The amber glow of the crystal chandelier cast long, heavy shadows across the mahogany dining table in the master suite, illuminating a spread of steam-wreathed, carefully prepared food that remained completely untouched. The rest of the Rathore estate had settled into its evening hush, but inside the room, the air was dense and suffocating, thick with the unyielding friction of two colliding wills.

Shivanya sat rigidly in her chair, her face bruised, swollen, and stained with the tracks of dried tears. Her dark, hollow eyes were entirely fixed on the ornate wooden bassinet tucked in the corner of the room, where little Abhimanyu slept in quiet, innocent oblivion. She hadn't touched a single bite.