The silence in the bedroom was a living thing, thick with the scent of sex, sweat, and the cloying floral lotion. Akshara lay between the two men, her body a landscape of tremors and deep, echoing aches. Neil’s hand found hers, his fingers lacing through hers with a possessiveness that felt more like a claim than a comfort. Across the rumpled expanse of stained sheets, Abhimanyu sat on the edge of the bed, his broad back to them, head bowed. The competitive fire that had fueled them seemed to have burned down to cold, heavy ash.

Aarohi’s voice floated in from the living room, bright and unnervingly cheerful. “I’m not pouring these myself! Get out here, you lazy beasts. You’ve earned a drink.”