The cold water of the shower had done little to wash away the feeling of ownership etched into Tara's skin. Every muscle in her body ached, and her core felt permanently open, a lingering warmth from the morning's assault still pulsing deep within her. She had been told to dress, but the instructions were specific: no underwear. The thin, white cotton suit she wore felt like a veil of nothingness, clinging to her damp skin and leaving her most intimate areas exposed to the slightest breeze.

As she walked toward the inner courtyard of the ancestral home, her heart hammered against her ribs. The men had been brutal, but the thought of the women—the Bua (paternal aunt) and the Chachi (uncle's wife)—filled her with a different kind of dread. This wasn't just about lust; it was about the hierarchy of submission.