The brothel stank of cheap perfume and stale sorrow. Neon light from the corridor smeared itself over lacquered faces and painted smiles; laughter bubbled and curdled into the music as men huddled in clusters, pockets clinking with coins and menace. Gauri's pulse slammed in her throat. Every step into that place felt like walking deeper into a mouth.
She moved with one purpose. A girl at the bar—pale, too tired to smile—lifted a hand toward a side door when Gauri barked, "Who's in charge here? Where's my sister?"
The girl's eyes were hollow. "Room three. Don't make trouble," she whispered, then turned away to pour another drink.
Gauri shoved the door to room three without finesse. The hinges screamed. Inside, a woman sat on a raised settee as if she owned the world: Dianaaswari, middle-aged and lacquered in finery that mocked the bleakness around her—silk saree, heavy gold, and a smile that never reached her eyes.
"Welcome," Dianaaswari said, as if receiving a long-expected guest. Her voice was soft, practiced. "I've been waiting for you."
Gauri didn't answer pleasantries. She blurted the single question that had driven her: "Where is Charvi?"
Dianaaswari's smile widened just long enough to make Gauri's skin crawl. "Safe," she said. "Locked in a room where no one bothers her."
Gauri's fists clenched. "Let her go. I'll call the police. I'll—"
The woman's hand closed on Gauri's jaw with a gentle cruelty that stung more than it hurt. Up close, Dianaaswari's eyes were cold and sharp as obsidian. "You think I don't know how the police talk?" she said low, a laugh curled around the words. "You try to make noise, and your sister bleeds. You threaten me, and she pays." She tapped Gauri's face with a single polished nail, as if testing the wood of a prop. "Do you want to risk that, little one?"
Gauri's knees wobbled but her voice stayed steady. "Give me Charvi."
Dianaaswari leaned forward, the light catching jewels in her hair. "You already know the choice," she murmured. "Charvi has a weak heart. Everyone who tends the girls here knows it." She watched Gauri with a slow, deliberate enjoyment. "You will perform tomorrow night. You dance for my patrons, you earn what I demand, and then—Charvi's door opens."
Gauri laughed, a soft sound that had no humor. "You expect me to dance for people who bought my sister?" Her mouth trembled. "You think I'll sell myself to save her?"
Dianaaswari's face hardened. "I think you will do what a desperate woman must. Besides," she said, eyes narrowing, "your mother—she agreed you'd do this. She came to me because she needed money. We made terms." The words landed like ice.
Gauri's world blurred. "Mom—" The name broke into a raw, small sound. Anger roared up behind the shock, a volcanic surge. "She did this? She—"
Dianaaswari shrugged the cruelty off like a fine shawl. "Practical things, child. Survival." She rose, the saree whispering. "So choose: you dance, or you watch your sister suffer until you beg for mercy you don't deserve."
For a breathless moment Gauri felt only the hollow of betrayal and the hot, tight fear of losing Charvi. Then something steadied inside her—anger braided with a single, terrible clarity. She stepped closer, chin up. "You won't get away with this," she whispered.
Dianaaswari's smile sharpened. "We'll see." She waved a languid hand to a heavy iron lock that had guarded many doors. "Remember—tomorrow night. Perform. Or there will be no sister to save."
Outside the door, voices and music filtered through the thin walls. Inside, Gauri pressed her palm to the cool wood and swallowed the scream that wanted out. The ultimatum hung between them like a blade: the dawn would demand a choice, and there would be no easy answer.
Dianaaswari reached for the phone resting beside her, her long nails clicking against the glass as she swiped the screen. She turned it toward Gauri with a smile that was more blade than curve.
On the screen, Charvi appeared—tied to a chair with coarse ropes biting into her wrists. Her head lolled to one side, lips pale, eyes closed.
Gauri's breath shattered. She stumbled forward as if she could tear through the screen with her hands. "Charvi!" her voice cracked. "Please… don't hurt her, she's sick! She—she can't take this." Her tears blurred the cruel image, but the ropes and the stillness of her sister burned into her heart like fire.
Dianaaswari leaned back, enjoying the collapse. "Then you know what you must do."
Gauri shook her head wildly, hands clasped in front of her like a prayer. "I'll do anything. Just don't touch her again, don't let her suffer."
"That's all I needed to hear." Dianaaswari's eyes glimmered, cold satisfaction painted across her face. She clapped once, the sound sharp as a whip.
Two young women entered from the corridor, their bangles chiming softly as they bowed.
"Take her," Dianaaswari ordered smoothly. "Show her the special room. She is to be dressed as a queen tomorrow night—clothes, jewels, everything prepared. By this time tomorrow, she will dance for me… for all of them."
Gauri's body went rigid as the girls closed in on either side of her, but she didn't resist. Her tears slid soundlessly down her cheeks as her gaze stayed locked on the frozen image of Charvi tied and helpless.
In her chest, grief and fury coiled together like a storm, but her voice came out broken, raw: "I'll save you, Charvi. I promise."
The girls guided her out of the room, the air heavy with perfume and menace. Behind them, Dianaaswari's soft laughter followed like a curse.