The polished marble floor of the Khanna mansion’s sprawling living room felt cold and unyielding beneath Naina’s palms as she lowered herself to her hands and knees. Her body screamed in protest, every muscle and joint aching from the previous night’s torment. Her breasts, still swollen and burning from the mysterious blue liquid injected into her nipples, hung heavily, swaying with each tentative movement. The cotton kurti she wore clung to her sweat-dampened skin, its neckline loose enough to reveal the tops of her bruised breasts, which throbbed with a relentless, fiery pain. Her waist, once a point of pride for its silky smoothness, was now marked with welts and bruises that pulsed with every heartbeat. Her long, dark hair fell in tangled strands around her face, obscuring her vision but not the weight of the family’s gazes boring into her.