Aman Raichand stared at the photo on his screen until his private jet began its descent into Mumbai. The image of those heavy, bare breasts resting on her plush stomach, and her fingers slick with her own desire, was burned into his retinas. He was a man of absolute control. He built empires, destroyed rivals, and crushed economies without blinking an eye. He never let his lower brain dictate his actions.

But this girl—*aneerox*—was a highly addictive drug wrapped in pink satin and submission.