ahalya

Silk saree.

Diamond necklace.

Red lips.

A wealthy man's possession.

A mistress.

Her fingers slowly touched the fading bruise near her collarbone before quickly moving away, as though even she could not bear touching herself anymore.

Outside the locked bedroom, laughter and music echoed through the mansion halls. Another party. Another night where powerful people would stare at her with curiosity, pity, or hidden mockery.

"That's Abhinandan Varada's mistress"

"She used to be a classical dancer, right?"

"What a waste."

The whispers never ended.

Ahalya closed her eyes tightly.

Once, people looked at her with admiration.

Now they looked at her like sin

A knock came at the door.

"Madam,""Sir is calling you downstairs."

Her stomach tightened instantly.

Fear had become instinct now.

Ahalya wiped her tears before they could fall and forced herself to stand.

No matter how broken she felt...

He would still call.

And she would still go.

Because Abhinandan Varada always got what he wanted.
Always.

She slowly walked through the grand corridors of the mansion that looked more like a golden cage than a home. Guards lowered their heads as she passed.

No one met her eyes.

No one dared.

There

Abhinandan sat lazily on the couch, glass of whiskey in one hand, looking powerful enough to own the entire world.

And maybe he did.

But the moment his eyes landed on her, something dangerous softened in his expression.

"There you are, little doe."

The endearment made her chest ache.

A year ago, she had been a rising dancer with dreams in her eyes.

Now she trembled hearing a man call her with affection.

He opened one arm toward her casually.

"Come here."

Ahalya stood frozen.

Every instinct inside her wanted to run.

But there was nowhere left to run anymore.

Because the cruelest thing about Abhinandan Varada was not his power.

Not his anger.

Not even the darkness inside him.

It was the way he destroyed her life...

And then loved her among the ruins.