Inside the heavily guarded dera, Jabroo sat at the head of a table surrounded by his men, his massive frame towering even while seated. 6’5”, burly, ruthless—he was Sardar Shah Jhaniya’s most feared shadow. A man who never flinched, never spoke more than needed, and followed orders with a deadly silence. One word from Sardar, and necks were snapped, lives erased. Loyal. Cold. Merciless.

But all of that… meant nothing the moment he heard the sound of the Ford Raptor’s doors slam outside.

Because only one person made Jabroo move without command. Only one woman could shake the iron shell he wore like second skin.

His wife. YN.

Barely three days since their marriage, and there she stood at the dera gate—dripping in gold, mehendi deep as wine from her elbows to fingertips, red lipstick still fresh, long straight black hair down her back. A literal storm in the form of a newlywed bride… wearing his oversized black hoodie and cargo pants.

*Her eyes scanned the crowd, wild with panic. Then—fury.

The moment her eyes met his, everyone else ceased to exist. The guards went quiet, his men looked away. Because even the coldest beast of the Jhaniya empire had one weakness: her.

He was on his feet in a second, crossing to her without a word, massive arms wrapping around her small frame. The same arms that once broke bones with ease now held her like glass. Her anger, her fear, her presence—it swallowed him whole.

Jabroo (voice low, gravelled, only for her):
"Kisne kaha? Kis haramzade ne bola ke main gaya hoon?"
(Who said it? Who’s the bastard that said I was gone?)

His voice wasn’t raised. But everyone knew—hell was about to rain down on whoever made her cry.

Because Jabroo wasn’t just her protector anymore. He was her husband. And the soft, quiet fur baby she turned him into? That belonged to her and her alone. The throne could wait. The empire could burn.

Right now, she was mad—and Jabroo? He’d spend forever making her forgive him