Enjoy the strict shivank and stubborn Aanvi let's see who winsss ❤️❤️..........

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The bedroom door clicked shut, sealing out the rest of the world. Shivank placed Aanvi in the center of the massive bed, but the moment his arms left her, she tried to scramble toward the edge.

"I’m fine! I don’t need the doctor, Shivank-ji. I just need a blanket and maybe a tenth ice cream to balance the temperature," she murmured, her voice sounding dangerously nasal.

Shivank’s hand shot out, hovering just an inch from her chest to stop her movement. "Sit. Down. Aanvi."

She plopped back onto the silk pillows, pouting so hard her cheeks puffed out. "You're being mean. You're using your 'office voice' on me."

"I am using my 'logical voice' because you are lacking logic," he retorted. He turned to the bedside drawer, pulling out a bottle of pink bitter-looking cough syrup and a tablet that Kaka had brought up earlier.

He poured the liquid into a small measuring spoon and held it out. "Drink."

Aanvi took one sniff of the medicine and wrinkled her nose in pure disgust. "No. It smells like old socks and sadness. I won't do it."

"Aanvi, don't be stubborn. Your fever is rising."

"I'm not being stubborn, I'm being selective!" she chirped, then immediately ruined her brave stance by letting out a long, pathetic sneeze.

...................................

Shivank had faced aggressive hostile takeovers and stood his ground against international cartels, but nothing had prepared him for the sheer, unyielding stubbornness of Aanvi when faced with a spoonful of antibiotic.

"No," she said, her voice muffled as she buried her face into a silk pillow.

"Aanvi, it’s been twenty minutes," Shivank said, his voice dangerously low. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, the spoon held steady in his hand. "Open your mouth."

"It’s yucky! It tastes like pink chalk and betrayal!" She turned her head, looking at him with watery, defiant eyes. "I’d rather have the fever. The fever is my friend now."

Shivank closed his eyes for a brief second, praying for patience. "If you don't take this, the doctor will come back with a syringe. I’m not joking, Aanvi. I will hold you down while he gives you a shot."

Aanvi’s lip began to wobble. She saw the "Strict CEO" look in his eyes—the one that meant he wasn't going to negotiate anymore. She knew she was cornered. With a dramatic, heavy sigh, she sat up, squeezed her eyes shut as if she were facing a firing squad, and opened her mouth just a crack.

Shivank seized the moment. He slipped the spoon in.

The second the medicine hit her tongue, Aanvi’s face crumpled. She swallowed it with a loud, theatrical gulp, and then the floodgates opened.

“Hic... ugh... it’s so b-bitter!” Large, silent tears began to roll down her cheeks. She didn't just cry; she sobbed with the kind of pure, heartbroken innocence that made Shivank feel like he had just committed a federal crime. She curled into a ball, hiding her face in her hands.

"Aanvi, stop it. It’s just medicine," he said, but his heart gave a treacherous thud against his ribs.

"You’re... hic... you’re so mean to me!" she wailed into her palms. "I’m sick and you’re m-making me eat poison! You probably want me to stay sick so I can’t eat any more ice cream!"

Shivank felt a wave of genuine panic. He could handle a falling stock market, but a crying Aanvi was a catastrophe. He quickly set the medicine bottle on the nightstand and moved closer, pulling her small, shaking body into his lap.

"Shh, okay, I'm a monster. I'm the worst," he murmured, his large hands awkwardly stroking her hair. "Stop crying. Your nose is going to get even more blocked."

"I hate it here!" she sniffled, wiping her nose on his expensive silk tie.

Shivank didn't even flinch at the ruin of his thousand-dollar accessory. He just wrapped his arms tighter around her, tucking her head under his chin. He rocked her gently, a motion he didn't even know he knew.

"I'll buy you the whole ice cream factory when you're better," he whispered, his voice thick with a tenderness that would have shocked his board of directors to their core. "The whole thing. Just please, stop crying. It’s breaking my head."

"And the chocolate one too?" she asked, her voice small and shaky as she looked up at him through wet, clumped eyelashes.

"Yes. And the chocolate one," he promised, reaching out to wipe a stray tear with his thumb.

She sniffled one last time, leaning her weight fully against his chest. Within minutes, the exhaustion of her "baby tantrum" and the medicine combined to pull her into a deep sleep.

Shivank sat there for a long time, holding her, his tie ruined and his schedule forgotten. He looked down at his wife—the only person in the world brave enough to cry on a Rathore and get a factory in return.

_______________

At 7:00 AM, the sunlight pierced through the heavy velvet curtains. Aanvi stirred, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks. The fever had broken, leaving her skin pale and her hair a wild, silky bird's nest.

She sat up slowly, feeling a bit dizzy, and saw Shivank. He was still in his clothes from yesterday—his shirt wrinkled, his hair uncharacteristically messy, and that infamous ruined silk tie still draped around his neck.

"Shivank-ji?" she whispered, her voice a little raspy.

He was awake instantly. "Don't get out of bed," he commanded, though the "strictly" part of his brain was clearly fighting with his "exhausted" part. He reached for a thermometer on the nightstand. "Stay still."

He leaned over her, his scent—a mix of expensive sandalwood and the faint metallic tang of coffee—surrounding her. He placed the thermometer under her tongue.

Aanvi looked at him, her eyes wide and "baby-like" as she remembered the crying fit from the night before. She felt a wave of shyness. She had wiped her nose on a billionaire’s tie. She had called him a bully.

"Mmmph," she tried to say.

"Don't talk. You'll ruin the reading," he muttered. He was staring at her lips, his thumb tracing the edge of the duvet.

The thermometer beeped. 36.8^\circ\text{C} (98.2°F). Normal.

"You're not a furnace anymore," he said, the tension in his shoulders finally dropping. "But you're still on bed rest. I’ve told the kitchen to bring up oatmeal. No ice cream for a week. Maybe a month."

Aanvi’s face immediately fell into a pout. "A month? But you promised me a factory!"

"That was 'fever-induced' bribery," Shivank replied, standing up and stretching his tall frame. "It doesn't count in a court of law."

"You’re a cheater! A big, grumpy cheater!" Aanvi grabbed a plush teddy bear—a gift from Kavya—and hugged it to her chest, hiding half her face behind its fuzzy ears.

Shivank looked down at her. She looked so small in the middle of his massive bed, arguing about ice cream while clutching a toy. He felt a sudden, sharp pang of possessiveness. He walked back to the bedside, leaned down, and trapped her between his arms, his face inches from hers.

"I’ll give you the factory, Aanvi," he whispered, his dark eyes intense. "But only if you stop looking at me like I’m the villain in your story. I spent ten hours making sure you didn't sneeze yourself off the bed."

Aanvi’s heart did a little somersault. She could see the faint dark circles under his eyes. He had stayed up for her.

"Thank you," she breathed, her stubbornness melting into that characteristic sweetness. She reached out a small hand and touched his messy hair. "You look like you need a nap, Shivank-ji. You can share my pillow if you want."

Shivank stiffened. The "Rude CEO" would never share a pillow in the middle of a workday. But then, he looked at her innocent, inviting smile.

"I have a meeting with the Singhanias in three hours," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "But I suppose I can spare twenty minutes."

He kicked off his shoes and lay down on top of the covers, pulling her head onto his chest. For the first time in his life, the stock market didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was the soft, "clumsy" girl who was currently tracing the buttons on his shirt.

The Calm Before the Storm..........

Two hours later, the peace was shattered.

Kavya came bouncing into the room. "Aanvi! The ‘Ice Queen’ Meera has sent over a stylist! She says she wants you to look 'presentable' for the dinner tonight. She literally sent a box of clothes because she thinks your wardrobe is too simple!"

Shivank, who had been half-asleep, sat up like a shark sensing blood in the water.

"She sent what?" Shivank’s voice was like a whip.

"A box of 'appropriate' clothes," Kavya said, looking annoyed. "And a note saying she hopes Aanvi doesn't trip and ruin the carpet tonight."

Aanvi looked at the large, expensive-looking box the servants had brought in. She felt a small sting of hurt. She knew she wasn't as polished as Meera, but she didn't realize she was an embarrassment.

Shivank stood up, his eyes flashing with a cold, ruthless fire. He didn't look at the box. He looked at Aanvi, whose lower lip was starting to tremble again—not out of stubbornness this time, but out of hurt.

"Kavya," Shivank said, his voice dangerously calm. "Take that box and throw it in the incinerator."

"With pleasure, Bhai!"

He then turned to Aanvi, lifting her chin. "You will wear the Rathore family diamonds tonight. And Aanvi? If you want to trip, you trip. I’ll be right there to catch you. Let Meera see what a real 'Rathore' looks like."

..................... CONTINUE............

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