"Rati, is that you?" Sanjay called out, his eyes glued to the paperwork scattered across his mahogany desk. The clock chimed two in the afternoon, signaling lunchtime in the quiet solitude of his home office. The only sounds that pierced the silence were the occasional rustles of pages and the distant hum of the air conditioner.

"Yes, sasurji," Rati's sweet voice floated in, carrying with it the aroma of spices and warm, home-cooked food. She pushed the heavy oak door open with a gentle creak, her footsteps light on the plush carpet. She was a vision in a draping yellow saree that clung to her curves like a second skin. The blouse she wore was a mere whisper of fabric, the backless design showcasing her smooth, golden skin and the swell of her voluptuous breasts that threatened to spill over the neckline.