The drive back to the penthouse was quiet — the kind of silence that wasn’t peaceful but heavy, suffocating.

London’s night lights flickered outside the car window, reflected faintly in Poornima’s eyes as she replayed the match, his smile, the bracelet… everything that made her believe there might be hope.

But that hope shattered the moment they entered the penthouse.

Veeresh walked in first, removing his jacket and tossing it over the couch with practiced carelessness. He poured himself a glass of water, drank slowly, and finally turned to face her.

“The gift…” he began, his tone flat, emotionless. “It wasn’t required.”

Poornima looked at him, startled by his coldness. “I just wanted to—”

He cut her off, voice sharp but steady. “For the world, Poornima, we are husband and wife. But don’t mistake it for anything more.”

Her breath hitched. “Veeresh…”

He took a step closer, eyes dark and unreadable. “You think a bracelet or a few kind words will erase the past? You think it will change what you did?” His jaw clenched. “I still hate you—for every humiliation, every cruel word, every time you made me feel like I didn’t belong.”

The words landed like stones in her chest.

She didn’t reply—she couldn’t.

He continued, voice low but laced with old pain. “You bullied me just to get my brother’s attention. You turned me into your target… and now you stand here, pretending to care?”

Her eyes glistened. “I’m not pretending, Veeresh. I’m trying—”

“Don’t.” He raised a hand, shutting her down instantly. “I don’t need your guilt. Keep your sympathy to yourself.”

He turned away, walking toward his room, his footsteps echoing in the quiet penthouse. Just before disappearing behind the door, he said without looking back,

“Stay in the guest room. Don’t disturb me.”

The door closed.

Poornima stood frozen in the middle of the living room, her heart aching in her chest. Slowly, she wiped her tears, forcing herself to stay strong.

She walked to the guest room quietly, clutching her phone, the image of his wounded eyes lingering in her mind.

As she lay down, staring at the ceiling, she whispered softly to herself,

“I deserve this pain… but I’ll bear it. Even if he hates me now, I’ll make him see one day that I’ve changed.”

Outside, the London rain began to fall—soft, steady, and endless—just like the silent promises she made to herself that night.