“Sana, you useless girl! The tea is cold again!” Her aunt’s sharp voice sliced through the thin walls like a knife.

Sana flinched, her small hands trembling as she poured fresh tea into the chipped cup. At nineteen, she was all soft curves and wide, innocent eyes framed by long lashes. Her simple salwar kameez clung to her full, perky breasts and the gentle swell of her rounded hips. The thin fabric did little to hide the lushness of her young, untouched body. She had no one else. Her parents had died years ago, leaving her at the mercy of this woman who resented every breath she took.