The heavy mahogany door of the penthouse slammed shut with a deafening thud, echoing through the vast, dark space. The sound was like a gavel coming down—the final judgment.

Aman didn't put her down. He carried her through the living room, his boots crunching on the shattered remains of the crystal vase. He didn't care about the mess. He didn't care about Vikram or Sneha. His entire universe had shrunk to the sobbing, trembling woman in his arms.