Prisha had known Dhruv for only three weeks before she knelt in his private dungeon and signed away her freedom for thirty days. She wasn't naive; she had read the limits list he demanded she initial: no permanent damage, no medical emergencies, but everything else — **everything** — was green-lit if it served his cruelty. The safeword was "mercy," but she had promised herself she wouldn't use it. Not yet. Dhruv's eyes had lit up when she said that. "Good," he whispered. "I want to see how long you last before you beg for real."

The first night he didn't fuck her. He didn't even touch her sexually.