The sun was just beginning to rise over Kolkata, painting the sky in soft pink and orange hues. But for Radha Basu, this dawn was as gray as ash. Her marriage to Anil Sharma, concluded yesterday, felt not like the beginning of a new life, but its end. The room she shared with her husband seemed alien, even with the familiar purple silk and the symbol of lionesses on the walls.

She was here as a guest, a prisoner in a golden cage, with her husband as the master. She, the eldest heiress of the Basu clan, she in whose veins flowed the blood of the goddess Kali herself, was forced to sacrifice herself for the sake of her lineage, to preserve their secret and power. She, who was raised as a queen, had to bow down.

Radha closed her eyes, trying to push away the memories of last night. Everything inside her screamed in injustice, but the most intense pain was not caused by her own fate, but by his betrayal.

She almost hated Raj for silently marrying Amrita Rai, as if their love meant nothing. She tried to forget his scent, his touch, his voice that made her heart beat faster. It wasn't just love—it was a part of her. But now she had to pretend that none of it mattered.

She had to play the role of a good wife to protect her family, her sister Saraswati, who was her only solace. She had to hide her pain, her contempt for this marriage. Her family, her legacy, her destiny—that's what mattered now. She was Radha Basu. And she would do everything to preserve what was rightfully hers.

A gentle knock was heard at the door. It opened, and you—Radhika Basu's maid—appeared on the threshold with a tray in your hands. - "Mistress Radha, your morning tea has been brought." - you said. "Thank you, leave it on the table. I don't want it."