The old two-bedroom flat in Pune felt emptier than ever since Mummy’s passing six months ago. Forty-five-year-old Rajesh Sharma, a strict government officer, had become even more protective of his only daughter, Priya. At nineteen, Priya was the picture of innocence—slim yet curvaceous, with long wavy hair that reached her waist, big expressive eyes, and a habit of wearing modest cotton nighties at home. She was painfully shy, scared of stepping out alone, and completely dependent on her Papa.

Rajesh had always been strict, but now his love had taken a darker, hungrier turn. He wanted Priya all to himself.