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* Sofi (18): Fragile, hauntingly beautiful, and silenced by years of isolation.

* Malini (Mother): Bitter and driven by a desperate greed that has hardened her heart.

* Commissioner Vikram Singh (58): Powerful, calculating, and patient. He views people as acquisitions.

* The Setting: Aangan-mansion, a cold, sprawling haveli with high ceilings and shadows that seem to watch everything.

The Scene: The Handover

The sun hadn’t yet fully risen when Malini dragged Sofi toward the gates of the Singh Haveli. For eighteen years, Sofi had been a secret kept behind rusted locks and broken windows. Malini had hidden her away like a shameful sin, fearful that Sofi’s beauty would bring trouble—until she realized it could bring a price.

"Keep your head down," Malini hissed, her fingers digging into Sofi’s thin arm. "Don’t speak. Don’t look at him. If you ruin this, you won’t have a room to go back to."

Sofi didn’t respond. She couldn't. Her voice had been buried long ago under the weight of her mother’s hand. She felt like a bird being moved from a small cage to a golden one. The haveli was beautiful, but it felt like a graveyard—quiet, polished, and terrifyingly vast.

In the study, Commissioner Vikram Singh sat behind a heavy mahogany desk. He was a man of silver hair and sharp, obsidian eyes. He didn't look like a monster; he looked like a king. When he looked at Sofi, he didn't see a girl; he saw a prize.

"She’s turn eighteen today, Sahab," Malini said, her voice dropping into a fake, syrupy sweetness. "Pure as the morning dew. I’ve kept her hidden just for a man of your stature."

Vikram stood up, his leather shoes clicking on the marble floor. He stopped inches from Sofi. He could smell the cheap soap on her skin and the scent of fear. He reached out, his thumb grazing her jawline. Sofi flinched, a small, broken sound escaping her throat.

"Two years," Vikram whispered, looking at Malini but never taking his eyes off Sofi. "I have two years left of service. I want her ready by the time I retire. I want her spirit quiet, and her beauty preserved."

He pulled a small, unlabeled glass vial from his pocket and placed it on the desk alongside a thick envelope stuffed with cash.

"A sedative for the 'nerves,'" Vikram smiled thinly. "Mix it with her tea every night. It will keep her calm. It will keep her from crying. By the time I move back here permanently, she will be exactly what I want: a silent, beautiful wife."

Malini’s eyes stayed on the envelope. She snatched it up, the sound of the paper crinkling more musical to her than her daughter’s heartbeat.

"She’ll be ready, Sahab," Malini promised.

As they walked back to their servant’s quarters, Sofi looked back at the haveli. The tall windows looked like eyes. She didn't know what was in the medicine, but she knew that today, her mother hadn't found her a job. She had sold her soul to a man who was waiting for the clock to run out.

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