Poornima walked through the grand entrance of Mewar Palace, her head held high though her heart was heavy. Every step felt like walking through memories of pain and rejection.

Her father, Rivaj Singh Mewar, stood there, his face cold, his eyes sharp. “You… your presence is a jinx,” he spat, venom lacing his words. “No wonder your husband left you. He will marry someone else, and you… you should never have been born.”

Poornima’s chest tightened. The words pierced, deep and raw, yet she didn’t falter. She simply smiled—a small, serene smile, almost defiant—and turned to leave without uttering a single word. Each step away from her father was a silent declaration: she would not be crushed by his hatred, nor defined by his rejection.

As she left, the words lingered in the air behind her, but she didn’t look back. Silence became her armor.

Meanwhile, at Jodhpur Palace, Veeresh sat in his study, his fingers drumming against the mahogany desk. The news had reached him: Poornima had been completely banished by her father. Rage, guilt, and hurt twisted inside him. He looked to his parents for counsel, but the weight of his own pride and mistakes pressed down silently.

Sharada’s eyes softened. “We regret that we let her life be spoiled, Veeresh. She deserves better… always better than what she’s received.”

Abhimanyu nodded. “A child of ours… shouldn’t have suffered like this. But you… you have the power to make it right.”

Veeresh remained silent, the truth cutting deeper than any words could. But behind that stoic mask, plans began to form—careful, deliberate, full of the quiet intensity that defined him. She would have respect. She would have love. And this time, nothing would break her—not family, not society, not even him.

A few days later, Veeresh’s parents arrived at Poornima’s apartment, bringing warmth and a reminder of the family she had found in them.

“Beta,” Sharada said, her hand on Poornima’s shoulder, “stand up. Build yourself. We are always here for you.”

Tears welled in Poornima’s eyes as she hugged them tightly, feeling the support she had always craved. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I… I wish you were my parents.”

Sharada smiled through tears. “We are still, beta. Always.”

Back in Jodhpur Palace, Veeresh stared out at the sprawling city lights. His mind was already racing—plans, strategies, and promises. He would ensure that Poornima was not just accepted, but celebrated. He would give her respect, love, and a life free from humiliation.

And this time, he would not let anything—or anyone—break her again.