The Sharma household awoke to a dawn of discord, the air thick with the stench of unwashed dishes and the sharp cries of Aryan piercing the silence. The courtyard, once scoured by Aradhya's bleeding hands, was littered with dust and wilted marigolds, a testament to her absence. The grand house, its wealth evident in its sprawling rooms and brass fittings, groaned under neglect, Aradhya's labor—cooking, cleaning, washing—gone with her expulsion. The family gathered in the dining hall, their voices a storm of rage and blame, the void of Aradhya's work exposing their dependence.

Radhika stood, Aryan wailing in her arms, her silk saree crumpled, her eyes blazing. "This house is a pigsty!" she shrieked, kicking a pile of dirty linens. "Aradhya's filth left us in chaos—she was a lazy slut, but now we're drowning without her!" Her triumph over Aradhya's banishment was soured by the mess, her fear of Vijay's wrath simmering.