Signed. Married. Trapped.

The next morning, both families gathered under one roof — laughter, sweets, elders in silk sarees, and the smell of filter coffee.

Poornima sat beside her mother, scrolling on her phone, completely disinterested.

Veeresh leaned against the pillar, arms folded, glancing toward her with that irritating smirk of his.

That’s when Mr. Rajan — Poornima’s father — cleared his throat.

> “So, we’ve decided. The wedding will be tomorrow morning.”

Poornima looked up. Confused. “Whose wedding?”

Silence.

Mrs. Gowda beamed. “Yours and Veeresh’s.”

Poornima froze.

Veeresh’s smirk vanished.

> “Excuse me?” she asked sharply.

> “WHAT?” Veeresh barked, nearly choking on his coffee.

> “It’s your grandfather’s final wish. We promised him,” said her mother firmly. “You two are the eldest. You’ve known each other for years.”

> “Exactly! And hated each other for years,” Poornima snapped.

> “Which is why it’ll work,” said Veeresh’s father, sipping tea. “No fake romance. Just partnership. And it’s already arranged.”

Veeresh stood abruptly. “No way. I’m not marrying her.”

Poornima stood too. “And I’m not marrying him!”

Their parents didn’t budge. Emotions, legacy, family pressure — it all rolled out like a political speech. The elders even warned of a property freeze if they refused.

---

🌪️ A Deal in Anger

Later that evening, in a dimly lit room, Veeresh and Poornima sat at opposite ends of a table.

> “Fine,” Poornima snapped, slamming a paper down. “One-year agreement. No expectations. No intimacy. Just formality.”

> “Done,” Veeresh replied coldly, signing it. “But don’t forget — agreements can be modified.”

She scoffed and shoved the pen at him.

> “Try anything, I swear—”

Veeresh stood, leaned closer, and gently pulled her wrist.

> “Careful, Poornima. You push too hard… I pull back. And harder.”

Their eyes locked — her fury meeting his fire.

---

💍 The Wedding Morning

In just a few hours, they were at the temple. No band, no baraat. Just immediate family.

Poornima stood in a red saree, eyes stormy. Her lips trembled — not with emotion, but with anger.

Veeresh looked handsome, but darkly serious in cream sherwani. As he approached, she stepped back slightly.

> “Don’t even—” she began.

He grabbed her wrist again.

> “Don’t forget, Poornima. I know you better than you think. You may hate me, but your eyes speak differently.”

> “Let go,” she hissed.

> “Too late,” he said, pulling her into the mandap.

---

🔥 Tying the Knot

The priest chanted mantras.

Garlands exchanged.

The mangalasutra was tied — and as it touched her neck, Poornima’s heart pounded louder than the drums.

Then came the final moment.

Veeresh dipped his fingers in the red sindur. She looked away, refusing to meet his eyes.

But he pulled her chin toward him — not roughly, but with silent dominance.

> “Look at me.”

She did.

And in one swift stroke, he smeared the sindur across her parting.

> “Mine. Agreement or not.”

Poornima blinked — stunned. Her world spun, her ego trembled, but her lips stayed sealed.

He didn’t smirk. He didn’t smile. He just stood there… claiming her without a word.