The private villa perched on the hills outside Milan glowed like a jewel against the night sky. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls framed the city lights below, while marble floors and leather furnishings spoke of quiet luxury. Vikrant’s hand stayed glued to the small of Meera’s back as they entered, fingers pressing hard enough to leave faint marks through the thin fabric of her dress.

"This is ours for the next week," he said, voice low and rough. "No interruptions. No one else. Just you and me."