05:00 AM – The Rathore Estate

The sprawling Rathore ancestral estate was silent, save for the rhythmic thud of a heavy bag in the private gym. Reyansh Singh Rathore was drenched in sweat. At twenty-eight, he was the pillar of the Singh Rathore legacy. To the outside world, he was the "Ice King," but within these walls, he was the protector.

He walked into the grand dining hall, where the portraits of his ancestors—all fierce Singh Rathores—looked down with judgment.

"Reyansh, beta," his grandmother, the matriarch Rajshri Singh Rathore, said from the head of the table. "Your uncle, Vikram Singh Rathore, tells me you missed the family prayer again."

"I was working, Dadi," Reyansh said, kissing her hand with a rare, brief softness.

"Work is not a substitute for family," his mother, Savitri Singh Rathore, added, her voice firm but loving.

His younger sister, Jhanvi Singh Rathore, rolled her eyes playfully, while his cousins, Aryan and Aditya Singh Rathore, whispered about the night’s party. Even his aunt, Meenakshi Singh Rathore, was busy coordinating the family’s jewelry for the evening.

"You will lead the family at the Mehra reception tonight," his uncle Vikram stated. "The Singh Rathores must show their strength."

Reyansh nodded curtly. He loved them fiercely—he would burn the world for his family—but he lived in a different world than them. A colder one.

10:00 AM – The House of Spice and Drama

Across the city, in a home filled with the smell of roasted chillies, Aavya was currently staging a "protest."

"I refuse! I simply refuse to wear this heavy necklace! It’s an instrument of torture!" Aavya wailed, standing on a chair for extra dramatic effect. "Papa, tell Ma she’s trying to turn your daughter into a museum exhibit!"

Her father laughed, shaking his head. "Aavya, it’s a big wedding. Just for a few hours?"

"Only if there is spicy food, Papa," Aavya said, hopping down and instantly switching from 'dying drama queen' to 'master negotiator.' "If I see one more sweet laddu, I’m going to lose my mind. I need spice. I need fire! I want the kind of chilli that makes my soul vibrate!"

She did a little dramatic shiver and winked. She was nineteen, shy when she wanted to be, but mostly a whirlwind of adorable, "drama-baaz" energy.

09:00 PM – The Hunt Begins

The reception was a sea of gold and silk. The Singh Rathore family entered like a royal procession. Reyansh stood at the center, his charcoal suit making him look like a dark god among men. He was bored. He was counting seconds.

Then, he saw her.

Aavya was at the very edge of the garden, hidden behind a decorative pillar. She was holding a plate of Chilli Paneer, her eyes watering, her nose a bright, cute pink.

"Oh... spicy! So spicy!" she whispered to herself, fanning her mouth with her dupatta and doing a dramatic little 'spice dance' on her tiptoes. She looked around guiltily to see if anyone saw her "unladylike" behavior, then gave a shy, triumphant giggle and took another bite.

Reyansh’s heart, which had been frozen for twenty-eight years, didn't just thaw—it ignited.

He had never seen anyone so... alive. She wasn't a socialite; she was a firecracker. He watched her dramatic expressions, the way she pouted when the spice hit too hard, and the way her eyes danced with mischief. A dark, terrifyingly possessive urge took hold of him.

"Aman," Reyansh said, his voice a low, predatory growl.

Aman, his trusted shadow, stepped forward. "Sir?"

Reyansh didn't take his eyes off Aavya. He watched a waiter offer her a sweet drink, and saw her make a dramatic "yuck" face when she thought the waiter wasn't looking.

"The girl in the sea-foam green. The one who thinks she’s a dragon."

Aman looked at the girl. She was the total opposite of the Singh Rathore seriousness. "That is Aavya Sharma, sir. Her father owns a small textile shop. They aren't in our league."

Reyansh’s jaw tightened. A cold, obsessive smile touched his lips. "In this world, Aman, I decide the leagues."

He watched Aavya laugh, the sound lost in the music but etched into his mind.

"I want to know everything," Reyansh commanded. "Every debt her father owes, every college she’s applied to, every boy who has ever looked at her. Everything."

Aman bowed. "Consider it done, sir. Her complete profile will be on your desk by 8:00 AM tomorrow."

Reyansh took a slow sip of his water, his eyes dark and fixed on his target. "Aavya," he whispered to the wind. "You’re going to be a Singh Rathore. You just don't know the price yet."