Chapter 47 – The Engagement That Wasn’t

The Rai mansion shimmered under golden lights. Chandeliers glowed, the air filled with music, laughter, and the scent of roses. Guests whispered of alliances, fortunes, and futures, waiting eagerly for the grand engagement of Poornima Rai and Rishabh Raj.

Poornima walked into the hall in a white strapless gown, her slender neck adorned with her favorite pendant, earrings glinting under the lights. She looked ethereal, like a vision carved from moonlight. But inside, her heart trembled. Her calm exterior masked the storm swirling within.

And from the far corner of the hall, Veeresh watched. His usually sharp, commanding eyes softened, utterly captivated. His chest tightened with pride, possessiveness, and something deeper—love. That’s my wife, he thought fiercely.

As Poornima moved gracefully among the crowd, Rishabh approached with a polite smile. He placed a hand at her waist, guiding her gently to the stage.

Poornima’s breath caught at the sudden closeness. “Please remove it,” she whispered with a nervous smile, her voice trembling. “I… I feel awkward—in a good way.”

Rishabh chuckled, removing his hand. “I’m sorry, Poornima,” he said kindly.

She smiled faintly, nodding, but her eyes instinctively searched for Veeresh. And there he was—watching, his gaze dark and unreadable, but his stance steady.

Veeresh’s mind raced. He knew his brothers weren’t truly involved in the filth he was investigating, but their names had been dragged in, and tonight, the engagement was meant to seal business ties, not love. He clenched his jaw. Not while she is mine.

The priest called for the ring exchange. The hall grew silent. Rishabh took Poornima’s hand tenderly, lifting the ring to slip onto her finger.

And then—

The lights flickered. A sudden thick smoke filled the hall. Gasps and confusion spread. Guests covered their mouths, coughing lightly. The music faltered.

In the chaos, Veeresh moved with the precision of a predator. Swift, silent. His hand brushed against Rishabh’s, and in one fluid motion, the ring was gone—slid into Veeresh’s grip.

In the cover of the haze, he caught Poornima’s hand. Her eyes widened, her breath hitched—but she didn’t resist.

And in that suspended moment, Veeresh slid the ring onto her finger himself. His touch lingered, firm, claiming. Poornima’s lips parted in shock, but then a smile bloomed—a small, secret smile meant only for him.

She caught on instantly. With a rush of courage, she took the second ring and, in the same cover of smoke, slid it onto his finger.

For the world, nothing had changed. But for them, everything had.

Before the smoke cleared, Veeresh leaned forward, his lips brushing against her cheek—a soft kiss, quick, hidden. Yet it burned like fire against her skin.

And then, he was gone. Stepping down from the stage, blending into the crowd as if nothing had happened.

When the air cleared, guests assumed it was a small mishap, a technical error. The rituals resumed. Rishabh smiled as though nothing was amiss, while Poornima stood still, heart racing, her ring finger now carrying a secret truth.

Across the hall, their eyes met. Veeresh’s smirk was subtle, hers was a shy smile. Their gazes spoke what their lips could not:

We are already one.