The dynamic in the house had shifted into a dangerous, electric game of risk. Shivi had completely shed her shy exterior, replaced by a predatory boldness that thrived on the taboo. She no longer cared for subtlety; she would press her breasts against jay's arm while anchal was right there, or slide her hand over his thigh under the dining table, her eyes locked onto his with a challenging glint. Jay, fueled by the ego boost and the sheer eroticism of the betrayal, leaned into it. He loved the way shivi worshipped him, and he loved the thrill of doing it right under anchal's nose.

Their secret encounters had become a constant cycle of high-tension teasing—stolen kisses in hallways, jay lifting her skirt to lick her clit while anchal was in the next room, and shivi spending hours praising the hardness of his muscles while her hands roamed over his body.