The next day, Ishani stepped out of the office building as the sun dipped low, painting Mumbai's skyline in bruised oranges and purples. She had chosen power dressing with an edge today—a sleek, body-hugging black top that clung to her curves like a second skin. The fabric was soft yet structured, with a daring knot tied high at the base of her neck, leaving a subtle V of skin exposed at her collarbone. The full net sleeves—sheer black mesh that stretched from shoulder to wrist—added a whisper of sensuality, catching the fading light and revealing just enough to tease without revealing too much. Paired with high-waisted cream body-fit trousers that molded perfectly to her hips and thighs before tapering at the ankles, the outfit screamed confidence: professional by day, dangerously alluring by dusk. Black pointed-toe heels clicked sharply against the pavement, and her hair was swept into a loose, effortless low ponytail that swayed with each step.

She opted for the secluded shortcut behind the commercial complex—a narrow, forgotten alley flanked by high compound walls, overgrown with stray vines and dotted with flickering sodium lamps. It saved ten minutes, and she was in a hurry to get home.