As the crowd thinned, Poornima walked out into the corridor, her steps quick. Veeresh followed, his stride long and unyielding.

She spun on him, her eyes blazing. “That was not necessary, Veeresh. You didn’t need to put your hand on me and make a scene.”

His gaze hardened, voice low but cutting. “You’re wearing my name now. I don’t need some people to mock me—or you. My wife deserves respect, and I won’t let anyone question it.”

His words carried weight, but instead of comfort, they struck her heart like ice. She swallowed, her voice trembling but firm. “If it hurts you so much… then why did you marry me at all?”

For a moment, silence. His eyes flickered—something raw, something unspoken—but then he masked it with a cold smirk. His reply was sharper than any blade.

“Because sometimes strategy matters more than feelings, Poornima. Don’t mistake this marriage for love.”

The words hit her like a storm. Her chest tightened, tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let him see her break. In a sudden rush of pain and anger, she lifted her hand—

SLAP.

The sound echoed in the empty corridor. Veeresh’s head turned slightly from the force, his jaw tightening, but his expression remained unreadable.

Poornima’s eyes burned with unshed tears as she whispered, “I hate you for this.”

Without another glance, she turned and walked away—her steps hurried, her breath shallow—straight back to the palace. Her bangles jingled with each step, like broken promises she never asked for.

Veeresh stood frozen, the sting of her slap still burning on his skin. He clenched his fist, his mind a storm of anger, guilt, and something deeper he refused to name.