#1 in politics
#1in possessive
Rudra Pratap Singh
28 years old 6'3 height chief minister of Uttar Pradesh black orbs broad shoulders perfect jaw line and most eligible bechlor
With cold vibes with his dominate aura
His face is expressionless he...
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The mansion glimmered with fairy lights and laughter. The baraat had arrived, and everyone was busy with the grand welcome.
Neel stood near the entrance — calm, composed, and every bit the perfect groom. But there was one face missing.
Shivansh.
He still hadn’t shown up.
Vaani, radiant in her gold-embroidered lehenga, descended the stairs gracefully. Cameras clicked instantly — her solo pictures flooding with flashes. Everyone was smiling and ecerything was seeming perfect
But amidst all the shimmer and laughter… Gauri was breaking inside.
Tomorrow, she was supposed to leave this house her home, her people, her brother. Everyone was happy for her. Emotional, yes, but still happy.
Only Gauri knew the storm brewing inside her heart.
Because she wasn’t planning to get married. She was planning to run away.
She quietly climbed near the window, holding her dupatta tightly so it wouldn’t make noise. Just one step... and she’d be gone.
But the sound of glass shattering froze her midair.
Her eyes darted toward the small wooden table. A photo frame had fallen.
Rudra and Gauri — years ago. A little boy, eleven maybe, holding a six-month-old baby sister in his arms. Both smiling. Both unaware of what life would bring.
The frame lay cracked on the floor, the smiles now split apart.
Gauri’s breath hitched. Her feet trembled. What if I never see Bhai again? What if he hates me for leaving?
Her heart clenched painfully. She could bear anything — the world’s judgment, even loneliness. But not Rudra’s hate.
Tears spilled silently as she whispered, If only Shivansh had accepted my love... life would’ve been so much easier.
Defeated, she sank to the floor, staring at the broken frame — as if trying to piece her heart back together.
Downstairs, the wedding mandap buzzed with guests and music. Panditji looked at the clock and called out, “Please bring the bride and groom. The mahurat is passing.”
Suresh turned to Harsh. “Go call Shivansh! Where’s that boy?”
Harsh tried calling. Once, twice, five times. Nothing. The phone was switched off.
He frowned. “Bhai, did you send him anywhere?”
Rudra shook his head. “No. I’ll find out.”
But no one had seen Shivansh since last night.
Rajni tried to smile through her worry. “Maybe he’s stuck somewhere. Neel beta, you and Gauri start the rituals. He’ll be here soon.”
Neel looked up, voice steady but cold. “No, aunty. We’ll wait. Ten more minutes.”
