard in her life.
He was watching her. Protecting her.
Claiming her.
Without asking.
Without permission.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Ishaan.
> Stay strong tonight, princess. I’ve got your back. He won’t pull anything in public.
P.S. You look like a goddess.
She smiled faintly. Ishaan always knew how to ground her, even when the world tilted on its axis.
The car stopped outside The Royal Courtyard, and the doorman opened the door.
But she didn’t move.
Instead, she stared at her reflection in the window—eyes defiant, jaw set, lips trembling just slightly.
You’re not a child anymore, Reewa. He doesn’t get to shake your world.
Except he already had.
With that one touch, that one look, that one promise whispered against her skin.
As she stepped out of the car, cameras flashed.
But she didn’t see the press.
All she saw was him—across the grand staircase, in tailored black velvet, a brooch with the Rathod crest glinting at his shoulder.
Rudraksh Singh Rathod.
The man who had once thrown mud at her at age ten.
Now, the man who would burn kingdoms to the ground just to keep her safe.
And she... hated how her breath caught.
‐--------------------
Rudraksh’s POV
From the second Reewa’s car pulled up, the air around Rudraksh shifted.
The gala continued around him—clinking glasses, calculated conversations, elite smiles—but he stood completely still at the top of the grand staircase, one hand gripping the crystal tumbler in his grasp.
She stepped out like a storm in silk.
Black and gold. The lehenga sculpted to her curves like it had been stitched by sin itself. Her hair coiled in soft waves down one side, exposing the curve of her neck—the same neck he had kissed once with too much restraint.
Too much regret.
But not tonight.
Tonight, he would not pretend.
“You look like you’re about to murder someone,” Veer murmured beside him, sipping champagne with amused caution.
Rudraksh’s jaw tightened. “Don’t tempt me.”
Veer snorted. “She hasn’t even looked at you yet.”
“She doesn’t have to.” His voice was low. Possessive. “She feels me.”
He watched her move—graceful, proud, radiant. Every head turned as she walked through the ballroom. But her eyes didn’t scan the crowd. She knew exactly where he stood.
And yet... she didn’t look.
The tension was suffocating. The kind that twisted in the pit of his stomach. The kind he thrived on in business, but despised when it came to her.
Because she wasn’t a contract.
She was Reewa.
And she had no idea how close he was to losing control.
---
When their eyes finally met, it was mid-toast. Maharaj Dev was addressing the crowd with royal charm and purpose, highlighting the cause they were funding—education for rural girls in Rajasthan. But Reewa wasn’t listening.
Because Rudraksh’s gaze burned into her from across the room.
Unblinking.
Unforgiving.
Unapologetic.
And then, he moved.
Crossing the floor like a king claiming a battlefield. Guests parted in his wake. Conversations paused. Time slowed.
Reewa stiffened as he approached, heart pounding against her ribs like a drum.
“Miss Singhal,” he drawled smoothly, stopping directly in front of her. His voice wrapped around her like silk and steel. “You honor us with your presence.”
She smiled coldly. “It’s a charity gala, Mr. Rathod. Not your coronation.”
His lips twitched. “Yet your entrance felt like one.”
The nearby guests listened, amused and intrigued. The media was watching too—an entire society obsessed with these two powerhouses.
“You’re dramatic as ever,” she said, sipping her champagne.
“And you’re as breathtaking as always,” he returned, tone darker now. Lower. Private. “Though I noticed you haven’t responded to my gift.”
Her heart skipped. The midnight rose. That damn note.
She kept her face cool. “I thought anonymous gestures were your thing.”
He leaned in, just enough for her to feel the heat of his presence. “There’s nothing anonymous about the way I want you, Reewa.”
Her breath hitched.
But she didn’t step back.
She stepped closer.
“I’m not something you can own, Rudraksh.”
“You’ve been mine since we were children.” His voice was a blade sheathed in velvet. “You just refuse to admit it.”
“Because I never agreed to it.”
“Not yet.”
A flicker of challenge sparked between them. Years of tension, rivalry, stolen glances, and unspoken things boiled beneath the surface. But neither moved.
Neither blinked.
Until Ira, unaware of the inferno, tugged Reewa’s arm. “Come on, the press wants a picture.”
Reewa held Rudraksh’s gaze one last time.
Then walked away.
But her spine was straight, her steps slow, as if daring him to follow.
And Rudraksh?
He was already planning how he’d make her stop running.
Not with chains.
But with desire.
With obsession.
With love that felt like war.
------------------
The gala continued, but Reewa needed air. Not the artificial kind swirling through chandeliers and crystal flutes—but the kind that didn’t smell like him.
Because his scent was everywhere now.
On her skin. In her thoughts. Like sandalwood and sin.
She slipped out a side corridor, past a gilded archway lined with tapestries of Rathod history, her heels clicking against the mosaic floor.
She found an empty lounge—a royal drawing room rarely used, silent except for the echo of her own heartbeat. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, eyes fluttering shut for a second.
But the moment she exhaled, she felt him.
Behind her.
“Running again?” Rudraksh’s voice was a whisper from the shadows.
Her eyes snapped open. She spun around. “Do you always stalk your guests?”
He stepped out from the corner, slow and deliberate. The golden light caught the sharp planes of his face—cheekbones carved by war, eyes forged in fire.
“I stalk what’s mine,” he said simply.
She laughed. “I am not yours.”
He walked closer. “You’ve always been. Since the moment you slapped me with a muddy shoe at age six.”
“That wasn’t a moment. That was self-defense.”
“I know,” he murmured. “And it’s why I never forgot it.”
She hated how her breath caught. Again.
He stopped just a foot away, invading her space without touching her. His energy wrapped around her like a stormcloud.
“I don’t want a fight tonight, Rudra,” she whispered.
“But I do.” His voice was dark honey. “I want the truth. I want your mouth saying what your body already knows.”
She raised her chin. “You kissed me without my consent.”
“And you kissed me back.”
Silence crackled between them like lightning behind their ribs.
“I’ll admit it,” she said, voice raw. “It shook me. You shook me. But that doesn’t mean you get to walk back into my life like you own it.”
He took another step. Now there was no space between them.
“I don’t want to walk into your life,” he murmured, brushing a knuckle against her jaw. “I want to burn down the parts that don’t have me in them.”
Her stomach twisted.
“Obsession isn’t love,” she breathed.
“No,” he said softly. “But it’s honest.”
Her lashes fluttered.
And then—softly, devastatingly—he leaned closer, but didn’t kiss her. Just breathed her in. Hovered like a man at war with himself.
“Tell me to leave,” he whispered.
She swallowed hard.
Her lips parted.
But the words never came.
------------
Delhi – The Next Morning
Singhal Mansion, Private Study
Sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the Singhal estate, bathing the room in a deceptive glow of peace. But peace was far from Reewa’s chest this morning.
She sat curled on the antique armchair, black coffee forgotten in her hand. Her thoughts were wrapped in the silk shadows of last night—Rudraksh’s voice, the press of his body, the quiet violence of restraint in his eyes when he didn’t kiss her.
Tell me to leave, he’d said.
And she hadn’t.
Not because she couldn’t.
Because a part of her didn’t want to.
Her phone vibrated again. A third article headline flashed across the screen.
“Enemies or Fiancés? The Fire Between Singhal Heiress & Rathod Prince Sets the Gala Ablaze”
She groaned. The press had smelled blood. They always did when it came to the two of them. But this time… they weren’t wrong.
And that scared her more than anything.
Before she could unlock the phone, the door burst open.
Ishaan.
Disheveled. Furious. Protective as always.
“What the hell happened last night?”
She blinked, startled. “Good morning to you, too—”
“Don’t start with me, Ree.” His voice was tight. “I warned you. I saw the way he was looking at you from the second you entered. You should’ve walked away.”
She set her coffee down with a sigh. “I did.”
“You did not. You gave him exactly what he wanted—attention. Power. The press thinks you’re half in love with the guy.”
She flinched.
Because part of her didn’t know if that was a lie.
“Ishaan…” Her voice softened. “It’s complicated.”
“No, it’s not,” he snapped. “It’s Rudraksh Singh Rathod. You know how dangerous he is. You know what he does. You know what his family really is.”
“I know he wouldn’t hurt me.”
“That’s not the same as being safe with him.”
The words landed like a punch. She looked away, throat tightening.
“You’re not a game to him, Reewa. You’re a weakness. And Rudraksh doesn’t do weakness well.”
---
Udaipur – Rathod Estate, Private Rooftop
Rudraksh watched the sunrise over the Aravallis, a glass of whiskey in hand.
He hadn’t slept.
Not a minute.
Reewa’s scent still clung to his shirt. Her defiance still echoed in his ears. And her silence—her refusal to say no—was the only thing that kept him from spiraling.
“She didn’t tell me to leave,” he murmured aloud.
That meant something.
It had to.
But behind him, his father’s voice broke the illusion.
“You’re slipping, Rudra.”
He turned slowly.
Maharaj Dev stood by the entrance, regal even in his disapproval. “You’re letting your emotions cloud your judgment. That girl is your weakness.”
“She’s my anchor.”
“She’s your distraction.”
Rudraksh’s knuckles tightened around the glass. “I’ve built an empire of shadows, father. She’s the only light I’ve ever wanted.”
Dev sighed. “And what happens when the light exposes you?”
Rudraksh said nothing.
Because deep down, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be hidden anymore.
Not if it meant losing her.
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