The Lagoona Resort rose from the shores of Lonavala's still lake like a mirage, its white villas suspended over turquoise water, its infinity pools merging seamlessly with the monsoon-green hills that encircled the valley. The air was cool and clean, scented with petrichor and the faint sweetness of wild jasmine. After months of Mumbai's relentless heat, the hill station's embrace was a balm. Priya had been craving the mountains, craving silence, craving a place where the noise of the legal proceedings and the Phoenix launch and the endless parade of well-wishers could not follow.

Reyansh had booked the Presidential Villa, a sprawling sanctuary of glass and teak perched at the edge of the lake. It had its own infinity pool, its own garden, its own spa pavilion where the staff had already prepared a couples' massage with oils infused with sandalwood and saffron. But they had not made it to the spa. They had barely made it past the bedroom.