The fire of emotions that had ignited on the silken sheets of the master bedroom in the Shekhawat Palace was now crossing all its limits. Sarvagya’s heavy, muscular body was hovering over Gulal, and his lips were frantically kissing her trembling ones. The faint smell of alcohol and the masculine warmth of Sarvagya's body had melted Gulal’s hardened shell of hatred like wax. Gulal, who had been pretending to run away from him until now, had unknowingly tightened her grip around his broad shoulders. Their breaths were melting into each other.

In the dim yellow light of the room, Sarvagya slowly parted his lips from hers. His eyes were bloodshot with intoxication and an overwhelming, desperate love. He used one hand to brush away the stray locks of hair from Gulal’s face. But amidst this reckless love and intoxication, the pride of the possessive and deeply hurt husband awoke within Sarvagya—the husband who, just a few hours ago, had to watch his wife holding another man's hand and taking him into her room.