The room was heavy with the scent of melting wax and Meena's own fear-induced sweat. She lay spread-eagled on the guest bed, wrists and ankles tied to the four posts, a blindfold covering her eyes, a cloth gag stuffed in her mouth. She could hear him moving around her—her Sasurji—Prem, her husband's father, a man who had watched her with hungry eyes since the day she entered this house as a bride.

For a long moment, there was only silence. Meena strained her ears, trying to locate him in the darkness behind her blindfold. Her heart hammered against her ribs, each beat echoing in her ears. The anticipation was torture—worse than anything he could do to her. She tugged experimentally at the ropes binding her wrists, feeling them bite into her skin, unyielding. She was completely at his mercy.