The lock clicks.

The door opens.

Vikram steps in, shuts it, turns the key again.

That same cruel smile I’ve feared for years, only now it’s hungry.

“Thought you could hide, princess?”

He lifts his phone. My dance video plays silently on the screen: thighs flashing, lips parted, the whole college screaming for me.

One tap and it’s over.

I open my mouth. Nothing.

He closes the gap in two strides. One hand grips my jaw, forces my face up.

“Name,” he says.

“…R-Ravi—”

His thumb presses my bottom lip hard.

“Wrong. Try again.”

I swallow. “Raveena.”

“Good girl.”

The words melt something inside me. Heat floods my cheeks, my chest, lower.

He spins me to the mirror, plants my palms on the sink.

“Look at her.”

I do. Smudged kohl, crimson mouth, terrified eyes. A stranger wearing my face.

His hands slide down my bare waist, slow, possessive. Fingers trace the curve where the blouse ends and skin begins.

“Feel that?” he whispers against my ear. “That’s a girl’s waist now.”

He gathers the heavy lehenga, lifts every layer until cool air hits my thighs, my lace panties, the shameful hardness straining against them.

His palm cups me through the fabric. I whimper.

“Already wet for me, Raveena?”

I shake my head. He squeezes. I nod.

He turns me again, back against the mirror, and kisses me.

Not gentle.

Deep, filthy, claiming. His tongue pushes past my lips like he owns my mouth. I taste him, mint and smoke, and something breaks. My hands fly to his chest, not pushing, just holding on.

He growls into the kiss, one hand sliding up to cup the fake breast through the blouse, thumb circling the spot where a real nipple would be. My knees buckle.

He breaks the kiss only to bite my lower lip, tug, let it snap back glossy and swollen.

“Open your eyes. Watch yourself kiss me back.”

I do. In the mirror: silver slut in full makeup, mouth red and ruined, moaning into her bully’s lips like she was born for it.

His other hand slips under the skirt, fingers tracing the edge of the panties, then lower, pressing against the plug he’s going to make me wear tomorrow.

Every touch screams the same thing:

You’re not Ravi anymore.

When he finally pulls back, my lipstick is smeared across both our mouths. My chest is heaving, breasts pushing against the blouse with every breath.

He wipes his thumb across my swollen lips, admiring the mess.

“Tomorrow you wear this exact outfit to college. Same lipstick. Same taste of me on your tongue.”

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out the thin silver anklet with the tiny lock.

Kneels.

Slides it around my left ankle.

Click.

Pockets the key.

“Welcome to the rest of your life, Raveena.”

He stands, unlocks the door, and walks out without looking back.

I’m left staring at my reflection: lipstick ruined, legs shaking, anklet cold against my skin, the taste of Vikram still burning my mouth.

And the worst part?

I want tomorrow to come.

To be continued…