The penthouse was quiet, the city outside slowly waking to the morning sun. Poornima tried to busy herself — arranging flowers, tidying the kitchen, pretending she wasn’t trembling inside.

But then the front door opened, and the sound of Veeresh’s footsteps echoed through the hall. Her heart skipped.

He entered without a word, his posture straight, shoulders squared, eyes sharp and unreadable. He didn’t smile. He didn’t glance around. He just was — a man entirely in control of the space he walked into.

Poornima instinctively straightened, feeling like a student caught in the principal’s office.

Veeresh’s gaze swept over her once, slowly, like he was assessing her — weighing her courage, her fear, her guilt. Then he spoke, his voice calm but sharp, cutting through the quiet.

“You’re here.”

Poornima nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

He walked past her, heading toward the living room, pouring himself a drink. Every step was deliberate, every movement controlled.

“You cooked breakfast?” he asked without looking at her, holding the glass of whiskey in one hand.

“Yes,” she said, nervously. “I… thought you might be hungry.”

He took a slow sip, then set the glass down on the table. His eyes finally met hers — cold, dark, unyielding.

“Don’t do it again,” he said, voice quiet but dangerous. “Any action against me, any… mistake, and there will be consequences. Do you understand?”

Poornima swallowed hard. “Y-yes.”

Veeresh didn’t soften. He didn’t offer comfort. He didn’t give her any sign that he cared for her fear. He simply nodded once and moved to the window, staring out at the city.

“I’ll expect obedience, Poornima,” he continued. “Not affection. Not love. Just… obedience. Learn that well. This is your life now.”

Her chest tightened, tears threatening again. “I understand,” she whispered.

He didn’t respond further. He sipped his drink, then turned slightly to glance at her. “You’ll stay in the guest room today. Until I decide otherwise. Don’t try anything. Don’t leave. Don’t speak unless spoken to.”

Poornima’s throat constricted. “Yes… sir.”

Veeresh’s expression remained unreadable. Not angry, not amused, not kind. Just cold.

He turned back to the window. “I am not here to punish you publicly,” he said after a pause. “I am here to remind you — silently, every day — that you belong to me now. Every action, every thought, every breath must consider me. If you fail, there will be consequences.”

Poornima nodded silently, feeling the weight of his words crush her spirit.

He finally picked up his drink again and walked toward the sofa, sitting down with absolute control, as if the entire apartment, the entire world, belonged to him.

Poornima stayed frozen, realizing fully for the first time: Veeresh Rajawat was not a man to be reasoned with, bargained with, or softened.

He was cold. Detached. Merciless. And he intended to ensure that every mistake from her past — every insult, every humiliation she had ever caused him — would be repaid silently, methodically, and without mercy.

As she retreated to the guest room, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks, Poornima understood one truth starkly:

She was married to a man who would never change.

And surviving Veeresh Rajawat would be harder than anything she had ever endured.

The penthouse, once a place of comfort, had become a battlefield.

And she had just entered the first day of living in his world.