"Politics isn't merely about power; it's about wielding influence with finesse, orchestrating the dance of nations on the world stage."
•••
Welcome to a tale that echoes through the luxurious enclaves of the capital to its very downtrodden streets.
...
Trayaksh watched Ananya walk out to the balcony, her phone pressed to her ear, a wave of strange irritation slowly gnawing at his chest. He clenched his jaw and turned away, heading to the master bedroom to take a shower. He needed to cool off, shake off this irrational knot twisting through his mind.
Ten minutes later, when he returned, Ananya was still on the balcony, deep in conversation, completely oblivious to his presence.
That strange knot in his chest tightened.
Until she felt his gaze.
She turned sharply—and froze.
Her words faltering as she trailed off mid-sentence.
Trayaksh's towering figure was standing there, half-hidden in the darkness of the dimly lit living room, watching her.
Only in a bathrobe.
His broad chest peeked out from the loosely tied robe, tan skin gleaming in the dim light, while droplets of water ran down his collarbone and along the strong contours of his torso. The powerful muscles of his legs remained mostly hidden beneath the robe. His charcoal-black hair was a tousled mess, pushed back with his fingers, and his stormy gray eyes were locked onto hers.
Ananya's mouth went dry, her heart skipping several beats.
"...I'll be done soon. Hello? Hello?" The voice from the other side called out.
