The first gentle rays of dawn crept through the heavy silk curtains, bathing the royal chamber in a soft, golden haze. What had been a sacred space of royal opulence now lay in utter ruin—like a battlefield after a night of savage conquest. Crushed rose petals littered the floor and bed, their sweet fragrance now mingled with the raw, intoxicating musk of sweat, cum, and sex. Aria’s intricate bridal lehenga was torn and discarded in a heap near the fireplace, one sleeve ripped in the heat of passion. Vikram’s royal garments lay scattered like forgotten trophies—his coat draped over a broken vase, his shirt crumpled beside the bed. The massive silk sheets were twisted and soaked, evidence of hours of unrelenting claiming.