The mahogany door clicked shut, the sound echoing in the sudden, thick silence of the master suite. Yuvraj's shadow stretched long across the Persian rug, a dark silhouette against the muted glow filtering from the hallway. Vidisha stood near the threshold, her breath catching in her throat, the lingering sting of their earlier, foolish argument still sharp in the air. She had meant only to provoke a reaction, a flicker of possessiveness, but the cold air that settled between them now felt like an abyss.

"A little late for a stroll, isn't it, Vidisha?" The voice, deep and resonant, scraped across the quiet like gravel shifting, pulling her gaze to the source. Yuvraj stood planted, his expensive silk shirt clinging to the breadth of his shoulders, his eyes, usually warm pools of amber, now narrowed to slits of obsidian.