The private dining room at the Taj was draped in gold and shadows. Reyansh had curated the guest list with the precision of a general: himself, Myra, Shanaya, and the man he considered his greatest rival—Dr. Rohan Malhotra.
Shanaya sat next to Reyansh, looking like a queen in her Dior gown, unaware that her "fiancé" was a ticking time bomb. Across from them sat Myra and Rohan
"So, Dr. Malhotra," Reyansh began, his voice smooth as silk as the first course was served. "I've always been fascinated by medical ethics. The idea of 'Do No Harm.' It's quite different from the corporate world, isn't it?"
As he spoke, Reyansh shifted in his seat. Beneath the heavy white linen tablecloth, his hand found Myra's knee.
Myra stiffened, her fork clattering against the fine china. She looked at Reyansh, but he wasn't looking at her. He was staring directly at Rohan, a predatory smile on his lips.
"In architecture, if a foundation is weak, we tear it down," Reyansh continued, his hand sliding slowly, deliberately up Myra's thigh, his fingers bunching the silk of her skirt. "We don't try to 'heal' it. We replace it."
"Medicine is about preserving what is valuable, Mr. Khurana," Rohan replied, his eyes flickering to Myra, noticing her pale face. "Even if the structure is damaged, if the heart is still beating, we fight for it."
"Even if that 'heart' belongs to someone else?" Reyansh's fingers reached the hem of Myra's lace underwear. He began to stroke the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, his touch a searing brand.
Myra gasped, the sound muffled by the ambient jazz playing in the room.
"Myra, dear, are you alright?" Shanaya asked, arching a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "You look... flushed. Is the wine too strong for you?"
"I'm... I'm fine," Myra choked out, her hand going under the table to try and grab Reyansh's wrist, but he caught her hand, interlocking his fingers with hers and squeezing until it hurt.
"She's just tired, Shanaya," Reyansh said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register. "She spent a lot of energy on her... personal projects lately."
He turned back to Rohan, his thumb now tracing circles on the palm of Myra's hand under the table, while his other hand returned to its slow, agonizing climb up her leg. "Tell me, Doctor. In your 'ethics,' is it ever acceptable to take something that isn't yours? To covet a masterpiece that was designed for another man's eyes?"
Rohan's jaw tightened. He sensed the tension, though he couldn't see the source. "I believe that a person isn't a 'masterpiece' to be owned. They have a choice."
"Choice is an illusion, Doctor," Reyansh whispered, his hand finally reaching the apex of her thighs, his fingers pressing firmly against her through the lace
Myra's eyes went wide. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood, her entire body trembling as she tried to maintain a neutral expression for the two people watching her. She was being claimed in front of her "boyfriend" and her boss's "fiancée," and no one but Reyansh knew the truth.
"The wine is excellent, isn't it?" Reyansh asked, taking a slow sip of his red wine, his eyes never leaving Myra's. "It has a very... complex finish. Much like a well-executed lie."
The dinner continued for another hour—an hour of psychological torture where every word spoken above the table was a lie, and every touch beneath it was a declaration of war.
Author's Thought
THE AUDACITY! 😱🔥 Reyansh is literally playing with fire. He's touching her right in front of her "boyfriend" and his "fiancée"! He's so jealous that he wants to see if she'll break in public. 🚩🚩🚩