Aira stood in front of her dresser mirror, her hands trembling slightly as she tied the fabric strings of her pale blue kurta. It was modest, simple, and most importantly, it was entirely hers. She refused to wear anything that carried even a single thread of his money or influence.
Behind her, a shadow crossed the threshold.
Dominic leaned casually against the doorframe, broad arms folded over his chest. No knock. No warning.
"What do you want?" she spat into the mirror, refusing to turn around and give him the satisfaction of her gaze.
"You know," he murmured, his dark eyes trailing slowly down the line of her back, "I thought you’d wear something I bought you today. That silk set, maybe? The red one."
"I’d rather be buried in a ditch," she replied coldly.
Dominic chuckled, steppin
