Poornima moved through the hotel like someone rebuilt of steel and silk—checking menus, approving layouts, calming a guest’s complaint with a quiet smile. Work was her armor; each correct invoice, each satisfied client stitched another seam back into the life she was trying to remake.

Meanwhile, in the glass-and-marble nerve center of Raj Industries, Veeresh sat behind his desk, the city spread like a map beyond him. His fingers tapped a slow, restless rhythm. The room was efficient, cold—much like him—yet tonight there was a different furnace behind his eyes.

Rayan, his PA and the one man who heard what Veeresh wouldn’t say, stood across from him. “Any improvement with ma’am?” Rayan asked, careful, precise—because he knew which words could soothe and which could ignite.

Veeresh said nothing at first. The memory of Poornima’s tears, the slap, the mangalsutra thrown aside—each one played behind his eyelids until he had to force the answer out. “She’s closed up,” he admitted finally, voice low. “Hurt beyond what I wanted.”

Rayan’s jaw tightened. “Baby steps, sir. Earn her back. Quietly. Respect. Don’t push. Show up—keep your promises. That’s how you rebuild.”

Veeresh’s stare sharpened. “I broke her.” The words were nearly a confession. “And I’ll fix it.”

Rayan hardened, tone sudden and fierce. “And don’t you ever hurt her again. Not a word, not a public jab. If you do—” He paused, the threat hanging like a blade. “I’ll burn you alive, Veeresh. I mean it.”

Veeresh let out the briefest, almost bitter chuckle. “Good. Remind me I deserve it sometimes.” Then, softer, almost inaudible: “I won’t fail her again.”

Rayan nodded once, satisfied. “Then start small. Let her work. Show her respect at the meeting today. No claims. Let her win where she must. And later—quietly—prove you mean it.”

Veeresh rose, a decision settling into the lines of his face. The city lights flickered. He picked up his phone, but before he could dial, he closed his eyes and exhaled. For once, power felt less like control and more like responsibility.

Back at the hotel, Poornima was unaware of plans being made for her—only that when she moved through the day, every small victory tasted sweeter than the last. The slow, careful path toward trust had begun.