Virat scooped Ishani up from the lounge chair—her body limp, still trembling from the aftershocks, skin flushed and slick with pool water, sweat, and his release. She clung to him weakly, arms looping around his neck, face buried in his shoulder as he carried her inside.

He took her straight to his master bathroom—massive glass shower enclosure, rain showerhead already running from when he’d turned it on earlier. Warm water cascaded in steady sheets as he stepped under it with her still in his arms.