Reyansh summoned her to his penthouse. No pretense of a public venue this time, no candlelit terrace with the pretense of romance. Just a text message with an address and a time, and the implicit understanding that refusal was not an option despite the choice he had offered her. Priya told herself she went because she was curious, because she wanted to see the lion's den, because she refused to show fear. The truth sat heavier in her chest, a knot of anticipation and dread that had been tightening since the night he had traced his name on her palm.
The building was all glass and steel, a tower that pierced Mumbai's skyline like a blade. A private elevator swept her upward in silence, and when the doors opened, she stepped directly into his domain. The penthouse was vast and minimalist, floor to ceiling windows overlooking the Arabian Sea, furniture in shades of charcoal and cream that felt more like a gallery than a home. No photographs. No personal clutter. Just cold elegance and the scent of sandalwood that seemed embedded in the walls.
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