The next morning dawned soft and golden, the kind of light that made everything feel deceptively peaceful.

Virat woke Ishani with slow, lingering kisses—first her forehead, then her closed eyelids, then the corner of her mouth—until she stirred with a sleepy hum. He kissed her properly then—deep, possessive, tongue sliding against hers in a lazy promise of more later. His hands roamed her bare back beneath the sheet, fingers tracing the faint red marks he’d left the night before.