The heavy oak door of the bedroom slammed shut behind Roshni, the sound reverberating like a gavel in her ears. The room was dimly lit, the flickering glow of a single brass lamp casting long shadows across the ornate four-poster bed draped in crimson silk.

The air was thick with the scent of sandalwood and something muskier, primal, that made Roshni’s pulse quicken despite the dread coiling in her gut. The walls, adorned with intricate tapestries depicting scenes of dominance and submission, seemed to close in, their embroidered figures watching her every move.