Morning crept slowly into Veeresh’s penthouse. The rain had stopped, leaving behind a pale, cloudy silence that hung heavy over the city.

Poornima stirred in the guest room, her head pounding from last night’s drink. The soft hum of the city outside and the faint smell of coffee drifted through the open doorway.

For a moment, she didn’t remember where she was. Then it hit her — the argument, the beer, Veeresh’s unreadable eyes.

She sat up abruptly, clutching the blanket around her.

What have I done?

She stood, straightening her clothes, her mind racing. She had to leave before he—

“Good morning.”

His voice stopped her cold.

Veeresh stood near the window, sleeves rolled up, a cup of coffee in his hand. His expression was unreadable — calm, detached, like the night before had meant nothing to him.

Poornima swallowed hard. “I—I didn’t mean to stay. I’ll leave now.”

He took a slow sip of his coffee. “No rush,” he said flatly. “The reporters won’t be here until evening. You’ll need rest before facing them.”

She froze. “Reporters?”

He turned slightly, meeting her eyes for the first time that morning. “Of course. The engagement announcement. Did you think our families would wait for your approval?”

Her heart stuttered. “You… you told the media already?”

His tone was dry, almost amused. “I don’t tell people. I inform them. There’s a difference.”

Her hands clenched. “Veeresh, this isn’t a business contract! You can’t just decide my life like one of your deals!”

He tilted his head, a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “You decided mine a long time ago, Poornima. When you mocked me. When you laughed while your friends tore me down. You took away my pride. My peace. My dignity.”

Her eyes filled with guilt. “I was young. I didn’t know better—”

“No,” he cut in sharply, voice cold. “You knew exactly what you were doing. You just didn’t care.”

His calmness was more frightening than any anger.

Poornima’s voice broke. “So this is what you want? Revenge? To make me miserable?”

Veeresh stepped closer, his gaze steady and icy. “I don’t need to make you miserable. You’ve already done that to yourself.”

She looked away, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Why marry me then?”

He shrugged slightly. “Because watching you try to survive in a world where I hold every thread… sounds interesting.”

Her chest tightened painfully. “You’ve changed,” she whispered.

Veeresh gave a small, humorless laugh. “No, Poornima. I’m exactly what you made me.”

She stared at him — the boy she once mocked was gone. What stood before her was a man carved from every wound she’d left behind.

After a moment, she whispered, “I’ll never love you.”

He smiled faintly. “I don’t remember asking for that.”

The words cut deeper than she expected.

He turned away, setting his coffee cup down. “The driver will take you home. Try not to run. Our marriage will happen in forty-eight hours. You’ll stand beside me, smile for the cameras, and pretend to be happy. After all…”

He glanced at her, eyes dark and unreadable.

“…you’ve always been good at pretending.”

Poornima’s heart sank. She wanted to scream, to fight — but all she could do was stand there, trembling, as Veeresh walked past her without another glance.

When the door closed behind him, she sank onto the couch, covering her face with her hands.

He had won this round. Completely.

But somewhere deep inside, under the shame and the tears, a spark flickered — the same fire that made Poornima Rathore who she was.

And she swore silently — this wouldn’t be the end of her story.

Not yet.