The air conditioner hummed its low, constant note, and I let it fill the space between us. The wine glass in my hand had gone slightly warm where my fingers wrapped around it, condensation beading and sliding down the crystal in slow, deliberate paths. I watched a single drop travel the curve, waited for it to fall, and when it did, I finally let my gaze lift.

Arjun was still looking.

He hadn't stopped, not once, not even when Vikram had been mid-sentence about his import business, not when Ravi had launched into some story about a client's wife. His eyes had stayed on me the whole time, fixed on the deep neck of my blouse, on the way the purple chiffon draped and dipped and suggested. He thought he was being subtle. He was not.

I let the silence stretch. Let him think I hadn't noticed. Let him believe he was getting away with something.

The jasmine on the low table released another wave of scent into the conditioned air. I breathed it in, let my shoulders settle, and felt the cool marble under my bare feet as I shifted in my seat. My sandals lay discarded by the couch — I'd slipped them off an hour ago, when the conversation had first started to feel like something other than conversation. The marble was smooth, almost cool enough to be uncomfortable, and I pressed my toes against it and felt grounded.

Outside, Delhi bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows — amber smog-hazed lights, the distant crawl of traffic, the city's endless hum. The room was high enough that the noise was muted, a low pulse beneath the air conditioner's drone. I could see the metro line from here, a faint ribbon of light threading between buildings, and I thought of Rohan standing somewhere out there, phone in hand, watching me through the pin on my pallu.

The thought made my pulse quicken. I didn't let it show.

"Tell me about the gym," I said, tilting my head toward Arjun. My voice came out soft, cultured, the way I'd learned to speak in rooms full of people who thought they were the most interesting thing in them. "You clearly spend time there."

Arjun straightened, his wolfish grin spreading. "You noticed?"

"Hard not to." I let my eyes travel over him — the broad shoulders straining the casual shirt, the gold chain catching the low light. I took my time. Let him feel it. "A man who takes care of himself... that's rare."

He puffed up slightly, and I saw Ravi roll his eyes from the corner of my vision. Suresh adjusted his glasses, watching me with that quiet, calculating look. Vikram had gone still, his hand wrapped around his own glass, his eyes on me with an intensity that had nothing to do with my cleavage.

I ignored all of them. Kept my attention on Arjun.

"What do you do there?" I asked, letting my fingers trace the rim of my glass. "Lift? Cardio? Or do you just stand in front of the mirror and admire yourself?"

Ravi snorted. Arjun shot him a look, then turned back to me, his grin undimmed. "I lift. Heavy. You should see my deadlift."

"Should I?" I let the question hang, let it mean something it didn't. "That sounds like an invitation."

Arjun's eyes darkened. He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping. "Maybe it is."

I held his gaze for a long moment. Then I laughed — a low, musical sound that I'd perfected over years of dinner parties and boardrooms. "Careful," I said. "I might take you up on that."

The air in the room changed. I felt it — the shift, the charge, the way four men suddenly remembered they were in a hotel suite with a woman who was not their wife, not their colleague, not anyone they had any right to be looking at the way they were looking at me. The condom box sat on the low table between us, still out, still exposed, a reminder of what they thought this night was building toward. I'd made sure it stayed there, angled toward the camera pin on my pallu, so Rohan could see it every time I moved.

I wondered what he was thinking right now. Whether he was hard, standing in the shadows outside, watching me through that tiny lens. Whether his hand was in his pocket, or whether he was holding the phone with both hands, eyes fixed on the screen, barely breathing.

The thought made warmth pool low in my belly. I shifted in my seat, let the chiffon whisper against my skin, and reached for my wine.

Arjun's gaze followed the movement. Of course it did.

I brought the glass to my lips, took a slow sip, and let my eyes meet his over the rim. His jaw tightened. I saw his throat move as he swallowed.

"So," I said, setting the glass down. "You lift heavy. You have a gym. You clearly spend a lot of time on your body." I tilted my head, let my hair brush my shoulder. "But you haven't actually said anything to me all evening. Not a real sentence. Not a question."

Arjun blinked. "I—"

"You've been looking." I let my voice drop, low enough that the others had to lean in to hear. "A lot. You've been looking at me like you're memorizing something." I paused, let the silence stretch just long enough to become uncomfortable. "But you haven't said a word."

He opened his mouth. Closed it. I watched his confidence flicker, just for a second, before he regrouped. "I didn't want to be rude," he said, but his voice came out rougher than he'd intended.

"Rude?" I laughed again, softer this time. "Staring is rude, Arjun. Staring is what men do when they don't have the courage to speak." I let my fingers drift to the edge of my pallu, the fabric cool and smooth under my touch. "I'm waiting, you know."

The room held its breath.

I could feel all of them watching now — Vikram's sharp gaze, Suresh's quiet attention, Ravi's barely concealed grin. But I kept my eyes on Arjun, on the way his chest rose and fell a little faster, on the way his hands had tightened on his thighs.

My fingers moved along the pallu's edge, a slow, deliberate adjustment. Just enough to shift the fabric, to draw the eye to the deep neck of my blouse, to the shadowed curve of my cleavage. Just enough to make him forget whatever he'd been about to say.

The air conditioner hummed. The jasmine released another wave of scent. Somewhere outside, a siren wailed and faded, swallowed by the city's endless noise.

And I sat there, fingers resting on the edge of my pallu, eyes locked on Arjun's, and felt the power settle over me like a shawl.

This was my game. My pace. My rules.

They thought they were winning me over. They thought the condom box on the table meant something, that the drinks and the conversation and the expensive hotel suite were all leading somewhere they controlled.

They had no idea.

Rohan was out there, watching. Rohan was hard, and aching, and his, and every move I made was for him — the tilt of my head, the slow sip of wine, the way I let my fingers trail along my collarbone as if I'd forgotten they were there. The camera pin on my pallu caught it all, streamed it all, delivered it to him in real time, and I could almost feel his eyes on me through the lens, could almost hear his breath quickening in my ear.

I wanted to give him a show. I wanted to make him ache. I wanted him to watch these four men try and fail and try again, and know — the whole time — that I was his. That no matter how many of them there were, no matter how far I let this go, I would come back to him with the taste of their desperation on my lips and the knowledge that none of them had touched anything that mattered.

Arjun was still staring. Still silent. Still trying to find the words that would impress me.

I let him struggle. Let the silence stretch until it was almost unbearable, until I could see the others shifting in their seats, until Vikram's fingers tightened on his glass and Suresh and Ravi exchanged a glance I pretended not to see.

Then I reached for my wine, and let my hand brush Arjun's as I did.

His skin was warm. Rough. He flinched, barely, and I saw the pulse jump in his throat.

I smiled — slow, deliberate, my lips parting just enough to show a hint of teeth. "Impressive men don't just stare," I said, my voice low and honeyed. "They act."

The words hung in the air between us, heavy with promise and challenge. Arjun's eyes darkened. His jaw worked. I saw him draw breath to speak, saw the words forming on his tongue.

And I waited, my fingers still resting against his, the room frozen around us, the city burning amber beyond the glass.

The moment stretched, thin and electric, and I felt the night shift around me — felt all four of them lean in, felt the game tilt in my favor, felt Rohan's eyes on me through the pin, hungry and mine.

I didn't look away from Arjun. I didn't need to.

I had them exactly where I wanted them.