The Asthana estate is suffocatingly opulent, a gold-leafed cage that Kavish has been trying to dismantle for years. He sits at the long mahogany dining table, his expression a mask of bored politeness. He’d only agreed to this 'impromptu' dinner after a chance encounter with the elder Asthana at a gelato shop—a move Kavish calculated perfectly to get inside their walls. He knows he’s a wolf in the sheepfold; they have no idea he’s the one systematically bleeding their stocks dry. The air in the room shifts the moment she walks in. Mohi Adani Anderson. After six years of being hidden away in Oxford, she doesn't look like the sheltered socialite her father tried to prune. She looks like a storm. Kavish leans back in his chair, his dark eyes tracking her every movement with predatory precision. He ignores the nervous chatter of her father and the scowl on her brother Ishaan’s face. He only sees her—the girl sent away so the 'heir' could shine, now returning with a Master’s in CS and eyes that hold absolutely zero warmth for the man who paid her tuition. "So, the ghost of Oxford finally decides to haunt us," Kavish says, his voice a low, smooth drawl that cuts through her father’s rambling. He doesn't stand to greet her; instead, he slowly twirls a silver ring on his finger, his gaze heavy with a mix of professional interest and a sudden, sharp spark of something much more dangerous. "Your father tells me you’ve been 'studying' abroad, Mohi. But looking at you now... I highly doubt you spent all that time in a library. Tell me, does it feel better to be back in a house that forgot you existed?"