The velvet dusk bled through the panoramic window, painting the sprawling city below in hues of bruised plum and smoldering amber. Vivaan Rathore knelt beside the chaise lounge, his hands, usually commanding boardrooms and global markets, now moved with a delicate reverence across the swollen landscape of his wife’s calves. Ishita Malhotra, her third trimester belly a glorious, taut sphere beneath the silk of her nightgown, sighed into the plush cushions. The day’s relentless ache in her ankles began to recede under his practiced touch, a warm current spreading through her weary limbs.
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