♡~°~♡𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓛𝓞𝓖𝓤𝓔𝓢♡~°~♡

»»————>Trailer:-1<————««

Raghuvanshi Medical School, College, and Hospital’s annual cultural function.

It was Delhi’s most prestigious institution—where the children of businessmen, politicians, and the city’s elite studied. The monthly fee alone was equal to what an average middle-class family earned in an entire year.

“Guys, it’s my birthday—and we’re stuck at this boring cultural function,” A small girl grumbled, her tone edged with frustration. She's no other than Kritika mukherjee, She had turned thirteen tonight, yet instead of celebrating with cake and music, she was forced to attend her school’s cultural event.

Ignoring her frustration, everyone moved to take their seats. The arrangement was meticulous. The first section was reserved for VVIP guests: only the chief guest, Abhimanyu Singh Randhawa, and the highest-ranking college officials—so exclusive that not even the Principal occupied these seats.

The second section was for VIPs: college staff, hospital doctors, and other important dignitaries.

The third section belonged to students, their parents, and visitors from outside the state—representatives from every corner of the country, each attending to showcase their region. The auditorium was packed with top students, the cream of the crop, traveling from every state to compete and represent.

Andhra Pradesh, Arunachal Pradesh, Assam, Bihar, Chhattisgarh, Goa, Gujarat, Haryana, Himachal Pradesh, Jharkhand, Karnataka, Kerala, Madhya Pradesh, Maharashtra, Manipur, Meghalaya, Mizoram, Nagaland, Odisha, Punjab, Rajasthan, Sikkim, Tamil Nadu, Telangana, Tripura, Uttar Pradesh, Uttarakhand, and West Bengal—every state sent its best.

“It’s too boring, yaar. Let’s go do something fun,” a small boy suggested, a mischievous grin lighting up his face. That was our cute Raghav, son of the chairman of Raghuvanshi School, College, and Hospital.

“No, I’m fine here,” came the quick interruption from his friend Kartik, always the one to shut down Raghav’s schemes. “Sit quietly.” At just fifteen, he commanded with the authority of an adult.

Raghav rolled his eyes but obeyed, leaning back in his chair with a pout.

“This is going to be such a long and boring night,” Rudraksh muttered, his voice carrying a mix of irritation and boredom. He didn’t care for these functions at all—he was only here because his father was the chief guest. Otherwise, he’d have spent the evening comfortably in the mansion, away from all this pomp.

The function was about to begin. Everyone had already arrived—even Abhimanyu Singh Randhawa, the chief guest of the evening. Yet the program hadn’t started, and the murmurs in the audience were growing louder. People had begun gossiping, whispering questions to the organizers about the delay.

Then, a young woman in her early thirties appeared on stage. She was the event coordinator, dressed in a traditional black saree embroidered with gold thread, silver jewelry glinting softly against her fair skin.

She lifted the microphone with a polite smile. “Good evening, everyone! I sincerely apologize for the delay—the program will begin shortly… just five more minutes.” Her tone was professional, but the slight tension in her voice hinted that something wasn’t quite right behind the scenes.

She stepped off the stage as gentle background music filled the hall, keeping the restless crowd entertained.

Outside the grand Raghuvanshi School, College, and Hospital building, a motorcycle screeched to a halt, tires whining against the road. The man riding it was drenched in sweat, breathing heavily—he’d clearly been racing against time.

“Papa! It’s all your fault! I’m late because of you!” a young girl’s voice rang out, sharp and adorable all at once.

Her father chuckled, grinning apologetically. “Sorry, bacha,” he said, helping her off the bike and setting her gently on her feet.

The girl looked radiant in her traditional Pattachitra Odissi saree, silver jewelry glimmering under the moon. Her long hair was tied into a neat bun adorned with a Tahia, and tiny ghungroos jingled softly with every step.

“You always do this!” she scolded, hands on her hips, reminding him so much of her mother that it made him smile wider.

“Okay, okay, don’t shout,” he said, parking the bike properly. “You have to sing the welcome song, remember? If you keep yelling like this, you’ll lose your voice before you even start.”

“Papa!!” the girl snapped, her small voice sharp with mock fury. “Don’t change the topith!” she said, pouting adorably.

Her father bit back a laugh, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Beta, it’s topic, not topith,” he corrected gently.

Her cheeks flushed crimson in embarrassment. “Yes, yes, that’s what I said! I know! Let’s go before you make me even more late, stupid Papa,” she huffed, trying to hide her fluster. “And it’s a big word for me to pronounce, so it… it happaned!” she added, stomping ahead like an angry kitten.

This time, her father couldn’t hold back—he burst into a deep, hearty laugh that echoed down the road.

“Rudrika,” he called after her between laughs, “it’s happened, not happaned!”

She didn’t turn around, just lifted her chin proudly and kept walking, pretending not to hear him.

Yes—the tiny, adorable girl was none other than Rudrika.

She rushed inside, breathless and flustered, already running late. “See! Everyone’s already here,” she complained, her small feet pattering against the marble floor.

Her father, Adwait, suddenly stopped mid-step, his eyes landing on the chief guest. “Arrey… even sir is here,” he muttered under his breath, straightening unconsciously.

“Beta, go on—everyone’s waiting for you to sing the welcome song,” Adwait said, giving her a gentle tug forward.

“Papa, do you know him?” she asked, blinking up at the tall man in the VVIP section. “Who is he?”

“Beta, we work together,” Adwait explained softly, his tone patient and warm.

Her little brows furrowed. “Work together? So he’s the one keeping you away from me and mummy? I’ll tell him not to give my papa so much work!” she declared boldly, turning to march toward the VVIP section.

Adwait couldn’t help but laugh as he swooped her up before she could embarrass him further. “Ooo, meri Jhansi ki Rani,” he teased, ignoring her tiny squirming as he carried her toward the changing room.

“No, Papa! Don’t call me that!” she protested, wriggling in his arms.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re getting naughtier day by day, you know that?” he said, his voice laced with mock sternness—though not a trace of real anger touched his words.

The background music faded, and a young woman—probably in her early twenties—walked gracefully onto the stage. Dressed in a white saree with simple silver jewelry, she held the microphone with a confident smile.

“Good evening, everyone!” her clear voice echoed through the hall. “I’m Natasha, your host for tonight! After a long wait, it’s finally time to begin our cultural program. First, I’d like to extend our heartfelt thanks to our chief guest, Mr. Abhimanyu Singh Randhawa, for joining us despite his busy schedule.”

The audience erupted into applause, the hall buzzing with excitement now that the event had finally begun.

As soon as the host stepped off the stage, a group of men hurried in—nine or ten of them—each carrying an instrument: harmonium, sarangi, tabla, and dholak. They settled cross-legged in a neat row, tuning strings and stretching palms over drums as the soft hum of preparation filled the hall.

Once everything was ready, the lead performer stepped forward.

A murmur rippled through the audience.

What? A child?

There she was—a tiny girl, barely six or seven, walking toward the mic with steady steps, her small hands clutching the end of her dupatta.

Whispers rose from every corner of the hall. Even Abhimanyu Singh Randhawa leaned toward Mr. Raghuvansh, brows arched.

“Are you sure?” he asked, disbelief written clearly across his face. “She looks too young to sing—what is she, six? Seven?”

Mr. Raghuvansh smiled, calm and confident. “Mr. Randhawa,” he said softly, “just wait and listen. When she sings… it’s like Maa Saraswati herself has blessed her voice.”

Rudrika ignored the whispers and giggles around her, focusing entirely on the task at hand. She walked gracefully to the lead singer’s spot, letting a side singer adjust the microphone to her tiny height and make sure everything was perfectly set before the performance began.

The lights dimmed, casting a soft glow on the stage as the background music of harmonium, sarangi, tabla, and dholak began to play.

“See, this little girl is going to sing? She can’t even pronounce words properly!” Aadity whispered, giggling from his seat.

“Yes? Then go on stage and sing, you monkey,” Vaidehi shot back, her tone sharp with irritation.

“Hey! Be quiet and behave,” came a calm but authoritative voice. It was Gyan, the eldest of the group at seventeen—a half-adult with a commanding presence.

“Sorry, Bhai,” Aditya and Vaidehi mumbled in unison.

“Never judge a book by its cover,” Gyan added, his eyes fixed on the stage with quiet intensity.

“You’re always so serious and boring,” Kritika muttered, crossing her arms over her chest with a small pout.

The lights dimmed, and the soft strains of the background music began. Rudrika took her seat, eyes scanning the audience—but she was calm. Not nervous. Not scared.

She was simply thrilled.

Across the room, her gaze found her father. The moment their eyes met, her face lit up with a bright, tiny grin, showing her delicate teeth, before she returned her focus to the task at hand.

Then she began, her voice flowing like silk:

"Sanson ki mala pe simru main pi ka naam."

It was soft, clear, and mesmerizing—so precise and pure that the entire room froze in astonishment. No one had expected this from a little girl.

Her next line followed effortlessly, each note ringing with clarity far beyond her years:

"Apne man ki main jaanu aur pi ke man ki Ram."

“Wow! She’s singing so beautifully,” Vaidehi murmured, her entire face lighting up with excitement. “See? I told you she was good… no, no… she’s perfect! An amazing singer!” Her eyes never left Rudrika, full of admiration.

"Yahi meri bandagi hai, yahi meri pooja."

“Yeah… yeah, she really is incredible,” Aditya admitted, shaking his head in disbelief. “I guess I was wrong.”

"Ek tha sajan mandir mein, aur ek tha preetam masjid mein..."

The audience was spellbound. No one could believe that such a small girl could sing with this mastery. Her voice was pure magic, every note wrapped in such delicate emotion that no one dared to miss a single moment.

Even the students—usually spoiled, loud, and impossible to quiet—sat in stunned silence, completely captivated.

"Par main prem ke rang mein aisi doobi, ban gaya ek hi roop..."

The hall was utterly still. Not a single eye left her, not a breath louder than necessary—everyone afraid even a small sound might break the spell of her song.

The harmonium, sarangi, tabla, and dholak blended seamlessly with the side singers, adding layers of beauty to Rudrika’s already mesmerizing voice. It was a performance that seemed almost otherworldly.

"Prem ki mala japte japte aap bani main shaam..."

Her voice rose and fell with effortless rhythm, each note perfectly measured. The background musicians and side singers followed her lead, weaving their instruments and harmonies seamlessly around her delicate, mesmerizing tone. Every sound, every pause, flowed naturally with her singing, creating a magical symphony that captivated the entire hall.

"Hum aur nahi kuch kaam ke, matware pi ke naam ke..."

Abhimanyu Singh Randhawa’s face froze in disbelief.

“What happened, Mr. Randhawa?” Mr. Raghuvansh asked, noticing the astonishment written across his expression.

“I… I’m totally speechless,” he said with a soft chuckle, shaking his head in amazement. “She’s… a true gem,” he added, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on Rudrika.

"Sanson ki mala pe simru main pi ka naam..."

The hall seemed to hold its breath, every note carrying magic as Rudrika’s voice filled the room, leaving everyone in a spellbound silence.

"Prem ke rang mein aisi doobi, ban gaya ek hi roop..."

The expressions of the audience only made Rudrika beam with pride. She could feel it—the power in her voice, the magic flowing from within, a gift she knew she had inherited from her mother.

Every eye in the room was fixed on her, every listener captivated by her singing. And in that moment, Rudrika realized with a small, triumphant smile that she had enchanted everyone present—completely, effortlessly, and beautifully.

In the silent hall, where every listener was completely captivated by her voice, there was one pair of eyes that never left her.

Rudraksh.

Without blinking.

Without breathing.

For him, it was as if the vast hall had shrunk, leaving only her and him.

"Prem ki mala japte japte aap bani main shaam..."

He didn’t know what kind of magic she was weaving, but with every note, his heart raced like a rollercoaster, and he could not tear his eyes away from her face.

"Hum aur nahi kuch kaam ke, matware pi ke naam ke..."

Every time she uttered the words “pi ke”, it was as if she was singing directly to him—no one else mattered, just him.

"Sanson ki mala pe simru main pi ka naam..."

In that moment, all he wanted was to erase everyone else from the room, to stay there with her—just the two of them. No one else. Only her. Only him.

“Bhai, BHAAAAAIIIIII!!” Aditya’s loud scream pulled Rudraksh back from the little world he had just lost himself in.

“What!? Why the hell are you yelling?” he growled, irritated that his gaze had been interrupted.

“Finished!” Raghav teased with a grin, nudging him.

The audience erupted into applause, clapping enthusiastically. The opening of the program had been perfect, thanks to that enchanting song from the tiny girl on stage.

“Bro… you’re drooling over her, huh?” Aditya teased, elbowing Rudraksh.

“What do you mean, he’s drooling over her?” Kritika demanded, her jealousy flaring as she noticed Rudraksh’s attention on someone else while she sat beside him.

“Nothing,” Rudraksh said quickly, his cheeks betraying a faint heat, as his eyes drifted back to the stage. The performers were clearing the platform, but all he could see was Rudrika, still glowing in the soft stage lights.

Abhimanyu clapped, and for the first time, his usually cold mask slipped, revealing a rare, approving smile. He stood and leaned toward one of his men, whispering instructions in a low voice. The man nodded and quickly moved to carry out the order.

Rudrika was bounding down the stage stairs, full of excitement, eager to reach her father. She stopped abruptly, though, when a tall, imposing man in a black suit and boots appeared, a gun holstered at his side.

“Beta, come with me,” the man said in a deep, commanding voice.

Rudrika hesitated for a moment, then followed him obediently toward the VVIP section, the next performance already starting in the background.

When she arrived at Abhimanyu’s side, the man gave a respectful bow and left. Rudrika watched him go, curiosity flickering in her eyes.

Abhimanyu stood, extending one hand toward her. “Come here, beta,” he said warmly.

She stepped forward and stood close, tilting her head slightly. “Yes, uncle?” she asked, her voice innocent and clear, still glowing from her performance.

“You sing really well! Who taught you?” he asked, his smile warm and genuine.

“My mamma,” Rudrika answered immediately, her chest puffed up with pride.

“Your mamma?” he repeated with a nod, then pulled out his cheque book and quickly scribbled something before handing it to her.

Rudrika took it carefully, her eyes wide as she examined the paper.

“What’s this, uncle?” she asked, puzzled.

“1… zero… two… zero… three… zero… four… zero… five… zero…” she counted aloud, her little voice trailing off as she finally sighed.

“Oho, uncle! That’s too many zeros!” she complained, scrunching her nose in disbelief.

“Beta, this is a cheque,” he said patiently, trying to make her understand, his smile softening even further at her adorable reaction.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked, still holding the check, her brows furrowed in confusion.

“You can take it and buy anything you want,” he replied gently.

“Anything?” her eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Yes—anything. Chocolate, toys, whatever you desire,” he said, nodding encouragingly.

“Okay, thank you!” she chirped, before turning and sprinting toward the donation box.

The box was too tall for her, so she dragged over a chair, climbed on it, and carefully slipped the check inside.

“Hey! Why did you—” he began, more surprised than angry, his voice trailing as he watched her mischievous yet generous action.

"Gana sirf sunane ke liye hai, kabhi bhi isse bechna mat dena. Main ye song Kanha ji ke liye ga rahi hoon, paisa ke liye nahi."

(The song is only meant to be heard, never sold. I’m singing this for Kanha ji, not for money.) she said, her voice small but firm.

“Mamma would get mad if I took this… so I did it anyway,” she added, shrugging her shoulders with an adorably cheeky grin.

Abhimanyu stared at her in disbelief for a moment, then a slow grin spread across his face. There was something about her—something that reminded him of someone from long ago. He shook his head and quietly returned to his seat.

Rudrika finally turned toward her changing room when a firm grip caught her wrist from behind. She spun around to see a boy standing there, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Who are you? Let go of my hand!” she demanded, her tone sharp and commanding.

He didn’t flinch at her words, his grin widening as if her boldness only amused him.

With a sharp jerk, Rudrika pulled her hand free, her dark brown eyes locking onto his.

he stared at her, tilting his head slightly.

“Kiya hua?” (What happened?) she asked, her tone curious yet daring.

“Tumse pyaar,” (I love you) he confessed shamelessly, a shy grin spreading across his face.

“Ghu kha loo!” (Eat poo!) she shot back boldly, her words sharp and fearless. The boy’s grin instantly faltered, a deep blush spreading across his cheeks.

He looked away for a moment, then back at her. “What’s your name?” he asked, hoping she would tell him.

Rudrika studied him for a moment, a mischievous sparkle appearing in her eyes. She glanced around, then let her gaze settle on the bright moon outside the window before looking back at him.

“My name is Moon,” she said softly.

He grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Little Moon,” he murmured.

“What’s your name?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest, her tone daring.

“My name is Sun,” he replied without thinking.

“Oho… Sun bhai,” she teased, making him choke on his words.

“What? Bhai! I’m not your brother!” he shouted, making her giggle uncontrollably.

“Then what?” she challenged, tilting her head playfully.

“Cut the ‘bhai’!” he said firmly, trying to regain control.

“Okay then… Sun brother,” she retorted with a sly grin, sending his face turning bright red with anger and embarrassment — all because she dared to call him ‘bhai’ right after he had proposed.

“you’re older… how can I just call you by your name like that?” she said innocently, though the mischievous glint in her eyes did not go unnoticed.

He smirked. “Fine, then call me Big Sun,” he dared, thinking for a moment before she uncrossed her arms.

“Big sun,” she repeated confidently.

“Okay,” she said with a grin, and they shook hands.

“Little Moon,” he called, locking eyes with her.

“Yes, Big sun,” she replied, her grin widening.

The boy was none other than Rudraksh.

“Okay, Big Moon. I have a performance, so I have to go. See you later,” she said, turning and slipping into her room, leaving him standing outside, his face bright red from both frustration and amusement.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

»»————>Trailer:-2<————««

Radhika entered the Randhawa Pharmaceutical Industries, her eyes widening at the sheer size of the building. Every floor hummed with activity, employees seated at their desks, focused and busy amidst the bustling crowd.

The company screamed luxury, and even the watchman looked like he had at least a degree for the job — professional and sharp.

Every employee’s attire reflected discipline and elegance. And here she was, wearing the first outfit she had found in her cupboard, a haphazard mix of clothes that probably clashed. Mismatched, messy… but comfortable.

"Main kaun sa yahan job karne aaya hoon Mujhe bas yeh kadha uske muh par marna hai... I mean, dena hai! So don’t panic, Radika."(It’s not like I came here for a job or anything. I just have to throw this kadha on her face—uh, I mean, give it to her! So, don’t panic, Radhika.) She muttered to herself, tightening her grip on her handbag. On the other hand, she clutched the Thermosteel flask and a small lunch bag, her palms already slick with nervous sweat.

She took a deep breath before stepping farther inside. Her eyes landed on a sleek black marble wall engraved with golden letters — the names of the company’s key people.

At the very top shone “Abhimanyu Apurva Singh Randhawa – Chairman.”

Her lips curved into a faint grin. Cold, ruthless, heartless… yet his love for his woman still refuses to fade.

Then her gaze drifted to the second name.

“Rudrika Rudraksh Singh Randhawa – CEO.”

The grin faded.

"Why the hell has he put my name before his?" She murmured under her breath, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through her chest — strange, but not unpleasant.

She quickly tore her gaze away from the board.

She walked up to the receptionist’s desk.

The receptionist was a young woman, maybe in her early thirties — stunning in a fitted black three-piece suit. The top few buttons of her shirt were undone, revealing a generous amount of cleavage.

“Chiii…” she quickly looked away, then darted her eyes around to make sure no one saw her staring at another woman’s chest.

God, maybe Aaina was right — I really am turning into a lesbian! I mean, seriously, Radhika? You have a husband like Rudraksh, and here you are checking out women. Chii, chii!

She pushed the thought aside dramatically and sighed, pretending she was perfectly normal.

She stepped forward and placed the lunchbox and the Thermosteel flask bag on the reception counter.

The receptionist — her name tag read Janhvi — glanced at Radhika with thinly veiled judgment before forcing a polite smile.

“Good morning, ma’am. How can I help you?” she asked in her most professional tone, her eyes flicking to the bags and then back to Radhika.

Radhika cleared her throat. “Actually… I want to meet Rudraksh,” she said nervously.

The moment the words left her mouth, Janhvi’s polite smile vanished — and the nearby employees froze, staring at her as if they’d just seen a ghost.

No one knew that she was his wife.

To everyone else, when she said she wanted to meet him, it was as if she had asked to meet the devil himself. His mood had been foul since morning — and he’d already fired three employees before lunch.

Every employee in the building was terrified for their lives, more than for their jobs.

And here stood a girl in mismatched, old-fashioned traditional clothes, who clearly didn’t look like she belonged anywhere near this place — boldly asking to meet the CEO, as if she owned him.

Which, ironically… she did. But no one knew that yet.

"Ma’am, do you have an appointment? I’m sorry, but I can’t let you meet him," Janhvi said politely at first.

"No, I don’t have an appointment… but I know him. I mean, he knows me too," Radhika stammered, her voice trembling as she felt every pair of eyes in the room watching her.

"I apologize, ma’am, but I still can’t let you meet him," Janhvi replied—her tone firmer now, all traces of politeness gone.

"Listen… okay, fine, don’t let me meet him. But at least give this to him," she said, pushing the lunch box and Thermosteel flask across the counter.

Janhvi wrinkled her nose as if she’d been handed something filthy. "Ma’am, no. We can’t accept this either," she said sharply, her polite mask slipping completely.

"But—" Radhika tried to speak, only to be cut off.

"Listen, ma’am, you’re creating a scene. Please leave before I call security," Janhvi snapped, already pressing the small red button on her desk to summon the guards.

"Wait—just listen! I’m only… I mean…" Radhika stammered helplessly, her voice breaking as she struggled to find the right words.

Five tall, intimidating men stormed in, guns strapped to their sides, their presence alone enough to make Radhika’s blood run cold. She turned to Janhvi, panic flashing in her eyes. “Listen… just—” she tried to speak, but Janhvi was in no mood to listen—not after being scolded by Rudraksh earlier that morning.

With an annoyed flick of her wrist, Janhvi shoved the bags off the counter as if they were something filthy. The lunch box hit the marble floor with a harsh thud, spilling daliya everywhere. The Thermosteel flask rolled aside, and the kadha splashed across the pristine white tiles.

Radhika’s heart cracked. She had made this—her first ever meal, her first effort—for him. And now it lay wasted on the floor, just like the hope she’d brought with her.

Radhika stared at the floor, her throat tightening as tears welled up in her eyes. She had made this for him—for the man who ate whatever tasteless food he was served, just because of her. She wanted to thank him, to do something small that came from her own hands. And now… all her hours of effort lay wasted on the cold marble floor.

She lifted her tear-filled eyes to Janhvi. “Listen… at least call him. I swear, you’ll regret this if you don’t. I’m asking you—just one call.”

Something in Radhika’s trembling yet confident tone made Janhvi hesitate. What if Rudraksh really did know her? And if he found out what Janhvi had just done… God knows in which chemical drum he’d throw her next.

After a moment of hesitation, she nodded. “Fine… I’ll call boss's assistant, Sameer sir,” she said, fumbling with her phone as she dialed the number and pressed it to her ear.

All eyes in the office were on her. Every employee froze mid-task, holding their breaths. But instead of Sameer, the call was picked up by Rudraksh himself.

“What!?” he snapped, his voice sharp and cold, immediately making Janhvi flinch.

The employees swallowed hard, fear coating the air like ice. “S… S-sir… S…” Janhvi stammered, her words barely audible — and with every faltering syllable, Rudraksh’s fury only grew.

Radhika saw Janhvi flinch and, without hesitation, stepped forward. She snatched the phone from her hands and put it on speaker.

The office suddenly felt like a furnace.

“Hello!?” Radhika shouted, her voice echoing through the hall. Every employee turned to stare at her, wide-eyed, as she had the audacity to raise her voice at the man whose anger could scorch anyone in his path.

“Who the—who the hell are you!?” Rudraksh roared, his voice cracking with fury, clearly not recognizing the voice on the other end.

"Main tumhari biwi hoon, jiske aage-piche tum hamesha ghoomte rehte ho, jisko tum 'moon, moon' keh ke thakte nahi ho, jiski zindagi mein tum chhungum ki tarah chipke rehte ho aur jaane ka naam tak nahi lete… Main, Radhika! Jise tum har chhoti-chhoti baat par kalesh karte rehte ho!" (Rudraksh!! I’m your wife! The one you’re always following, the one you never get tired of calling ‘Moon, Moon,’ the one whose life you cling to like chewing gum and never even think of letting go… I, Radhika! The one you fight over at every little thing! And now, I’m in your office, at the reception desk!)

Radhika’s words hit like a thunderclap. Every employee froze, their faces pale. Janhvi’s carefully applied makeup felt meaningless now as fear washed over her — she wanted nothing more than to disappear into the ground before he appeared.

No one ever dared call him by his first name. It was always “Mr. Randhawa,” “Sir,” or “Boss.” Rudraksh didn’t like it; he expected family and those closest to him to call him by his name. And yet, this girl had just snapped at the beast who roared through the halls of his company.

The employees were drenched in sweat, silently praying to every god they knew, while Janhvi? She might as well have been calling her own death.

On the other end of the line, there was a deadly pause before Rudraksh spoke. His voice, usually so controlled, was tense, almost panicked. “Baby… what are you doing? I’m coming.”

He hung up. Anger and panic roared through him all at once — the sound of her fury, the underlying sadness in her tone, it clawed at him. “I’m going!” she barked, just as the line went dead.

Radhika slammed the phone down and turned to leave, determined. But the sky above darkened with a massive shadow.

Eric, Rudraksh’s third-eye, descended from above. Its colossal wings sliced through the air with a menacing hiss, cutting off her escape before she could take another step.

Eric swooped down, his talons gripping Radhika’s dupatta—not tearing it, only holding it firmly to stop her escape.

“Eric, no… let go of my dupatta!” Radhika exclaimed, struggling to free it, but the massive bird remained unmoved, his gaze unwavering.

“What’s going on!?” A deep, commanding voice cut through the room. Everyone snapped to attention, turning to see Shivaay standing there, clad in sharp grey political trousers and a crisp white kurta. Handsome as ever, his presence dominated the space, yet his expression remained as cold and unreadable as steel.

“Bhaiya jii,” Radhika murmured, swallowing hard.

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at the mansion, not in the office,” Shivaay snapped, his teeth gritted, a vein twitching at his temple.

“I’m not a criminal or a prisoner… I can go wherever I want,” Radhika replied, her confidence wrapped in a thin velvet of fear.

“Excuse me?” Shivaay growled, his eyes narrowing.

“Bhabhi jii sent me here,” she added quickly, stepping back. “If you scold me… I’ll tell Bhabhi jii. ” She knew exactly how to push his buttons — a dangerous mix of fear and audacity.

Shivaay took a deep breath and glanced down at the mess on the floor before looking back at her. “Did Rudraksh know you’re here?” His voice was colder than ice, though tempered with slightly less anger.

“Yes… he’s coming,” she answered.

Shivaay gave a brief nod and strode out of the office, leaving Radhika alone with the quiet chaos.

As Shivaay left, Radhika’s attention snapped back to Eric, who still clutched her dupatta stubbornly.

“Eric, let it go… Eric!” she shouted, tugging at it, but suddenly lost her balance and stumbled.

Heavy footsteps echoed through the lobby. Every head turned as Rudraksh appeared at the bottom of the stairs. His office was on the 98th floor, and in his panic, he had forgotten to take the private elevator. He sprinted toward her, flushed from running, his hair a wild mess — yet he looked impossibly handsome, like a storm wrapped in danger.

How can I stay mad at him when he’s smiling like this? Radhika thought, feeling her anger explode inside her like a water balloon bursting.

The lobby fell silent. Every pair of eyes followed him; no one had ever seen Rudraksh like this — unrestrained, powerful, and terrifyingly alive.

Behind him, Aditya, Raghav, Sameer, and Kartik emerged from the elevator, their expressions tense. Rudraksh strode forward and stopped in front of her.

He simply stared at her with mischievous grin. She meets his gaze, bries furrowed in both anger and confusion.

“Kiya hua?” (What happened?) she shouted. As he start at her like a madman.

“Tumse pyaar,” (I love you) he replied, unabashed and completely confident.

“Gho khalo!” she snapped, but he only grinned wider, clearly enjoying her fiery spirit.

“You’re really here?” he asked suddenly, grinning, chest heaving from running.

“No… it’s my ghost,” Radhika snapped, though her voice carried no real anger.

He shook his head. “You should’ve informed me… I would’ve come myself,” he said, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself.

“No! I’m never coming again! Your staff have no manners, and they’re as rude as you!” she shot back, her confidence forcing a sharp smile onto his lips, though his eyes narrowed dangerously.

“What?” he demanded, sweeping a glare across the room that could have sent half the employees fleeing. His gaze then dropped to the floor — the spilled food, the ruined lunch box, and the mess.

“See what your receptionist did! I made this for you for the first time, and all of this… I can’t believe—” she began, but his piercing glare cut her off mid-sentence.

“Who did this!?” he growled, a single, thunderous question.

Radhika’s eyes flicked to Janhvi, who was already trembling and crying in fear.

“S… S-sir… I…” Janhvi stammered, finding no words as Rudraksh loomed over her. All the employees’ gazes were fixed on her, frozen in terror.

Rudraksh’s eyes locked onto Janhvi like a predator fixing on its prey. His gaze was icy, murderous, fueled by the thought that someone dared to disrespect his goddess — the one who had never raised her voice harshly, yet had her carefully prepared tea and food thrown to the ground.

His hands clenched into fists, knuckles whitening, every muscle in his body taut with barely contained fury.

Without a word, he stepped forward, roughly grabbing some tissues and holding Janhvi’s hand with them — not even touching her directly.

His grip was painfully tight as he dragged her along.

“Sir…” Janhvi’s voice wavered, rising into desperate sobs. “Please… Sir… I didn’t mean—”

Her words fell deaf to Rudraksh. All he could see was the audacity, the disrespect toward his goddess, and his fury boiled like molten lava.

All eyes followed him. Aditya and Raghav quickly moved to stand on either side of Radhika.

“Hey! What are you doing, Rudy?” Radhika called, panic and fear clutching her chest so tightly it was hard to breathe.

Rudraksh arrived at the indoor pool inside his office. Beside it sat a glass aquarium, hidden under a black fabric. Except for Radhika, everyone present knew what lurked inside — piranha fish, lethal and waiting.

“Sir…” Janhvi’s cries grew louder, her voice trembling as she begged for mercy. But in Rudraksh’s world, even if the gods could forgive such disrespect, he would not.

To him, the only mercy worth giving was death — and he was not about to grant it to his prey so easily. He would toy with them, push them to the edge, and let them regret crossing him.

With a swift motion, he yanked the black fabric away, revealing the glass aquarium. The piranhas inside thrashed wildly, their razor-sharp teeth glinting in the light.

Rudraksh didn’t flinch. He dragged Janhvi up to the edge of the aquarium, every step measured, every muscle tense with lethal intent.

Radhika’s world seemed to stop as she realized what he was about to do. Her legs froze, but before she could move, Aditya and Raghav gently grabbed her arms, holding her back.

Not a single soul dared to speak — not a whisper, not even a breath, let alone try to stop him.

Rudraksh dragged Janhvi forward. With swift precision, he forced the tissues into her mouth, silencing her before she could cry out.

He knew Radhika was terrified of loud sounds, ensuring that Janhvi could not scream.

He pushed her inside.

His eyes remained cold as the piranhas surged around her in the glass aquarium, snapping and tearing with merciless ferocity.

“Rudraksh jii!” Radhika screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. Aditya and Raghav held her firmly in place.

“Devar jii, let my arm go,” she said to Aditya, who shook his head helplessly.

Rudraksh stepped forward and scooped her into his arms. His powerful embrace wrapped around her waist, his hand gently rubbing her back. She clenched her fists, refusing to hug him back, yet she didn’t pull away. Her face rested against his chest, seeking the comfort she needed without letting go of her fear.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

»»————>Trailer:-3<————««

Columbia’s long highway stretched endlessly ahead, nearly deserted beneath the soft morning sky. The silence was broken as three black BMWs sped down the road, slicing through the cool air with sleek precision.

In the middle car sat a woman in a sharp three-piece black suit, her YSL heels catching the sunlight. Her eyes were tired—she hadn’t slept well—but her presence still radiated confidence so fierce it seemed to command the daylight itself.

Bodyguards filled the front and rear cars, vigilant and composed, enclosing her in a living wall of steel and loyalty.

The woman closed her eyes, letting the darkness behind her lids swallow the chaos of the world outside. Just a moment of peace—that was all she wanted. After a night drowned in meetings, deals, and negotiations that stretched until dawn, exhaustion was no longer a feeling but a weight pressing down on her bones.

Nights like those always took more than they gave.

In the front seat sat a man dressed in casual leather pants and a jacket, a gun resting loosely in his hand. Ink crawled across his skin, tattoos spreading like stories written in another language.

His face was a mask of cold calculation, but his eyes flicked to the woman in the back through the rearview mirror. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, the silver ring on his lower lip catching the morning light.

“Tired already, huh?” he teased. It wasn’t his place to speak, but he never could resist testing her patience.

“Eyes off,” she said coldly, not bothering to open her eyes. She didn’t need to—she could feel his gaze.

His smirk widened before he finally tore his eyes away.

Suddenly, the silence of the empty road shattered. Five black SUVs appeared in the distance, speeding toward them like a storm unleashed.

From the windows of five of the vehicles, gun barrels jutted out—gleaming, steady, and aimed straight at the convoy.

The man’s teasing vanished as his walkie-talkie buzzed.

“What’s happening?” he asked, his eyes already scanning the area.

“Sir, five black SUVs are following our convoy,” one of the guards reported over the radio.

He glanced at the woman in the back, already on high alert. “I guess some unwanted guests has been arrived,” he said, teasing once more.

She shot him a sharp glare. “Lucifer,” she warned, checking her gun without missing a beat.

The woman was none other than Kritika Mukharjee, and the man at the wheel—her trusted protector—was Lucifer.

Lucifer rose from his seat, pushing open the sunroof. He thrust his head out and leveled his AK-47 at the lead SUV, ignoring her warning. Without hesitation, he opened fire.

The sharp crack of gunfire tore through the morning silence like shards of ice, echoing across the empty highway.

The window of the first SUV rolled down, and the barrel of an M60 machine gun emerged, ominous and ready.

“I think they came prepared,” Lucifer muttered.

Kritika didn’t wait. She pushed herself up through the sunroof, her eyes locking on the M60. The man behind it opened fire.

“Shit!” she shouted, narrowly ducking as the bullets tore through the air around them.

Kritika mounted the Barrett M107 on the roof of the car, taking careful aim. Precision was her signature—her shots rarely missed. The first round tore through the lead black SUV, leaving it blazing before it even had a chance to react.

The flames spread to the second vehicle, but the remaining four SUVs kept their guns trained, bullets whizzing through the air. Suddenly, from Kritika’s side, a black BMW exploded in a fireball, the inferno engulfing the car that had been trailing her.

Suddenly, a bullet whizzed from one of the SUVs toward Kritika. She ducked just in time, the round grazing past her head. Without missing a beat, she refocused on her guards as Lucifer continued firing relentlessly.

More SUVs appeared out of nowhere—five or six black cars with open sunroofs, men wielding machine guns.

“Shit! Shit! Ma’am, down!” Lucifer shouted, but Kritika ignored him. She lined up another shot, and a black SUV erupted in flames, the blast rolling across the asphalt.

“Ma’am!” Lucifer barked, grabbing her arm and forcing her down into the car with him.

They were trapped. It had all been planned—an ambush designed to take her out.

Another BMW exploded in a blaze of fire, the inferno consuming the road.

Only one car remained—Kritika’s vehicle, with her, Lucifer, and the driver inside. They tore down the highway at full speed, bullets and flames chasing them at every turn.

Bullets raked across their vehicle as the SUVs opened fire.

“What the fuck, Lucifer?” Kritika snapped, tugging sharply at his grip.

“Ma’am, they’ve got machine guns! I have to keep you safe,” he said, reloading and readying his weapon for the next volley.

“I can handle myself,” she retorted, drawing her gun. She checked the bullets, rolled down the window, and fired back at the SUVs trailing them, the shots cutting through the chaos of the ambush.

A bullet tore through kritika's driver’s skull. With a violent jerk, the car swerved off the road and crashed into the dirt at the roadside.

Kritika’s eyes snapped open. Pain throbbed at the cut on her head, but she immediately scanned her surroundings. Armed men were closing in, guns trained on her.

“Lucifer!” she called, her eyes narrowing with fury.

He had taken a bullet to the leg and another to the chest, yet he still stood upright, held in place by two men restraining him.

Kritika rose to her feet, facing the circle of men surrounding her, their weapons aimed directly at her.

One of the men stepped forward—the obvious leader. He was a hard thing of a man, a pale face scored by a jagged scar that gave him a permanent, nasty edge. He wore loose trousers and a jet‑black vest; a metal pin gleamed between his teeth as he grinned.

His gaze traveled over Kritika like a man appraising spoil. “What a beauty,” he said, spitting the pin onto the dirt. “A waste in India.” He licked his lips. “A little taste before we kill her—how’s that sound?”

Rage coiled in Kritika like a living thing. Every part of her wanted to tear him apart and make sure he remembered the name Kritika Mukharjee for the rest of his life.

“Let’s have a small taste of Rudraksh’s backbone,” the man sneered, his grin widening to reveal yellowed teeth.

“Try it—and then see what happens! You’ll regret it for the rest of your life, if you alive,” Kritika shot back, her eyes blazing with a fire that could scorch steel.

She knew he was nothing but a pawn, a tool for some mastermind lurking somewhere, enjoying this cruel game.

The man had the audacity to let his gaze drift down from her face to her chest, his hand reaching to touch her—but before he could, Lucifer spun free from the two men holding him and slammed a kick into the back of the brute.

Kritika shifted aside, her YSL heel connecting sharply with his throat, sending him crashing onto the road.

Even with guns trained on her from every direction, she didn’t flinch.

Not everyone earned the title of Rudraksh’s Backbone. Kritika had earned it through skill, loyalty, and sheer indomitable will.

“Such a fire…” the man choked out, signaling one of his men holding Lucifer to strike. The man’s fist connected with Lucifer’s face, blood spilling from his nose and split lip.

“Remove your heel!” the leader shouted. Even with her under him, surrounded by his men, this woman remained upright—unyielding, like a queen.

Kritika’s heel dug into his flesh, then she abruptly pulled back and stepped aside, her poise unshaken.

The man rose from the road, roughly wiping the blood from his throat, his glare fixed on her with a mixture of rage and disbelief.

The leader signaled, and two men immediately stepped forward, grabbing Kritika and pinning her in place. She squirmed against their grip, but their hold was unyielding.

The leader advanced again, his hand moving toward her chest, maintaining direct eye contact. Kritika didn’t flinch; her gaze held his like a dare.

For a moment, his confidence faltered, shaken by the fire in her eyes. He recovered quickly, reaching for her exposed cleavage beneath the white shirt.

Before he could make contact, a dagger suddenly whistled through the air, slicing his wrist. His hand dropped to the road as he cried out in agony.

Everyone froze, searching for the source of the attack. Kritika glanced around, bewildered, as the danger came from nowhere.

The leader’s severed wrist thudded onto the road, blood pooling around it. The men scanned the now-empty street, searching for whoever had thrown the dagger.

"Who the fuck! Come in front of me! " The leader yelled, looking around and holding his bloody hand.

Kritika yanked her arms free from their grip, her eyes sweeping the surroundings just as cautiously.

Suddenly, a figure appeared across the street—dressed in black leather pants and a matching jacket. Slowly, he advanced, gliding forward on roller skates.

Then another figure emerged, followed by another, and another… until one became many. Soon, fifty, sixty men surged forward with terrifying precision, each brandishing a pair of gleaming katars in their hands, charging with unstoppable force.

What caught everyone’s attention across the street was one man. He wore a long black jacket that sliced through the air, and a mask concealed his handsome face—but his piercing blue-green eyes didn’t escape Kritika’s notice.

He seemed close to her, yet impossibly distant.

He crouched slightly, katars in hand, and surged forward on skates ahead of the others.

The leader signaled, and his men opened fire on the skating attackers.

The skating men closed in effortlessly, dodging bullets with fluid precision. They surrounded the attackers, striking with brutal efficiency. Katars slashed through arms, tore across chests, and in some cases, heads fell to the road, severed in a single, terrifying motion.

The masked skater advanced toward the leader. With a swift, merciless strike, his katar plunged into the man’s chest, splitting him cleanly in two. The road ran red as chaos unfolded around them.

Kritika stood frozen, though not from fear. For anyone else, witnessing such a scene would have been enough to kill them. But for her? It was as ordinary as a change in the weather.

Her eyes stayed locked on the masked man. There was something familiar about them, though she couldn’t place it.

Who was the man behind the mask, the one who had just saved her life?

He held her gaze for a moment, maintaining eye contact, before giving a teasing wink. Then, effortlessly, he skated away, leaving Kritika alone—confused, shocked, and intrigued.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

»»————>Childhood <————««

"Kiya hua?”(What happened) Rudrika asked, her tone curious yet edged with that fearless spark in her eyes.

“Tumse pyaar,”( I love you) Rudraksh confessed shamelessly, a shy grin tugging at his lips.

She raised a brow, unfazed. “Ghu kha loo!” (Eat poo!) she shot back, bold as ever.

»»————>An adult<————««

"Kya hua?" (“What happened?”) Radhika snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut through the air.

Anger boiled through every vein in her body, heat rising with every breath she took.

"Tumse pyaar," (“I love you.”) Rudraksh said calmly, a smirk playing on his lips — the kind that only existed to fuel her already burning rage.

"Ghu kha lo!" (“Eat poo!”) she screamed, face flushed red with anger and frustration.

And him? He didn’t even flinch.

That damn smirk slowly turned into a shy grin — the tiniest blush coloring his face.

He was enjoying this.

Her fury. Her fire.

Everything that made her Radhika Swain.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

»»————>Her turn<————««

“Pucho kya hua,” (“Ask me what happened.”) she demanded, her voice trembling as tears rolled down her beautiful brown eyes.

Each drop fell like fire against his chest — burning, searing, undoing every layer of control he’d ever built.

“Why the fuck are you crying?” he snapped — not in anger, but in pain.

Because watching her cry felt like dying — slow and brutal.

“Ask me,” she repeated, firmer this time, her voice shaking but determined.

He exhaled sharply, his throat tight.

“Kya hua?” (“What happened?”) he asked, his tone low, calm — yet pleading, almost breaking.

She looked up, eyes shimmering.

“Tumse pyaar,” (“I love you.”)

He froze. For a man who had everything — power, money, control — that single sentence shattered him in the most beautiful way.

And then, softly, she added,

“Tumse bahut zyada pyaar ho gaya.” (“I’ve fallen hard for you.”)

A grin curved her trembling lips as another tear slipped free.

He cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing her wet cheeks — and kissed her there, tasting salt and love and everything he never knew he needed.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

👀🧿🫀

“Big Sun,” she whispered, staring at the moon glowing between a thousand stars.

“Yes, Little Moon?” he answered softly, looking at the same sky miles away.

She smiled and whispered, “I love you, Big Sun.”

He smiled too—until the dream shattered.

Her hand had gone cold, her heartbeat silent. He leaned over her still body, voice breaking into a whisper that only his moon could hear.

“I love you too… my Little Moon.”

💫 A story of an unbroken marriage—

where a beast is born to heal his goddess,

and a broken soul learns to love again.

🖤 Tropes

Main Characters

★ Mafia / Scientist × Journalist

★ Sinner × Sunshine

★ Healer × Broken Heroine

★ Forced / Half Marriage

★ Touch Her/Him And You’ll Die So Painfully You’ll Never Be Reborn

★ Before Marriage: Little Moon × Big Sun

★ After Marriage: Shreeji × Thakurji

★ Deep Mystery & Suspense

★ love at first sight—he made her fall in love with him once again, crossing the seven stages of love

★ Age Gap (She’s 21+ | He’s 29+)

★ Emotional Trauma Healing

★ He Falls First — She Saves Him Later

★ Slow Burn Romance

★ Morally Grey / Anti-hero Male Lead

★ Dark Science & Dangerous Secrets

★ Deadly Experiments & Hidden Truths

in the end, after the blood, the PAIN, AND THE CURSE-

𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙣❤‍🩹

🖤 Tropes

Side Characters

★ Underboss × Consigliere

★ Age gap (he’s 31+ | she’s 26+)

★ Commander of the Secondary Narayani Sena × Chairwoman

★ Physician–Scientist × Pharmacist

★ He falls first — she never falls… or does she?

★ Baby jii × Mr. Forest

★ Masked identity / hidden face

★ Ultimate Sinner × Executioner

★ Forced marriage — ordered by Rudraksh

★ Touch her/him and you’ll be six feet under

★ She lost everything… then found herself through him

★ He planned his own fake death — and made it possible through her

★ Soft for her, ruthless to the world

★ Best friends to lovers

★ Red Flag × Red Forest

Love always wins — but not without sacrifice ❤‍🩹

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

LIKE, COMMENTS AND FOLLOW.

How Was The trailers?

*:..｡o○𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞○o｡..:*