At Rathore Industries, the boardroom carried a tense air. Veeresh stood at the head of the long mahogany table, his tailored black suit and piercing eyes radiating authority. A file lay open before him—Shekhawat Industries’ transition documents, now under his name.

Just as Adwait finished presenting the quarterly figures, the heavy doors swung open. Mrs. Shekhawat, Pavan’s stepmother, swept in with an entourage of lawyers. Her eyes, sharp and cold, narrowed at Veeresh.

“You may have documents, Mr. Rathore,” she hissed, her voice dripping venom, “but this company will always be Shekhawat property. Poornima is a mere pawn—you married her only to control what was never yours.”

The directors shifted uncomfortably, but Veeresh remained unmoved, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he rose to his full height, towering in presence.

“Your stepson entrusted this empire to me,” Veeresh said, his voice steady as steel. “And unlike you, I keep promises. If you try to create chaos here or in Poornima’s life, I will ensure you regret stepping into this building.”

The room fell silent. Even Mrs. Shekhawat faltered under the weight of his gaze. Veeresh tapped the table once, signaling the meeting’s end. “This company belongs to me now. That discussion is closed.”

He turned, walking out with Adwait following, his words final.

Meanwhile, at Rathore Mansion, Poornima was slowly adapting to her new world. The grand corridors and sprawling rooms felt unfamiliar, yet Anaya’s presence grounded her.

“Mama, come!” Anaya tugged at her hand, leading her to the garden. The little girl pointed at the swing nestled between two trees. “Papa used to push me here, but now you must.”

Poornima smiled faintly and sat Anaya on the swing, pushing her gently. The sound of Anaya’s laughter filled the garden, chasing away some of the heaviness in Poornima’s chest.

Later, in the library, Poornima found herself drawn to the shelves. Her fingers brushed over old books, her love for reading reigniting. Anaya sat beside her, doodling, while Poornima lost herself for a moment in the comforting world of words.

When the evening sun painted the sky orange, Anaya curled up in her lap and whispered, “Mama, don’t leave me. Promise?”

Poornima kissed her forehead, tears prickling her eyes. “Never, my doll. I’ll always be here.”

At that moment, she realized that while her heart still mourned Pavan, life was weaving her into a new role—one she hadn’t chosen, but one she was already fulfilling.

And far away, as Veeresh looked out from his high-rise office window, the thought of Poornima and Anaya together flickered through his mind. For once, his ruthless world of boardrooms and battles didn’t seem as heavy—because somewhere, his daughter was laughing again.