Priya aunt chest rose and fell in shallow, silent gasps. Her wide, dark eyes were fixed on the glistening proof of Harshad’s possession streaked across her niece’s face and chest. The air in the room was thick, heavy with musk and salt and the electric buzz of a broken taboo.
Harshad’s gaze, dark and uncompromising, held Priya’s. His voice was a low command that brooked no argument. “Shivangi. Clean her fingers.”
















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