At Rathore Industries, the boardroom was alive with the usual tension—papers being shuffled, reports being laid out, phones buzzing. Yet Veeresh Rathore sat at the head of the table like a king on his throne, unmoved, eyes sharp as ever.

His assistant Adwait entered quietly, carrying a sealed file. He placed it before Veeresh and leaned closer. “Sir, news from the Shekhawat circle. Pavan’s stepmother is plotting her legal move. She’s trying to drag the transfer papers into court.”

A faint smirk touched Veeresh’s lips. He leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen against the file. “Let her. I’ll handle it.”

Adwait hesitated, then spoke carefully, “Sir… if I may… you’ve changed. It’s not just about business anymore. The way you protect Mrs. Rathore and the baby, the way you let little Anaya cling to her—”

Veeresh’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “What are you saying, Adwait?”

Adwait smiled knowingly, retreating toward the door. “Nothing, sir. Just… it’s good. Change looks good on you.”

Veeresh’s jaw tightened, his hand gripping the pen so hard it almost snapped. “Adwait!” he barked, but the man had already slipped out of the room, laughter under his breath.

Left alone, Veeresh let out a sharp exhale, irritation prickling under his skin. But as he stared at the stack of files in front of him, his mind wandered—not to the contracts, not to the case Mrs. Shekhawat was preparing—but to the quiet image of Poornima feeding Anaya in the restaurant, her smile gentle, her eyes full of patience.

His grip on the pen loosened. A sigh escaped him before he caught himself and straightened his posture again, burying the thought beneath his steel-like exterior.

“Focus, Rathore,” he muttered under his breath. “Emotions don’t win wars.”

But somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew Adwait was right. He had changed—and it unsettled him more than any court case ever could.