Anisha adjusted the pallu of her cream-colored saree for the tenth time, her fingers trembling slightly as she stood in the grand living room of the sprawling Delhi mansion. At 23, she still looked like a fresh-faced college girl—soft, doe-like brown eyes, full lips that curved into a shy smile, and a slender yet curvaceous figure that the traditional attire only accentuated. Her marriage to Mr. Rajesh Sharma, a wealthy 58-year-old industrialist, had happened just three months ago. It was a whirlwind arranged union; her middle-class family had been overjoyed at the financial security it promised. Rajesh was kind enough, if distant, always buried in his business empire.

But then there was Kiaan. Rajesh’s only son from his first marriage. Twenty-four years old, tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp jawline and piercing dark eyes that seemed to strip her bare every time they landed on her. He was just a year older than her, making the “stepmother” label feel absurd and humiliating. Kiaan lived in the same house, working as a consultant in his father’s company, and his presence filled every corner with an unspoken tension.