The next day dawned with a fragile sense of hope for Ishani, a hope she guarded fiercely after Saroj’s unexpected permission. She woke early, as always, her body still carrying the echoes of Virat’s harsh words and threatening touch from the previous night. The memory of his finger poking her nipple deeply, his whispered promise to fuck her “worse than a wife” if she defied him, sent conflicting shivers through her—fear laced with an illicit heat that pooled between her thighs despite everything. She freshened up quietly, avoiding his side of the room where he slept tensely on the bed, and dressed in a simple yet elegant light blue cotton saree that hugged her curves modestly but couldn’t hide her natural sensuality—the fabric draping over her full breasts, the pallu tucked neatly, mangalsutra and sindoor in place as per the family’s insistence for the children’s sake.