Virat had turned addiction into an art form—slow, deliberate, impossible to resist.

He made sure every meeting started the same way: the moment they were alone, his arms would open, and she would step into them without thinking. At first, the hug was gentle—comforting, familiar, like coming home after a long day. His hands would rest lightly on her back, chin brushing her hair, letting her melt against him at her own pace.