A Grand welcome

Myra's nails dug into her palms as she glared at him, her frustration boiling over.

"You can't just decide everything for me!" she snapped.

Ranvijay didn't react immediately. He simply adjusted his watch, his expression calm—too calm. But beneath that composed exterior, his patience was hanging by a thread.

He turned to her, his gaze sharp. "Then stop making me do it."

Her breath hitched.

"You walked out like that, knowing exactly what kind of attention you'd get," he continued, his voice dangerously low. "And you expect me to stay silent while men dare to look at what's mine?"

Myra's pulse quickened. "I'm not an object you can claim!"

Ranvijay leaned in, closing the space between them, his eyes dark with warning. "No, you're not." His fingers brushed against her chin, tilting it up slightly. "But that doesn't change the fact that I will protect you. Even from your own stubbornness."

She swallowed hard. His proximity, his touch—it made her insides twist in a way she couldn't understand.

She turned her face away, pushing his hand aside. "I don't need your protection."

Ranvijay exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Of course, you do." His voice had softened, but the intensity remained. "You just don't realize it yet."

The car jerked slightly as it turned a corner, breaking the moment between them.

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words, unacknowledged emotions.

Myra clenched her jaw, refusing to let him win.

Ranvijay, however, smirked slightly.

She could fight him all she wanted.

But she belonged to him.

And sooner or later, she'd have to accept it.

The air inside the car was thick with tension. Not the kind born from anger, but something deeper, more dangerous.

Ranvijay leaned back, his long fingers tapping against his knee. Myra sat stiffly beside him, her hands clenched in her lap. The space between them felt small, charged with something unspoken.

The car hit a small bump, making Myra shift slightly—and in that moment, Ranvijay moved.

In one swift motion, he reached out, grasping her wrist and pulling her closer.

She gasped, her palms landing on his chest for balance. "W-What are you doing?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he tilted her chin up, his thumb grazing the softness of her jaw. His dark eyes locked onto hers, unreadable, yet burning with something undeniable.

"You're trembling," he murmured.

Myra tried to pull away, but his grip was firm. "I-I'm not."

He smirked, his fingers trailing down her wrist, tracing the veins beneath her skin. "Liar."

Her heart pounded. The warmth of his touch seeped through her skin, making her breath hitch. "Ranvijay, let go."

His fingers curled slightly around her hand, his grip possessive yet gentle. "You think I don't notice?" he said, his voice lower now, softer. "Every time I come close, you forget how to breathe."

Myra's throat went dry.

He was too close. His scent—woodsy, intoxicating—wrapped around her, pulling her deeper into his world.

She turned her face away, refusing to meet his gaze. "I don't—"

Ranvijay leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "Don't what, Myra?"

She shivered.

The car slowed, and Ranvijay finally released her, but not before pressing his palm flat against her waist, feeling her heartbeat race beneath his touch.

"You'll understand soon," he said, voice teasing but laced with certainty.

Before Myra could respond, the car came to a stop.

They had arrived in Rajgarh.

As the car rolled through the towering gates of Rajgarh, Myra's breath hitched.

The haveli stood before them in all its ancient glory—a magnificent structure carved from white marble and deep sandstone, stretching across acres of lush greenery. The golden light of the setting sun bathed its intricate jharokhas and towering pillars, making it look like something out of a forgotten legend. The sheer grandeur of it left Myra in awe.

Rows of guards lined the entrance, dressed in traditional royal attire, standing tall with their hands clasped behind them. A long, red silk carpet stretched from the car to the grand entrance, where dozens of servants and elders of the household waited in anticipation.

As soon as Ranvijay stepped out, an immediate hush fell over the gathering. His presence commanded the air, exuding dominance and power. Dressed in his signature dark formals, he looked every bit the prince of Rajgarh—fierce, untouchable, and dangerously regal.

The moment Myra hesitated inside the car, he turned back, his sharp gaze settling on her. Without a word, he extended his hand.

She hesitated.

Every eye was on them. The weight of the moment pressed down on her chest.

"Come," Ranvijay said, his voice low, meant only for her ears.

Swallowing hard, Myra placed her trembling hand in his, and in the next moment, he pulled her to his side. The warmth of his touch sent an unfamiliar shiver down her spine.

The second her feet touched the red carpet, the sound of shehnais filled the air, blending with the rhythmic beats of dhols. Flower petals rained from the balconies above, their fragrance mixing with the crisp evening breeze.

"Welcome home, Ranvijay Baba!" an elder from the family greeted, his voice full of reverence.

"Rajkumari sa!" a group of women chorused, bowing their heads in respect as they approached Myra with a beautifully decorated aarti thali.

She tensed. Rajkumari?

The title felt foreign, heavy. But before she could react, a soft hand cupped her cheek.

An older woman, adorned in an elegant silk saree and heavy gold jewelry, smiled warmly at her. "May you bring prosperity and happiness to this haveli, child."

Myra felt overwhelmed. The weight of tradition, the eyes watching her every move, and Ranvijay's silent but unwavering presence beside her—it was all too much.

Sensing her unease, Ranvijay subtly tightened his grip around her hand, anchoring her.

He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. "Breathe," he murmured.

Myra exhaled shakily as the aarti was performed. The flames flickered, casting a soft glow on Ranvijay's sharp features.

As the rituals ended, he finally let go of her hand—but only to place a firm palm on the small of her back, guiding her forward.

"Welcome to Rajgarh, Queen," he said, his voice husky, his claim absolute.

And just like that, the walls of the haveli swallowed them, marking the beginning of a new chapter.