The upscale restaurant was bathed in dim, amber light, but the air at their secluded corner booth was thick enough to catch fire. Vikram sat with a relaxed, predatory grace, his broad, fair-skinned shoulders filling the leather seat. Across from him, his wife, Anjali, watched with a dark, shimmering hunger in her eyes, her silk saree draped elegantly over her provocative curves.

The waitress, Priya, a young woman with a sharp, hourglass figure squeezed into a tight black uniform, stood trembling as she placed their drinks down. Vikram didn’t let her leave. His large, muscular hand reached out, gripping her waist with a sudden, possessive strength that made her gasp.