The Mercedes-Benz S-Class sat like a silent, silver beast in the corner of the haveli’s sprawling, shadowed garage. Outside, the crickets chirped a rhythmic, frantic staccato, but inside the car, the air-conditioning hummed a low, expensive purr. The leather was cool, the windows were tinted pitch-black, and the atmosphere was thick with the scent of Meera’s expensive jasmine perfume and the sharp, metallic tang of Rahul’s anticipation.

Meera sat in the back seat, her silk saree a puddle of midnight blue around her. She looked out at the stone walls of the garage, her heart hammering against her ribs. She had come here under the pretext of finding an old trunk, but the moment she saw Rahul leaning against the car door, his eyes dark with a familiar, predatory hunger, she knew there was no turning back.