The penthouse was silent, except for the faint hum of the city below. Poornima stood near the kitchen, her hands trembling. Tears streaked her face, and her heart raced uncontrollably.

In a moment of panic, fueled by frustration and fear, she grabbed a knife. She didn’t mean to hurt anyone… at least, that was what she kept telling herself.

Veeresh appeared suddenly, his sharp eyes narrowing as he noticed the knife.

“Poornima…” His voice was calm but carried a dangerous edge.

Before she could react, in a blind panic, she swung the knife — and it pierced Veeresh’s hand.

The pain made him flinch, but more than that, his expression darkened. Silence fell for a second, broken only by the sound of the metal hitting the floor.

“Stay still,” he said quietly, but every word was sharp and commanding. “You’re going to regret this.”

Veeresh was rushed to the hospital. The doctors wrapped his hand in a firm bandage. Throughout the procedure, he barely flinched — but his eyes never left hers.

By the time he returned to the penthouse later that evening, the apartment was quiet. She had tried to hide, but he found her anyway.

She was sitting on the couch, fresh tears in her eyes. “I… I’m sorry, Veeresh. I didn’t mean—”

He didn’t respond. He walked past her, moving directly to his study. Poornima hesitated, then followed him.

He was sitting in his chair, posture rigid, expression unreadable — cold, distant, untouchable.

“Get out,” he said, his voice low, commanding, final.

Poornima froze. “What?”

He didn’t move. “I said — get out.”

Her chest tightened. “Veeresh… I didn’t—”

He finally looked at her, eyes dark and piercing. In one swift motion, he stood, grabbed her arm, and pulled her toward the guest rooms, where she had been staying before the engagement.

“You need to stay there,” he said, his voice calm but deadly. “Until you understand what happens when you cross me.”

Poornima stumbled into the room, her legs shaking. She turned to him, her voice barely above a whisper. “Veeresh… please…”

He didn’t answer. He walked toward the minibar in the corner of the room, poured a drink, and sat down by the window, staring at the city lights below.

Poornima watched him, heart heavy. He wasn’t angry in the usual way. He wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t storming.

He was cold. Detached. A man who had no intention of letting her forget, a man in total control.

Tears blurred her vision as she sank onto the edge of the guest bed. She wanted to apologize, to beg, to explain — but nothing would reach him.

Veeresh sipped his drink slowly, each gulp deliberate, measured. His silence was louder than any word he could speak, echoing through the penthouse like a warning: this was only the beginning, and Poornima was entirely under his control now.

Outside, the city continued its noisy hum, unaware of the quiet storm raging inside the walls of the penthouse.

And inside, two hearts — one shattered, one stone-cold — had begun a new, twisted rhythm of power, punishment, and inevitable reckoning.