[lou12]

The front door slammed open with a crack that vibrated through the entire flat.

I dropped the glass of water I’d been holding. It shattered against the floor, but neither Mom nor I moved. We just stared at the doorway.

Ravi stood there, his silk kurta soaked with sweat, face twisted into something between a grin and a snarl. His eyes swept past me, landed on Ma—still in that wrinkled yellow sari, phone clutched to her ear like a lifeline.

“Still talking,” he said, voice eerily calm. “I just had you last night, Debjani. And you’re already whining on the phone.”

Ma’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her fingers tightened around the receiver.

“To him, no less.” Ravi stepped over the broken glass, each footfall deliberate. “Your precious husband. I heard your voice from the stairwell. Whispering about being torn. About what I did to you.”

He was lying. He must have been listening from outside. The phone had been against her ear, but she hadn’t been speaking when he entered. She’d been listening—her breath hitched, face pale as Ravi’s voice crackled through the line from the penthouse.

But Ravi didn’t wait for corrections. He snatched the phone from her grip and slammed it onto the marble side table. The casing split, plastic scattering.

“Ravi—” Ma’s voice cracked, her hands rising as if to shield herself. “Please, he doesn’t know anything. I was just listening to you, you called me first, remember? You told me to stay home and wait.”

Ravi backhanded the air next to her face—close enough that her head snapped sideways from reflex alone. “Don’t lie to me in front of your son.” His eyes slid to me, dark and amused. “Ayan, come here. Sit on the sofa. You’re going to watch something educational.”

My feet wouldn’t move.

“Now,” he growled.

I shuffled to the sofa, my legs numb, body operating on some animal instinct to obey. To survive.

Ravi turned back to Ma. He grabbed her wrist and yanked her to her feet. The yellow sari slipped off her shoulder, revealing the mottled skin beneath—old bruises, new marks. She whimpered, not in pain, but in that particular tone I’d learned to recognize. Fear mixed with something far more dangerous.

“You know what happens to disobedient sluts, Debjani?” Ravi murmured, his lips brushing her ear. “They get broken somewhere new.”

Ma’s eyes found mine, wide and wet. She shook her head—not at me, at him. But her body was already leaning into his grip, her breath quickening in that telltale way.

Ravi’s free hand worked at her sari’s pallu, unraveling the fabric with rough efficiency. “You called me from home. You said you were torn. And now you’re sitting here, not resting, not preparing—mourning your dignity.” His teeth flashed. “That warrants correction.”

He ripped the sari away in one violent motion. The golden-yellow silk puddled at her feet, leaving her in just a thin petticoat and the frayed blouse. Her body was covered in marks—my body flinched, but I couldn’t look away.

“Turn around,” Ravi said. His voice left no room for negotiation.

Ma turned. Her back faced me, the hooks of her blouse visible across her shoulder blades. Ravi unhooked them one by one, the tiny metal clasps snapping free like small explosions in the quiet room.

“Bend over the sofa arm,” he said.

Ma’s knees buckled, but she managed to move. She bent over the arm of the sofa, her fingers clawing into the upholstery. Her face was turned toward me, tears streaking her cheeks, but her lips were parted. Her chest heaved.

Ravi lifted her petticoat. No underwear. His low whistle cut through the silence. “Already bare. You knew this was coming, didn’t you?”

Ma sobbed, but her hips pushed back an inch.

Ravi undid his own belt with one hand. The leather slid free with a hiss. For a terrible second, I thought he would hit her with it. Instead, he tossed it aside and freed himself. No condom, just like last night. The bare, flushed head of his cock glistened under the flat’s dull light.