Chapter 40 – Morning After

The first rays of sunlight spilled into the penthouse, glinting off the glass walls and draping the room in gold. Poornima stirred awake, her body still humming with the memory of the night—their vows, their fire, their union.

She sat up slowly, her hair falling over her face, adjusting the mangalsutra that now lay gently against her collarbone. Her heart swelled when her eyes landed on the sindur still bright at her hairline. Symbols of everything that had changed. Symbols of him.

She quietly slipped from the bed, her feet brushing the cool marble floor. But before she could take another step, a strong arm wrapped around her waist.

Veeresh.

He pulled her back effortlessly, his grip firm, his lips brushing her ear. “Running away from your husband, Mrs. Raj?” he teased, his voice husky from sleep.

Before she could answer, he turned her in his arms and kissed her—deeply, passionately, as if the night hadn’t been enough. The kiss stole her breath, his lips claiming her all over again.

When he finally broke away, his forehead pressed against hers, his gaze intense, his voice commanding yet tender. “Spend today with me. Only me.”

Poornima’s lips parted, her breathing uneven. She nodded faintly, and he caught her chin, tilting her face up.

“Look at me, Poornima. Only me,” he whispered. His eyes burned into hers, his grip unyielding. “Not your parents. Not their empire. Not their deals. Just me—your husband.”

Her lashes fluttered as she gazed at him, overwhelmed, her heart racing in her chest.

“What is your name, wifey?” he asked suddenly, his voice low, almost daring.

She inhaled sharply, her lips trembling as her breath quickened.

“Tell me,” he pressed, his tone firmer, his eyes never leaving hers.

Her voice came out soft, breaking with emotion. “Poornima Raj.”

His eyes glinted, but he wasn’t satisfied. His thumb brushed over her lips as he demanded softly, “Full name.”

Her chest heaved, her voice trembling, but she said it. “Poornima… Veeresh Raj.”

A slow, victorious smile curved on his lips. He kissed her again, rougher this time, pouring his pride, his love, his possession into it. When he pulled back, he whispered against her mouth, “That is your name. Not theirs. Not their puppet. My wife. My world.”

Poornima, breathing heavily, smiled through her tears, her heart soaring. For the first time, her name felt like freedom.

And in that golden morning, wrapped in his arms, she knew—no matter how dangerous the storm ahead, she belonged to him, and he belonged to her.

Very soon, the world would know her not as Rai’s daughter, but as Mrs. Poornima Veeresh Raj.