The chandeliers of Roy Mansion were dimmed to a romantic, almost conspiratorial, glow. The air in the master suite was heavy with unspoken words and the cloying scent of the imported sandalwood incense Priya favored. Abhinav sat slumped on the edge of the bed, the expensive silk of his pajamas rough against his skin. The demand for an heir, the revelation of the Khandelwal conspiracy—it all pressed down on him, turning the very air toxic.

Priya, having changed into a delicate lace negligee, moved with a practiced grace. She brought him a crystal tumbler, the amber liquid inside glittering invitingly. "You look utterly shattered, darling," she said, her voice smooth, concerned, almost maternal. "Please. Have this. Just a small nightcap. You need to sleep; you have the board tomorrow."