The pale, unforgiving light of dawn filtered through the heavy velvet curtains of Manish’s wing, but it brought no peace. It only exposed the wreckage of the night before—the torn silk, the scattered jewelry, and the heavy scent of spent passion and cardamom milk.

Manish woke first, his head throbbing with a rhythmic ache. As he shifted, the rustle of the sheets revealed the truth: both he and Ayushi were naked, their limbs entangled in the remnants of a feverish night. He sat up, clutching his forehead, his breath coming in heavy, jagged hitches.