The next morning, Karan walked into Preeta’s cabin at the school, his heart pounding in his chest. It had become a routine for him—serving her, enduring her words that cut deeper than any physical pain, all while struggling with the weight of the betrayal that hovered just out of reach. His father trusted him, and the school meant everything to their family. Yet every day, Preeta’s grip on his mind tightened, her manipulations more ruthless, and her demands more impossible to refuse.
As he entered, Preeta sat behind her desk, her eyes gleaming with that familiar mix of amusement and cruelty. She didn’t even look up as Karan approached. Instead, she languidly extended her foot, encased in a sleek black heel, and tapped it against the ground.
“On your knees, Karan,” she ordered, her voice cold and commanding.
Without a word, Karan sank to the floor in front of her, his body already moving on instinct. He gently took her foot in his hands, the smooth leather of her heel warm against his fingers.
Preeta finally looked at him, her eyes narrowing. "You still haven’t brought me those papers, have you?" she asked, her tone laced with mockery. "How long are you planning to keep me waiting?"
Karan’s throat tightened. He opened his mouth to respond, but Preeta cut him off before he could speak.
"You think cleaning my feet is enough, Karan?" she sneered. "You think this will make me forget what I asked for? You’re nothing until you get me those signed documents."
Karan's head hung low as he gently began to massage her foot. Every action was slow, deliberate, a silent attempt to appease her. But Preeta was relentless.
“You come here every day, thinking you can serve me and it will somehow save you,” she continued, her voice a dangerous whisper. “But nothing you do matters until you get those papers signed. Do you understand that? Nothing.”
Karan’s hands trembled as he looked up at her, his face a mixture of guilt and desperation. “I’m trying, ma’am. Please… I’m trying…”
“Trying?” Preeta laughed coldly. “Pathetic. Your father—he’s still in control, isn’t he? Still holding on to that stupid school. You know I could take it in other ways, Karan, but I want you to betray them. I want you to bring me those papers because you’ll understand then what true loyalty is. Not to your family, but to me.”
Karan's breath hitched. Preeta slowly lifted her heel from the floor and held it just above his face, her gaze fixed on him.
"You want to lick these heels, don’t you?" she asked, her voice low, seductive yet cruel. "You’ve been waiting for it, haven’t you? To taste the dirt under my soles, to prove your loyalty to me."
Without thinking, Karan leaned forward, his lips trembling as they moved closer to the sole of her heel. But just as his tongue was about to touch the dirt-streaked leather, Preeta yanked her foot away with a sharp laugh.
"Not yet," she snapped. "You don’t get to lick them until you bring me the signed papers. Only then will you earn that privilege."
The humiliation was overwhelming. Karan’s face flushed red as he knelt there, denied even the lowest act of submission. The weight of her words pressed down on him, crushing what little resolve he had left.
“I’m everything to you, Karan,” Preeta continued, her voice soft but cutting. “Your family—they don’t matter. Nothing matters except me. When you’re serving me, when you’re licking my heels, you’ll know that I am your entire world. And you’ll do anything for me.”
The days leading up to the annual function passed in a blur for Karan. Every waking moment was consumed by the document—the transfer of the school property to Preeta’s name. It was his family's legacy, the school his father had built with years of hard work, dedication, and sacrifice. But that legacy now felt like a noose tightening around his neck. Preeta had made it clear: there was no escape, no other option.
