The heavy teak doors of the Pratapgarh Haveli groaned open, revealing a dimly lit, massive courtyard. Riya, dressed in a heavy, scarlet silk saree, felt suffocated. The air smelled of incense, old wood, and something raw... something carnal. She had expected a grand welcome, but the silence was unsettling. She was 25, a stunning beauty with a figure that made men sin. Her waist was narrow, but her breasts were heavy, full, and pushed high by the tight choli, creating a deep canyon of cleavage that even the heavy gold jewelry couldn't hide.

​She was led not to her room, but to the Durbar (audience hall). At the far end, sitting on an ornate chair, was her Sasur Ji (Father-in-Law), Pratap Singh. He was 60, a mountain of a man with a fierce, gray mustache and eyes that didn't just look—they violated. Around him stood other elder males, gazing at her with a look that made Riya’s skin crawl. They didn’t see a daughter-in-law; they saw a prime piece of meat.