The room was quiet after Veeresh’s words, but inside Poornima’s heart, storms raged. She sat frozen, the ice pack slipping from her hand onto the floor.

His words echoed in her ears.

“To the world, you and I are husband and wife. But between us… there is nothing.”

She clutched her dupatta tightly, tears rolling down her cheeks. She had never asked for this marriage—fate had forced it on her. She wanted Pavan’s love, Pavan’s presence, Pavan’s laughter echoing in the house. But now she was bound to a man who had no place for her in his heart.

Her hand instinctively went to her belly, caressing the small swell. For you, my child… I will endure anything.

Just then, Anaya peeked into the room. “Mama?” Her small voice was soft, worried. “Did Dada scold you?”

Poornima wiped her tears quickly and forced a smile. “No, doll. Dada is just… serious. That’s how he is.”

Anaya climbed into her lap, hugging her tight. “Don’t cry, Mama. I love you. And baby loves you too.”

Poornima’s arms closed around the child, her heart breaking and mending at the same time. At least I am not alone, she thought.

Across the hall, in his study, Veeresh stood by the window, staring out at the night sky. His fists were clenched, jaw tight.

Why had he felt that uncontrollable rage when he heard Anaya say Poornima was slapped? Why did he rush out of his empire, his meeting, his carefully built world, just to be here?

He poured himself a glass of whiskey but left it untouched on the table. His reflection in the glass window stared back—cold, powerful, untouchable. Yet beneath it, cracks were forming.

“She’s Pavan’s,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. “She will never be mine. And I don’t want her to be.”

But the memory of Poornima’s tears, the way she flinched at the slap, and the quiet strength in her when she held Anaya—those images refused to leave him. He hated it. He hated how much it mattered.

With a heavy breath, he sat down, closing his eyes. “I can’t betray you, Pavan,” he whispered, guilt gnawing at him. “But I don’t know how long I can keep these walls intact.”

That night, in different rooms of the same mansion, both Poornima and Veeresh battled their own wars—hers of grief and forced duty, his of loyalty and emotions he could never admit.

And in the silence between them, destiny waited, patient and unyielding.