The auction hall buzzed with chatter even after the last gavel fell. Veeresh stood surrounded by his business partners, discussing strategies, numbers, future moves. His mind should have been focused—sharp, precise, calculating as always.

But then… his gaze caught her.

Poornima.

She was across the hall, her face lit with an unguarded smile, speaking warmly to a tall man. The sight tugged something deep inside him, a spark of something raw and possessive. His jaw clenched. His chest tightened. He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Without a second thought, Veeresh excused himself from the group and strode across the floor. Heads turned at his sudden movement, but he didn’t care.

He stopped right beside Poornima, his hand sliding firmly around her waist in one swift, unmistakable gesture.

His voice rang out, cool and commanding:

“I am Veeresh Raj, husband of Mrs. Poornima Veeresh Raj.”

The man blinked, then smiled politely. “Of course. I’m Jeeva Singh Mewar—Poornima’s cousin. Congratulations on your wedding. I couldn’t attend it.”

Veeresh’s grip on Poornima’s waist tightened fractionally, his tone clipped but civil. “Thanks.”

Poornima froze for a moment, her heart pounding at his touch, her cheeks warming under his claim. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye—his jaw hard, his eyes unyielding. He wasn’t just making an introduction. He was making a statement.

To the world.

To her.

And maybe even to himself.