The Roy estate's marble halls gleamed under flickering lamps, the air heavy with sandalwood and simmering rage. Aradhya, stood in the cavernous women's quarters, her tattered ghagra replaced by a borrowed saree, her bruised arms hidden but trembling, her defiance a faint pulse against her fear. The walls seemed to close in, her claustrophobia tightening her chest, the room's opulence a mocking cage. Siddharth's secret marriage had sparked a firestorm, and now Shweta and Aasha, the Roy sisters-in-law, dragged her to prepare for the wedding night, their faces twisted with scorn under the weight of patriarchal rules forbidding their husbands' names.