The ride home from the dinner was heavy. The car moved silently through the city, its tinted windows shutting out the world, but inside the silence was deafening.

Prisha sat stiffly, her hands clutching her dupatta as though it could protect her from the storm raging beside her. Her eyes were fixed on the passing lights, but her mind kept replaying that single moment—when a guest had complimented her beauty. Just a simple, harmless remark. Yet Riaan’s grip on her wrist under the table had been iron, bruising her skin, and his burning glare had spoken volumes.