Zaviyar sat in the shadows of his study, the amber liquid in his crystal glass swirling as he took a slow, deliberate sip. The steam from his tea rose like a veil, but it couldn't obscure the predatory focus in his eyes. He wasn't just sitting there; he was waiting.

He knew she was in her room. He could almost feel her restless energy vibrating through the walls of the Haveli. To the world, he was the stoic heir, a man of tradition and iron. But inside, his thoughts were a dark, tangled web of obsession that started the moment he was old enough to understand what "ownership" meant.