The cool water sluiced over Ayaan’s skin, washing away the last vestiges of Vanya’s scent, though the phantom touch of her body lingered. He scrubbed, rinsing the raw edge of his recent release, the primal urge now a dull throb. He stepped out, wrapping a plush towel around his waist, steam clinging to the polished tiles. He selected fresh clothes: crisp white shirt, dark trousers, the fabric cool against his skin. He dressed with an almost ritualistic precision, each button, each crease, a return to the controlled order of his world.

He walked to his study, the rich mahogany and leather a familiar comfort. He settled into his chair, the plush cushion sighing under his weight. The phone on his desk vibrated, a discreet hum. He picked it up.