Three days passed. The soreness between Amyra’s thighs had faded to a dull ache, but the psychological ache—the desperate, gnawing need for Aman—had only intensified. He had gone quiet again. The intermittent reinforcement, the hot and cold treatment, was a brutal psychological tactic that was working perfectly. She was going insane.

To escape the suffocating walls of the cottage and Meera’s increasingly suspicious gaze, Amyra agreed to go out with Riya again. She didn't want to go to The Neon Room, but Riya insisted it was the only place to get good drinks.