Bought the MLA’s Son as My Slave
Chapter 1: Ulta-Pulta Nights
The husband I bought? Always doing ulta-pulta. Daytime—full nakhra, won’t lift a finger. Nighttime—works like he’s possessed.
I press my palm to my aching waist, the way Amma used to after a long day in the bazaar. I glare down at him, adjusting my dupatta firmly over one shoulder. The ache runs deep, just like after hours at the meat stall under Rajpur’s burning sun. My anklets jingle softly on the stone floor, their sound quickly swallowed by the heavy night air.
Suddenly, subtitles flash in my mind’s eye, like WhatsApp forwards from nosy aunties:
[Arre, the supporting female character is just a butcher’s daughter, but she dares to imprison the MLA’s son as a male servant, even forcing him to kneel! Just wait for her to be thrown out after Diwali!]
[So disgusting, the supporting female humiliates the MLA’s son every night, locks him up and hits him during the day. Just wait till the male lead regains his identity—he’ll make the supporting character regret it along with the heroine.]
[Don’t worry, friends, the MLA’s son belongs to our dear heroine. He’s just getting some practice with the supporting character~]
I roll my eyes, imagining the WhatsApp group aunties giggling over this. As if they know what really happens behind closed doors. I curl my lips in a sneer.
The belt snaps down.
MLA’s son? Wouldn’t that make things even more interesting?
