The sound of the doorbell echoed through the Chowdary villa, breaking the calm of the afternoon.

Poornima’s mother wiped her hands on her saree and opened the door — only to freeze.

Standing there, dressed in his usual charm, was Simon Roy.

He looked the same — the same warm smile, the same grey-blue eyes that had once made Poornima’s heart race. But beneath that calm exterior, there was something else now… something she could finally see clearly — deception.

“Simon?” her mother gasped. “Oh my, you’re back!”

Poornima, who had been in her room studying, heard his name and felt her entire body go still. Her pen slipped from her hand, landing soundlessly on the floor.

He came back? After everything?

She stepped out slowly, her face pale but composed. Simon turned toward her instantly, eyes soft, voice trembling like a man rehearsed in regret.

“Poornima…” he said softly, taking a step forward. “I made a mistake. I was stupid, blind… I don’t deserve forgiveness, but I’m begging you for it.”

Her parents looked at each other — confused, hopeful.

“I can’t live without you,” Simon continued, kneeling suddenly. “I love you, Poornima. Marry me.”

A glittering ring caught the light between his fingers. Her mother gasped, her father’s eyes softened — their daughter’s heartbreak seemed like it might finally have a cure.

But Poornima stood frozen. Her heart didn’t flutter anymore. It didn’t ache. It just felt cold.

She looked at the man in front of her — the one who once made her believe in forever — and all she saw now was a snake dressed in love.

“Simon…” her voice was quiet, controlled. “You cheated. You lied. And now you want to fix it with a ring?”

“Poornima, please! I swear I’ve changed—”

“No,” she cut him off, shaking her head. “You can’t change. You don’t know how to.”

Her parents tried to speak, to convince her — “He’s apologizing, beta. Maybe give him another chance…” — but she stepped back, eyes glistening.

“You don’t understand,” she whispered. “Some wounds don’t heal with sorry. Some people don’t deserve another chance.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked into her room, closing the door quietly behind her.

And then, finally, she broke.

Her knees gave way as she fell near the window, hands trembling, tears flowing freely. She clutched her locket and whispered, voice cracking,

“Mahadev… please give me strength. Don’t let me fall for his trap again. Not again…”

The wind outside howled softly, as if carrying her prayer somewhere beyond the sky.

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away —

in a private jet slicing through the night sky — Veeresh Deewan poured himself a drink, unaware of the storm waiting for him back in Mumbai.

He was headed to Africa, a high-stakes syndicate meeting that only men like him were invited to — where power was traded like currency and loyalty was worth less than blood.

As he stared out the window, the city lights of Mumbai fading behind him, his thoughts were sharp, focused — deals, weapons, territory.

Poornima’s name didn’t cross his mind once.

But fate had its own rhythm.

And while Veeresh flew farther from her, the strings that bound them only pulled tighter — quietly, invisibly, dangerously.

Because the girl who had once begged the heavens for mercy had already caught the devil’s attention.

And soon, the devil would return