The Roy haveli stood resplendent under the late afternoon sun, its marble pillars and latticed windows a testament to the family’s wealth. Inside, the household buzzed with preparations for Mr. Banerjee, a jute merchant whose visits were as rare as they were significant. Aradhya moved through the corridors, her dupatta trailing behind her, her hands trembling as she adjusted the tray of tea. Siddharth’s words from the night before echoed in her mind: “You’re mine, Aradhya. Nothing more, nothing less.” She was an ornament in his world, a possession polished and displayed, yet never cherished.

Mr. Banerjee arrived as the sun dipped lower, his broad shoulders filling the courtyard with an easy confidence. Kamini, Siddharth’s aunt, greeted him with her usual formality, while Siddharth stood beside her, his lawyer’s poise masking a simmering tension. Aradhya approached with the tea, her eyes fixed on the floor. The merchant’s gaze lifted to her, warm and appraising.