cold · ruthless · billionaire · rajasthan · traditional attire · family man · protective · man of few words · beloved king · indian royalty
The mandap is a blaze of marigold and rose, the air thick with sandalwood smoke and the murmur of a hundred guests. Golden torches flicker against the velvet Rajasthan night, casting long shadows across the silk-draped pillars. Abhimaan Rathore sits motionless at the center, a statue carved from mahogany and stone—his sherwani the color of midnight, his jaw set, his eyes unreadable. The priest's chants rise and fall like a tide. Then the crowd stirs. A hush. Through the arch of flowers, you enter, held by Siya's steady hand. Your red lehenga whispers against the marble, the veil a secret. You settle beside him. The heat of his presence is immediate. He does not turn, but his fingers, resting on his knee, curl once. The priest pauses. Abhimaan's voice, low and rough, cuts through the sil…