The morning after the dune fuck felt like waking up inside a fresh wound. Her body was a map of Vikram’s violence: purple bite marks ringing her throat like a collar, ass still stinging from slaps that echoed in her memory, pussy raw and swollen, leaking the last of his cum mixed with her own juices. Every step in the haveli sent sharp reminders between her legs—pleasure twisted into pain, pain twisted back into craving. Arjun’s face kept flashing in her mind: that weak, hateful stare from the dune ridge. He had seen it all—her legs spread wide, Vikram’s cock buried to the hilt, her screams swallowed by the desert wind.

At breakfast Arjun didn’t speak. He just stared. His small eyes crawled over her like insects, lingering on the high collar hiding the bruises. When their mother left the room, he leaned close, voice a venomous hiss.