After, she curled against him, tracing lines over his chest with her fingertip.
“You’re different,” she murmured.
He smiled, fingers brushing her hair back. “I’ve stopped apologizing for wanting more.”
She nuzzled closer. “Good. Because I’m not interested in the man you were pretending to be.”
Neither of them slept quickly.
Their bodies had calmed.
But their hearts had only just awakened.
Across town, Kalpana lay naked between two men, each wrapped around her in silence, skin still warm from passion.
She smiled in the dark.
Not because of what had happened.
But because of what was being born—in her, in him, in all of them.
Fire.
And the freedom to let it burn.
Chapter XXVII: A Room Without Walls
Rhea didn’t answer his message.
It had been three days.
Not that he was waiting—not really.
He already knew.
The silence between them hadn’t been sharp. It was just… quiet. Faded. Like clothes left out in the sun too long—soft to the touch, but colorless.
She had become busy—work, family, her own shifting orbits—and he didn’t blame her. If anything, he respected the clarity of it.
Some people drift apart without malice. Some flames flicker without ever becoming fire.
Vivek came home late that evening. The rain had passed, but the air was thick, the walls of the house heavy with warmth and scent—jasmine, sweat, and something darker: longing, fulfilled.
He placed his keys gently on the shelf, toed off his shoes, and stepped into the quiet.
But it wasn’t truly quiet.
There was a soft rustle from the living room. A whisper. A gasp.
He turned the corner and stopped—not out of shock, but out of reverence.
They were there.
All three.
Kalpana sat sideways on the sofa, legs tucked under her, hair cascading down her back in waves that clung to her damp skin. A wine-colored slip barely covered her thighs, one strap fallen, revealing the delicate curve of her shoulder.
Amit sat beside her, stroking her thigh with slow, reverent fingers, his head bent to kiss the inside of her knee. His eyes were half-closed, like a worshipper at prayer.
Avinash knelt at her feet, kissing her toes, his lips trailing upward with a hunger he didn’t bother to hide.
They weren’t frantic.
They weren’t even trying to be discreet.
They were simply together.
Unapologetically.
Unshaken.
Kalpana let her head fall back against the cushion, eyes fluttering shut, a soft moan escaping her lips as Amit’s hand disappeared beneath the hem of her slip. Her hips shifted, slow and rhythmic, responding to both men at once.
Vivek stood quietly beside the hallway wall, half in shadow.
And he didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t interrupt.
He watched—not with arousal, but with something deeper. A still ache. A bittersweet awareness of what it meant to be left on the outside of something so full, so warm, so unhidden.
This wasn’t about sex.
It was about belonging.
He sipped from the glass of water he still held, the condensation dripping over his knuckles, and leaned against the archway—not hiding, not ashamed.
Just… witnessing.
Kalpana opened her eyes briefly.