The afternoon sun was blazing through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Sidhant’s bachelor pad, making the sweat trickle down the back of Sana’s neck. She was on her knees, moving the mop in slow, rhythmic circles across the white marble. To keep her clothes from getting soaked in the soapy water, she had tucked her floral saree high up, pinning it at her waist so that her smooth, golden thighs were exposed up to her knees.

Sidhant was sitting on the leather sofa, a glass of cold beer in his hand, supposedly reading a script. But his eyes weren't on the paper. They were locked on the way Sana’s body moved. Every time she leaned forward to scrub a stubborn spot, her low-cut blouse strained against her chest, revealing the deep, sweat-glistening valley of her cleavage.