The floorboards of the sprawling, dimly lit mansion felt like ice against Meera’s bare skin. She pressed her back harder against the damp brick wall inside the disused ventilation closet, her knees pulled tightly to her chest. Her hands trembled violently as they rested on the soft, pronounced curve of her belly. She was seven months pregnant, naked, and shivering—not just from the draft, but from the raw, suffocating terror that filled every corner of the house.

Outside, the heavy, rhythmic thud of leather-soled shoes echoed down the marble hallway.

"Meera... jaan... where have you gone?"

Aarav’s voice carried through the darkness, smooth and dripping with a sickening, honeyed sweetness. It was a contrast to the madness that she knew choked his mind.

"You shouldn’t be hiding in the cold, meri jaan. Think about our baby. Sardi lag jayegi tumhein (You’ll catch a cold). Come back to bed," he cooed, his voice closer now. The sound of a door being slowly kicked open echoed nearby, followed by the deliberate sliding of hangers in a wardrobe.

Meera bit her lower lip so hard she tasted copper, forcing herself to breathe through her nose to stifle her sobs. Aarav had stripped her hours ago. He had meticulously locked away every stitch of her clothing, every shoe, even the bedsheets, knowing her deep-seated modesty would keep her captive. He knew his timid, traditional wife would never dare run out into the bustling streets of Delhi stark naked. He had weaponized her own vulnerability against her, turning her body into her prison.

"I know you're tired, bacha," Aarav murmured, his footsteps stopping just outside the closet door. The shadow of his tall, imposing frame blocked the faint sliver of light filtering through the bottom crack. "I know I can be... overwhelming. But I only want a few minutes more. Bas thodi der aur, fir main tumhein sone doonga (Just a little longer, then I’ll let you sleep)."

A tear tracked down Meera's cheek. The "love" he spoke of was an all-consuming, terrifying force. Earlier that evening, his touch had been relentless—a dark, feverish worship of her pregnant form. He was obsessed with the changes in her body, pressing heavy, possessive kisses against her swollen breasts and the taut skin of her abdomen, whispering maddening promises of how they would never need anyone else. When she had cried out from sheer exhaustion, begging for a reprieve, his eyes had flashed with that familiar, psychotic gleam. He didn't want to stop. He couldn't.

"You look so beautiful when you’re scared of me," Aarav whispered, his hand suddenly resting on the outside of the closet door. She could hear the soft friction of his palm against the wood. "But you don't need to run. Main toh bas tumse pyaar kar raha hoon (I am only loving you). Everything I do is for you. For us."

He tapped a slow, agonizing rhythm on the door. Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Come out, Meera. If you come out now, I promise I’ll be gentle. We’ll just finish what we started. Just a few more minutes of pleasure, meri jaan, and then we can continue the rest the other day when you have regained your energy. I’ll let you rest all of tomorrow. I’ll feed you with my own hands. Tumhe hilne ki bhi zaroorat nahi hogi (You won't even need to move)."

The sheer carnality in his voice made her stomach knot. He spoke of her body as if it were a temple he owned, an instrument he had the absolute right to play until it broke. The darkness of the closet felt like it was closing in, suffocating her. Her baby kicked weakly inside her, as if reacting to the terror radiating from her heart.

The doorknob began to rattle. Slow. Deliberate.

"Meera..." Aarav’s voice dropped to a low, husky growl, the playful cooing completely vanishing, replaced by a dark, commanding certainty. "Mujhe pata hai tum yahan ho (I know you are in here). Don't make me angry. You know what happens when you try to pull away from me."

Meera closed her eyes, squeezing them shut as the door slowly creaked open. The dim light of the hallway flooded the small space, illuminating her pale, trembling, unclothed body.

Aarav stood in the doorway, his dark eyes wide, directly into her soul with a mixture of intense lust and terrifying devotion. A slow, predatory smile spread across his handsome face as he looked down at his terrified, pregnant wife.

"There you are," he whispered, stepping into the cramped space and reaching down to wrap his warm, heavy hands around her bare waist, pulling her effortlessly against his chest. "Chalo, bed pe wapas chalte hain (Come, let's go back to bed)."