Nandini Verma was 18 when she penned her first story, a tale of passion, betrayal, and revenge. It was a masterpiece, poised for publication. But on the night she was to share her brilliance with the world, tragedy struck. Her abusive father, a figu...
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I buttoned the last of my cufflinks and adjusted the collar of my shirt, glancing towards the mirror where Nandini was getting ready. She stood at her vanity, brushing her hair with an effortless grace, wearing a soft smile as she hummed under her breath. It was incredible how she could look so serene after everything we’d been through—after all the chaos, danger, and battles. She had a calm that I admired and envied, especially considering the world we lived in.
“Ready to face the day?” I asked, moving towards her.
She glanced at me through the mirror, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Always.”
Her words were simple, but the way she said them made my heart swell. She had grown so much since we’d first met. The fear she once carried in her eyes had faded, replaced by a strength that matched my own. Now, standing beside me, she was not just my woman —she was my equal. We didn't get married yet as she wanted to focus on her career and I was busy with my underworld stuff too.but the world knew we were were engaged . But now everyone called her Mrs. Yashwardhan as I intentionally made a mistake of calling her that in an interview .
I walked up behind her, my hands resting gently on her shoulders as I leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her neck. “You look beautiful,” I murmured against her skin, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume.
She smiled, setting the brush down and turning to face me, her eyes sparkling with playfulness. “I know. You trained me well.”
I chuckled, running a hand down her arm. “You were always perfect. I didn’t need to do much.”
Nandini reached up, tugging on my tie to bring me closer, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “Flattery won’t get you out of trouble, Yash.”
I grinned, leaning in to kiss her, but she pulled back at the last second, smirking. “Come on, Mr. Mafia King. We’ve got work to do. Your kingdom awaits.” she always teased me with the name Mr. Mafia King .
With that, she turned on her heel, walking out of the bedroom with a sway in her hips that I knew was just to tease me. I shook my head, chuckling under my breath. She had become bolder, more playful over the years, and I loved every bit of it.
As we stepped out of the car in front of the building, the usual swarm of reporters and cameras were already stationed outside, waiting for a glimpse of us. The media attention had been intense ever since our Engagement news , but Nandini had grown accustomed to it. She handled it like a queen, walking beside me with her head held high, her hand resting comfortably in mine as we approached the entrance.
“Mr. Yashwardhan! Mrs. Yashwardhan! Over here!” the photographers called out, their flashes going off in rapid succession.
I glanced down at Nandini, expecting her to flinch or look uncomfortable, but she remained calm, giving them a polite nod and a small smile before turning her attention back to me. She no longer feared the attention—she owned it, just like she owned her place beside me. And seeing her like this, so composed, so powerful, filled me with pride.
