The following Thursday felt like execution day dressed in lust.

Shraddha arrived home from college at 5:45 p.m.—earlier than usual. In her handbag: a crisp A4 envelope containing the divorce petition papers she’d had drawn up by a discreet lawyer friend two days earlier. Sameer had signed them without argument the previous Sunday—after she’d shown him one 17-second clip Aryan had anonymously forwarded to his phone. The clip ended with her screaming Aryan’s name while three cocks filled her holes. Sameer hadn’t spoken much after that. Just signed, packed a small bag, and left for the station that same night.