Ishani's birthday surprise unfolded in the villa's grand hall, transformed into a sacred haven of maternal celebration—a godbharai ceremony, her baby shower, the air thick with the heady scent of marigolds and jasmine garlands strung in golden arcs, diyas flickering like embers of desire on every surface, their flames dancing shadows over the silk-draped swing at the center, petals scattered in crimson trails like spilled passion across the marble floor. At 24, seven months pregnant, Ishani stood shocked at the threshold—eyes wide and tear-glistened, hand instinctively splaying her pronounced belly swell through the lilac one-piece, the soft fabric clinging to her curves in sensual embrace, deep V-neck plunging to expose the creamy inner swells of her fuller breasts, mangalsutra's black beads nestled gleaming in the shadowed valley like a lover's forbidden bite, nipples pebbled and faintly outlined through the thin material from the cool breeze and emotional surge, the thigh-high slit teasing the golden expanse of her leg with each trembling step, ass flexing plush under the dress's hem, chooda clinking maroon on her wrists, amethyst kada and casino watch shining like marks of his possessive gifts, heavy earrings swaying against her neck in sensual tickle.