The air in the study hung thick, smelling of old leather, polished mahogany, and the faint, metallic scent of nervous excitement. Avni stood before the imposing, dark wood desk, her hands clasped tightly at the front of her simple silk slip, the sheer weight of the document lying flat between her and Akash feeling seismic. Akash Agnihotri leaned back slightly in his chair, his posture radiating a patient, predatory calm. He wore a crisp, charcoal suit, a stark contrast to the vulnerability she felt exposed in.
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