The air in the library was thick with the scent of old parchment and the metallic tang of fear, but as the heavy oak doors slammed shut, that fear curdled into a dark, violent lust. Rahul didn't lead her to the sofa; he dragged Meera by the wrist toward the massive teak library table—the sacred desk where the family’s "honor" was documented in leather-bound ledgers.

He swept the inkpots and heavy books to the floor with one violent motion, the crash echoing like a gunshot. He hoisted her up, her silk saree tearing as he forced her onto the cold wood.