The heavy wooden door of the inner chamber slammed shut with a final, echoing thud, sealing Aryan and Lakshmi away from the rest of the silent haveli. The room was dim, lit only by a single flickering oil lamp that cast long, dancing shadows across the massive four-poster bed draped in blood-red silk sheets the same bed where generations of Rathore men had claimed their cursed women. Aryan’s strong arms never loosened as he carried her deeper inside, her legs still locked around his waist, her soaked core grinding helplessly against the massive bulge straining his dhoti.

He threw her onto the mattress like a ragdoll. Lakshmi bounced once, her green saree already in total disarray, pallu completely fallen, blouse buttons straining against her heaving breasts. Aryan stood at the edge of the bed, towering over her, his eyes burning with raw, animal hunger.