The seventh night broke every remaining boundary in the Kapoor bungalow. What had started as a private obsession between Rajesh, Priya, and one trembling maid had metastasized into something openly communal, shameless, inevitable. The house itself seemed to pulse with it—every creak of the floorboards, every flicker of a light switch carried the promise of flesh and surrender.

Priya had sent the message at 10:45 p.m. via a group chat she’d created the previous afternoon, simply titled “Evening Duty Roster”: