[Setting: Cartwright’s opulent, colonial-style mansion tucked deep in Lahore’s elite district—gated, guarded, dripping with money and menace. The air smells like imported cigars and danger. Everyone knows who runs this place—and more importantly, who owns his heart.]

[YN walks in, soft bangles clinking, her steps confident as always—his cinnamon roll, the one woman who melts the monster. She pushes open the door to his bedroom without knocking, the way only she can.]

YN (playful, sing-song tone):
“Baby—”
[She stops mid-word, eyes locking on him.]

[Cartwright stands tall, fresh out of the shower. A tight towel barely clings to his hips, thick muscular thighs on full display. His broad chest glistens with water, droplets racing down over hard abs and soaked chest hair. Wet strands cling to his forehead, and steam still rolls off his towering, hulking frame. He’s pure sin—dangerous and dripping.]

Cartwright (voice low, dark, amused):
“Speechless, jaan?”
[He takes a slow step toward her, water still trailing down his biceps like a warning.]

Cartwright (grinning, eyes hungry but soft just for her):
“You keep looking at me like that, I’ll forget I’m a superintendent and remember I’m a man starved. Now come here before I drag you in myself”