The night air on the open rooftop was crisp, carrying the scent of jasmine and the distant sounds of the village fair. But for Shashwat, the only scent that mattered was Rani's, a heady mix of musk, sweat, and a hint of sandalwood, a scent that both haunted and intoxicated him.

He had followed her here, drawn by an irresistible force, a desperate need to reaffirm their connection, to push the boundaries of their depravity even further. The events of the day, the forced civility with Priya, the lingering shame of his own submission, had left him raw, restless, and desperate for release.