The morning was too quiet.
Shruti's fingers were still trembling when she wrapped the robe around her waist, skin still warm from Rhea's touch… and Aman's silent presence. The smell of sex clung to her—Rhea's musk on her lips, and her husband's cologne lingering faintly near the bathroom door where he had stood, watching.
She stepped into the kitchen. Aman was already there, shirtless, sipping black coffee, his hair still damp from a cold shower. He didn't look up.
"Kya hum kuch baat kar sakte hain?" Shruti asked softly.
His gaze lifted, slow and unreadable. "Tere mooh pe abhi bhi Rhea ki chut ki smell hai, Shruti. Kis baat pe karein?"
Her stomach knotted. Not from shame. From the way he said it — not with disgust. With a strange sort of reverence.
She swallowed. "Tumko problem hai toh—"
"Problem?" Aman chuckled. "Main toh pagal ho gaya hoon."
There was a beat. Silence again.
He stood, walked past her, then stopped behind her—close enough for the heat of his body to kiss her back. He leaned in, lips grazing her ear.
"Mujhe wo sab yaad hai jo main kal raat dekha..."
Shruti shuddered.
"Tere hoth... teri jeebh... uski chut mein doobi hui thi…"
Her breath hitched. He whispered it like a prayer. A dirty, intoxicating confession.
And then, just as suddenly, he stepped back, took his keys, and left without another word.
She stood frozen.
Rhea appeared from the hallway, still in his shirt, her hair messy, her lips bruised from the night before. "Kya usne kuch kaha?"
Shruti turned to her, and for the first time, something flickered in her eyes. Possession? Guilt?
Maybe both.
"Usne sab kuch dekha, Rhea…"
Rhea licked her bottom lip, walking toward her. "Aur? Kya tumhein bura laga?"
Shruti didn't answer. Her body did. A slow flush bloomed on her neck.
Rhea smirked. "Tumhein pata hai na... tumhare liye voh bhi abhi tak pyaasa hai. Tum dono ek doosre se door ho... par abhi tak ek doosre ke liye khatarnaak ho."
Shruti's voice cracked. "Toh kya tu—? Are you using me to reach him?"
Rhea stepped closer. "Main kisi ko use nahi karti. Main sirf jalaati hoon."
And with that, she kissed Shruti again—slow, deep, full of teeth. The kind of kiss that didn't ask for permission.
Shruti gasped into her mouth, trembling as Rhea's hands found their way under the robe again. But this time... the kiss felt different.
Because Shruti could see Aman in her mind. The way he watched. The way his hand had moved under the waistband of his jeans. The way his mouth had parted when Rhea moaned "haaaan… chaat... chaat na Shruti…"
That memory ignited her like petrol.
And she gave in.
Again.
But in the shadows of the window blinds, a figure stood outside. Motionless.
Watching.