Advait Singh Rathore

The heavy, hand-carved teak doors of your private wing inside the majestic Udaipur Palace Estate clicked shut, instantly creating a serene, soundproof barrier against the rest of the world. Outside those towering white marble walls, he was Advait Singh Rathore—the 29-year-old, six-foot-three ruthless titan who held the reins of the multi-billion-dollar Rathore Empire. To the media, the corporate sharks of Mumbai, and the people of Rajasthan who addressed him with absolute deference as their Hukum Sa, he was an unbothered, untouchable monarch. A man who spoke with freezing, calculated detachment, whose sharp jawline and icy brown eyes could make seasoned executives break into a cold sweat during board meetings. But the moment his polished oxford shoes crossed the threshold of your shared sanctuary, that heavy, suffocating crown slipped off his shoulders effortlessly. Especially because he wasn't the only powerhouse in this marriage. You were a brilliant CEO yourself, commanding your own corporate empire at just twenty-five. When your families had orchestrated this alliance six months ago, it was supposed to be a cold, transactional arrangement. Advait had explicitly told you back then not to expect any emotional warmth from him. Yet, night after night of watching his sharp intellect in the boardroom, mixed with the breathtaking warmth of his protective nature, the ice surrounding both your hearts hadn't just melted—it had shattered completely. You fell deeply, hopelessly in love with your green-flag husband, and he had fallen even harder for you. Down in the main courtyard, the palace was still alive with the unfiltered, chaotic laughter of his family. Dadi Sa, Rajmata Kalyani Devi, was currently sitting on the swing, drinking her late-night tea while loudly teasing your mother-in-law, Devika Devi, and Chachi Sa, Meenakshi Devi, about how Advait used to dramatically cry over minor math problems as a young boy. Meanwhile, out by the stables, Chacha Sa Gajendra and your chaotic devar, Kabir, were actively plotting how to hijack your corporate calendar for an unannounced family polo match. Ever since you walked into this estate, you hadn't just adjusted to the royal lifestyle; you had become the undisputed, deeply pampered princess of the entire Rathore household. Dadi Sa always took your side, Devika Devi spoiled you with your favorite dishes, and Kabir viewed you as his favorite partner-in-crime. Advait secretly adored every second of how much they loved you. But right now, after a grueling ten-hour flight and a series of back-to-back international conferences, he was completely exhausted. And he just wanted his wife. You were currently sitting cross-legged on the plush, deep-emerald lounge sofa, dressed in loose, comfortable cotton loungewear. Your face was illuminated by the soft glow of your phone screen as your thumbs flew across the keyboard, intensely scanning and approving a series of critical corporate budget sheets before tomorrow's early morning board meeting. The moment you heard his familiar, heavy footsteps approaching, a soft, involuntary smile tugged at your lips. Suddenly, a massive, warm weight collapsed right next to you, completely disrupting your personal space. Advait had already stripped out of his suffocating three-piece Tom Ford suit and pristine silver cufflinks. He was now wearing a simple, snug black cotton t-shirt and grey shorts—a casual attire that did absolutely nothing to hide the insanely broad chest, thick vascular forearms, and heavily muscled physique he meticulously maintained at the palace’s private gym. Without asking for permission, his long, heavy arms slid around your waist from the side, pulling you flush against his chest as he buried his face directly into the crook of your neck. He inhaled the sweet, familiar scent of your hair, letting out a long, dramatic, and incredibly childlike sigh that vibrated deeply against your skin. It was a rare, vulnerable display of affection that the rest of the world wouldn't believe even if they saw it with their own eyes. "Phone band kariye, Hukum," Advait murmurs, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly baritone that was reserved strictly for your ears. His intense brown eyes, usually so piercing and cold, looked up at you with a soft, sleepy neediness. He intentionally leaned his massive shoulder against yours, tilting his head to completely block your view of the screen. "Hum poore nau ghante se aapka intezaar kar rahe hain. Humne aane ke liye apni final wrap-up meeting tak cancel kar di... and look at you, ignoring your husband for late-night corporate emails." A soft, affectionate chuckle escaped your lips as you tilted your head back, melting completely into his solid warmth. You reached one hand up, gently sliding your fingers through his thick, neatly styled hair to soothe his exhaustion. "Advu, please. I have a board meeting at nine tomorrow morning. I want to clear these approvals quickly so I can focus entirely on you before your chaotic cousin Kabir calls me at midnight to complain about his project allocation again." A visible pout formed on his sharp, stubble-lined lips—a priceless, soft expression that he only ever allowed you to see. His jaw rested right against your collarbone, his breathing slow and heavy against your neck, displaying that raw, clingy vulnerability he wrapped around you like a protective shield. "Kabir can wait, Mrs. Rathore," he teases, a smug, devastating smirk pulling at the corner of his lips as he deliberately uses your married title to fluster you. His large, warm hand gently reaches up, his long fingers lightly closing over the top of your phone screen, entirely forcing your hands down into your lap. "Aap waise bhi din bhar humein dimaag chalane par majboor karti hain, business strategy discuss karke. Ab thoda humare upar bhi dhyaan de dijiye," he whispers softly, his thumb shifting to trace your jawline before gently pinching your cheek with a soft, affectionate tug. "Chaliye, phone side rakhiye, my baby panda. Humara sar dukh raha hai, humein head scratches chahiye. Right now."