Owner of his Heart

The clinking of heels echoed sharply through the grand hall like an omen.

Niyati descended the stairs slowly, the morning sun catching on the glint of her short silk robe and tousled hair. Her hips swaying with deliberate elegance, dressed in an extremely short satin robe that barely passed for morning wear.Her expression was laced with arrogance and sugar-sweet malice as she strutted forward, fully aware of her effect — or at least what she assumed was her effect.

Then a loud clack of heels echoed across the marble floor.

Both she and Ranvijay instinctively turned their heads toward the staircase.

Ranvijay sat at the dining table, dressed sharply even in the early hours, his jaw taut, his body unmoving — yet something about the air around him had shifted. That calm charm from breakfast moments ago had evaporated. In its place, something darker settled. A stillness that was unnerving.

His obsidian eyes didn't lift. Not a flicker of interest crossed his face.

But the room felt colder.

Strained.

"My, my," Niyati purred, trailing her fingers over the back of a chair as she passed Myra, not sparing her a glance. "No one told me mornings in this palace came with… such silent intensity."

Ranvijay said nothing.

Niyati's smile stretched. She mistook his silence for attention.

"I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd join you all," she continued, her voice dipped in artificial warmth as she glided closer to Ranvijay. "Hope I'm not… interrupting anything?"

Still no response.

Ranvijay's fingers tapped once against the table. Then nothing.

Myra watched him closely. Something about the shadow in his eyes… it wasn't indifference. It was restraint.

Dangerous restraint.

Just then, Shiv and Anika entered from the corridor, pausing for barely a second before taking in the scene.

Anika raised a brow, crossing her arms, a slow smirk forming on her lips.

"Well, I thought I smelled desperation," she said breezily, walking to the table. "Turns out it wasn't the eggs."

Shiv chuckled under his breath as he sat down casually, biting into an apple. "You know, I've seen vultures circle with more subtlety."

Niyati's smile faltered, eyes narrowing as she glanced between the two of them. "Oh please, don't be jealous, Anika. Not everyone can pull off confidence."

Anika leaned in slightly, her voice a sweet threat. "Darling, I don't need to pull it off. I wear it like a crown. Try it sometime. Oh wait, you were too busy chasing someone else's kingdom."

Myra blinked, stunned by Anika's savagery.

But what truly unsettled everyone… was Ranvijay.

He didn't speak.

Didn't blink.

Didn't even look at Niyati.

And the longer he stayed silent, the more Niyati's confidence wavered. She bit her lip, a flicker of confusion in her eyes.

Maybe… just maybe, he was interested?

Maybe he was just… observing?

Suddenly, he rose from his chair.

The sound of his chair scraping back against the marble silenced the entire room.

He didn't look at Niyati.

He turned toward Myra.

Her breath caught.

"Ranvijay—?" she whispered, but he didn't speak.

Instead, he knelt down before her. Gracefully. Without hesitation.

She sat frozen, heart pounding as his fingers reached for her foot — the one she hadn't realized was bare. Her anklet had slipped off last night during the panic attack and been left somewhere unnoticed.

Until now.

He brought the delicate piece of silver to his lap, slowly clasping it around her ankle, his fingers gentle yet possessive, his touch reverent.

Then he looked up — straight into her eyes — and spoke, his voice low and sure, echoing in the stunned silence.

"I always want to hear the sound of these anklets…" he said, his eyes never leaving hers, "…so that everyone knows my queen walks these halls."

Myra's lips parted, breath stolen.

No one spoke.

Not Anika.

Not Shiv.

Not even Niyati, whose face had gone pale.

The air was thick with awe. The kind of stillness that follows thunder.

Ranvijay stood again, eyes sharp as blades as he turned just slightly toward the rest of them — though his hand still rested on Myra's chair, grounding her.

No words.

No threats.

But the message was loud and clear.

She belongs to me. And I'll make sure the whole world hears it.

It was a moment no one would forget.

The Ranvijay Rajvansh — the man who never bowed, never bent, never flinched before power or threat — had just kneeled.

Not in surrender.

But in devotion.

Before a woman whom the world might overlook.

Before a girl with soft eyes and a bruised soul.

Before his queen.

Everyone stared in silence.

Shiv, who had seen Ranvijay face bullets with a smirk, couldn't mask his widened eyes. This was the same man who once made a minister tremble by merely straightening his cufflinks. But now — he was kneeling like a poet before his muse, not even a hint of hesitation in his gaze.

Anika's lips parted slightly in shock, then curled into the faintest smile. Her heart, which had long believed Ranvijay incapable of gentleness, softened with unspoken warmth. So that's what love looks like on him…

And Niyati?

She stood frozen.

Her painted smile cracked. Something in her eyes flickered—confusion, disbelief, envy—until her face turned a shade paler.

Because in that one gesture, Ranvijay hadn't just rejected her — he had erased her.

He hadn't yelled, hadn't insulted.

But he made it unmistakably clear: No one stands where Myra stands. No one is seen the way she is seen.

Myra, still sitting, couldn't move. Her heart was thundering against her chest. His words kept echoing—

I always want to hear the sound of these anklets… so that everyone knows my queen walks these halls.

Her fingers gripped the edge of her saree tightly, eyes locked on the man who had just rewritten the rules of love with a single act.

Ranvijay stood tall again, but not in dominance.

In pride.

His hand brushed lightly against the back of her chair, grounding her.

Protecting her.

Claiming her.

He didn't glance at Niyati.

He didn't need to.

His silence had already roared.

The silence after his unexpected gesture still hung thick in the air.

Myra sat frozen in her seat, her lips parted slightly, her heart thundering in her chest.

Niyati's smirk had long vanished. Her fingers tightened around the juice glass, knuckles white. She opened her mouth, maybe to twist the situation again—but Ranvijay didn't give her the chance.

He turned to Myra again, his dark gaze never leaving hers.

"Help me with my outfit," he said, casually, yet each word laced with quiet authority.

Myra's brows shot up. "H-Here?"

Everyone's attention swung between them like a pendulum. Niyati blinked, as if she'd misheard. Anika tried to stifle a smirk, while Shiv nearly choked on his tea.

Ranvijay didn't blink. "Is there a problem?"

Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, but she bit her lip, stood up, and looked down to avoid his piercing gaze. He placed a light hand on the small of her back and guided her toward the stairs, his presence overshadowing everyone else in the room.

"W-Wait, Ranvijay—" Myra tried to whisper when they were out of earshot.

"You're my wife," he interrupted smoothly. "They should get used to seeing how I treat my queen."

Behind them, Niyati stood rooted to her spot, her expression unreadable—but her fury barely hidden beneath the mask. Anika finally exhaled a breath of laughter.

"Well," she said, sipping her coffee. "That was a show."

Shiv leaned in, whispering, "Remind me never to touch his wife's anklet."

As soon as the door to their room shut behind them, Myra turned to him, confused and nervous. "W-why did you drag me up here like that?" she stammered, avoiding his gaze.

Ranvijay didn't answer right away. He loosened the cuff of his shirt, then turned to face her, eyes glinting with mischief and something deeper. "Now," he said with a low voice, "help me change."

Myra blinked. "W-what?"

He took a step closer. "Help me with my outfit. That's what I said, didn't I?"

She took a step back. "W-why would I help you with that?! I mean—you—you have hands!"

Ranvijay chuckled, clearly amused by her flustered reaction. "Ah, but these hands were busy claiming their queen downstairs. I think they deserve a little assistance now."

"You're impossible," she muttered, looking everywhere but at him, cheeks burning.

He tilted his head, watching her squirm with a slow, satisfied smile. "You didn't stutter when you yelled at Niyati. But now you're stammering because I asked you to unbutton a few buttons?"

"I—I am not—!" she huffed, turning her back to him.

Ranvijay was behind her within seconds, his fingers brushing the side of her arm as he leaned in, voice softer. "Why are you nervous, Myra? It's just me…"

"That's exactly why," she whispered before she could stop herself.

He stilled for a moment, letting the weight of her words settle. Then his voice dropped to a more tender note. "I won't touch you unless you want me to. But don't hide from me. Not after everything."

She swallowed hard, the wall she'd built trembling again.

Ranvijay turned away slowly, walking toward the wardrobe. "Well then," he added casually, "I'll change myself. Though I must say, it would've been more fun with you pouting and panicking like this."

She narrowed her eyes at him, annoyed, embarrassed… but her heart? It fluttered.

His hand came up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"I don't care how many people try to stand between us, Myra. I'll make sure the world sees who you belong to. Again. And again. Until you stop running from it."

She looked up, defiant tears in her eyes. "And what if I never stop running?"

He leaned closer, his breath brushing her cheek.

"Then I'll never stop chasing."