The air in the main hall of the Thakur estate hung heavy, thick with the cloying scent of musk, stale sweat, and the sweet, metallic tang of arousal. In this house, clothes were a foreign concept, discarded like useless relics the moment the family gathered. The marble floors felt cool against bare soles, but the atmosphere was scorching.
Rajwardhan stood with his chest expanded, his gaze predatory as he looked down at Vishakha. He reached out, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hip, and yanked her toward him with a sudden, jarring force.
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