Chaaya's POV
My whole-body aches. Every breath scrape against my ribs.
This is insane.
What have I done to deserve this injustice?
I couldn't stand up for myself—couldn't even raise my voice—just a puppet in her hands, tugged and torn at will.
A few hours earlier...
Sara's POV
This is my chance.
Aftaab's gaze lingered on her for a fraction longer than it should have. That flicker was all I needed.
I stepped forward, smoothing an invisible crease from my sleeve, letting my voice slip around him like silk.
"You don't need to waste your energy on these petty lives," I said gently. "If you don't mind, I will deal with it. Shouldn't it be my right as your future wife?"
He took a deep breath, his jaw tight.
"To you—deal with it as you see fit."
Perfect.
Then his eyes turned to that vile girl, sharp as a drawn blade.
"And to you—there will be no next time. Remember."
He stormed off toward his study, the echo of his footsteps fading down the corridor.
The girl opened her mouth—maybe to plead.
A single glance from me toward the guards silenced her.
I didn't need to raise my voice.
Power was always quiet.
Now I would set an example.
One that would linger.
"Guards," I said softly, almost pleasantly, "take her to the cell."
Chaaya's POV
I fought. Kicked. My nails scraped skin, my breath tore out of my lungs.
But they didn't stop.
Their hands gripped me like iron, lifting me off my feet when I resisted, my heels scraping uselessly along the floor. The hallway blurred past—tapestries, walls, the occasional servant looking away quickly, pretending not to see.
Sara's POV
The basement smelled of damp stone and rust.
Perfect for the occasion.
I tied her to a pole in the middle of the room. The rope dug into her wrists, pulling her arms high enough to make her shoulders burn.
I stood in front of her for a moment, silent. Watching.
She kept her chin up, eyes still defiant. Good. That meant I could break her in stages.
The first strike of the whip cracked through the silence. Her face flinched before the pain reached her skin. I smiled.
The second hit made her gasp, but she still bit her lip. I paced slowly around her, circling like a predator deciding where to bite.
I waited. Listened.
The moment her breathing grew uneven, the moment her weight sagged just enough on the ropes—that was when I struck again, sharp and fast.
Her voice finally broke into a cry.
And I didn't stop. I kept going until her sobs turned hoarse, until tears clung to her lashes, until the stubborn light in her eyes flickered.
She lifted her head weakly, hair plastered to her damp cheeks.
"Why... why are you doing this to me?"
I bent closer, letting my words brush against her ear.
"Do you think a low life like you is worthy of standing near Aftaab?" My tone was almost conversational, as if we were discussing the weather. "This is just a sample for your little act today. If I ever see you near him again, it will be your last breath. Remember that."
I stepped back, studying her face one last time—the perfect mix of pain and humiliation—and felt a quiet satisfaction settle in my chest.
Then I left, closing the door behind me.
Her breathing—ragged, small—was the last thing I heard before the basement swallowed her whole.