The cold, hard mahogany of Ranvijay’s study desk was the first thing Adhya registered. It was a tangible, aching reminder of the chaotic, consuming night—a night where every rule, every wall, and every defense she possessed had been obliterated by his possessive hunger.

She lay tangled in a mess of discarded clothing and legal papers, her body heavy with exhaustion and saturated with the scent of their shared passion. The room was now quiet, the only sound the steady, deep rhythm of Ranvijay’s breathing beside her.