The rain lashed against the French windows of the suburban villa, a stark contrast to the stifling, forbidden heat radiating inside. Sameer stood in the dim light of the hallway, his massive, fair-skinned frame blocking the path of Neha—his wife’s best friend. Sameer was a man of raw, muscular power, his chest straining the fabric of his black polo shirt.

Neha stood before him, her provocative hourglass figure barely contained by a sheer, emerald-green silk dress. She had come over to "wait for her friend," but the way she looked at Sameer told a much dirtier story.