Weeks had passed since the wedding night that changed everything. By day, Meera played the perfect Rathore bahu—smiling demurely at family gatherings, serving tea to elders, wearing elegant sarees that hid the faint bruises blooming beneath silk blouses. Arjun treated her with polite affection in public: a hand on her lower back, soft compliments, gentle kisses on the forehead before guests. But at night, the haveli’s upper floors became a silent battlefield.

Arjun would come to their marital bed sometimes—tender, almost apologetic—making love slowly, whispering apologies for the “confusion” of that first night. Meera would respond, moaning softly, letting him fill her with careful strokes. Yet her body remembered Karan’s brutality, the way he stretched her until she screamed, the way he marked her like property. She faked deeper pleasure for Arjun, but her pussy clenched hardest when she thought of his brother.