The silence of the room was heavy, suffocating Sana under the weight of a thousand jasmine flowers. She sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, the gold embroidery of her red lehenga biting into her soft skin. At twenty, she was a portrait of untouched purity, her eyes wide with a mixture of terror and a strange, budding curiosity she didn’t have the words for. She had lived a sheltered life, a princess in a gilded cage, and tonight, the keys to that cage had been handed to Sidharth.

Sidharth was not a man of gentle words. He was a storm in a bespoke suit, a man whose presence commanded the air out of any room. He stood by the window, his back to her, looking out at the city lights. He had already discarded his velvet sherwani, and the white silk shirt beneath strained against the broad, powerful muscles of his back.