The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains of their small apartment, casting a soft golden glow on the disheveled bed. Disha stirred slowly, every muscle in her body protesting with sharp aches. The previous night’s “double punishment” for her request during the family visit had been merciless. Fresh bruises decorated her thighs and sides like dark badges of ownership, and her lower regions throbbed from the repeated invasions. She lay naked under the thin sheet, the mangalsutra still around her neck, sindoor slightly smudged from sweat and tears. Aryan’s arm was draped possessively over her waist, his breathing steady in sleep.

She turned her head carefully to look at him—the man who had become her entire world, her tormentor and her only source of twisted comfort. Tears welled up as memories of the family visit flooded back. She had smiled so convincingly, lied so smoothly. “Main bahut khush hoon,” she had told them again and again. (I am very happy.) The weight of those words pressed on her chest like stones.