At the stroke of midnight, the Rathore Mansion exhaled into stillness. The faint creak of wooden beams and the distant chirp of crickets were the only sounds in the otherwise silent estate. The ornate corridors, which bustled with activity during the day, now felt eerily deserted, cloaked in shadows that seemed to hold their breath.

Aanya stood in the room she had shared with Arjun, her heart pounding as she adjusted the plain dupatta over her head. She wore a simple salwar kameez, the muted fabric a stark contrast to the elaborate saris she was accustomed to. Her jewelry—symbols of her position in the family—had been left behind. Every jangling bangle, every glittering anklet, had been carefully removed, leaving her feeling both bare and free.