The flickering oil lamp cast a harsh, amber glow over the small room, illuminating the stark contrast between Shivom’s rugged, sun-darkened skin and Payal’s pale, porcelain softness. The 1930s monsoon continued to batter the roof, but the real storm was unfolding on the low wooden bed.

Shivom sat back on his heels, his heavy breathing the only sound in the room as he forced Payal’s legs wide. For the first time, he didn't look away. He wanted to see every inch of what he owned.