The Roy haveli loomed around me in the dim light of dawn, its marble floors cold beneath my bare feet. My body ached, the welts and bruises from Siddharth's belt two nights ago pulsing with every breath. I couldn't rest—there was no time for weakness in this house. The chores awaited, relentless as the scorn that followed me. I pulled myself from the cot, wincing as the movement tugged at the tender skin of my back, and began the day I knew would test me.

First, the cleaning. I gripped the broom, its rough handle biting into my palms as I swept the verandah. Each stroke sent a sharp pang through my shoulders, the welts burning where the sari rubbed against them. Dust swirled in the air, stinging my eyes, but I pressed on, my arms trembling. The crystal chandeliers in the drawing room came next—climbing the stool to dust them was agony, my legs shaky, my back screaming as I stretched upward. I nearly dropped the cloth, my fingers clumsy with pain, but I caught it, biting my lip to stifle a whimper. I can't let them see me falter.