
Monday arrived like a slow-building storm.
Arjun reached the office at 8:30 p.m., heart already thudding. The white shirt she had ordered clung to his back from the nervous sweat he’d broken out in the auto-rickshaw ride over. No vest underneath—just thin cotton against skin, nipples already pebbled from the AC blast in the lobby. He felt exposed. Vulnerable. Exactly how she wanted him.






















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