Ishani woke with a jolt that ripped through her body like lightning, her heart slamming against her ribs in frantic rhythm, sweat drenching her skin in a slick, glistening sheen that made the thin nightgown cling transparently to her curves. At 23, four months pregnant, her body had become a temple of heightened sensuality—the subtle swell of her belly a warm, rounded curve under her palm as she grabbed it instinctively, fingers splaying protectively over the life within, feeling the faint flutter that sent a shiver racing down her spine to her core, her pussy clenching wet and aching even in the grip of fear. The dream had managed to shatter her completely: visions of Virat in handcuffs, blood blooming on his shoulder, his obsidian eyes pleading as police dragged him away, her alone with their child, the penthouse empty and echoing, her screams swallowed by darkness. Tears spilled hot down her cheeks, soaking the pillow as her breasts heaved with ragged sobs, nipples hardened peaks straining the damp fabric, the cotton rasping them in constant, erotic friction that mingled terror with unwelcome arousal, her thighs pressing together to ease the throb between them, slickness gathering in her panties from the pregnancy's relentless fire.