Adultery Cuckold looses loving wife to boss

[vaali10946]

Neha’s presence, meanwhile, was a discordant note in the gala’s elegance. She stumbled through the crowd, her skeletal frame dbangd in a garish green lehenga, her eyes bloodshot from a recent hit. Earlier, she’d snapped at a caterer, her voice shrill as she waved a manicured hand. “Do you even know who I am? This tray’s a mess!” The caterer, a young man in a crisp uniform, flinched, murmuring apologies as guests turned away, their whispers sharp. Now, Neha cornered a client’s wife near the rooftop bar, her words slurring. “My connections in Delhi, darling, they’re elite. Ministers, industrialists, you name it.” The woman, clutching a wine glass, forced a smile, her eyes darting for an escape. Neha’s arrogance, fueled by cocaine, grated on the room, her addiction a public stain on Sanjay’s image. Sanjay, catching sight of her, excused himself from the Tata executive with a smooth, “Let’s connect tomorrow,” and moved swiftly to intervene. He guided Neha to a quieter corner, his hand firm on her elbow, his face a mask of calm. “You need to rest,” he murmured, his voice low but edged with frustration. Neha shrugged him off, her brittle, but followed, her heels clicking unevenly on the marble.
Arjun seized the moment. Priya stood alone near a glass balustrade, the sea breeze tugging at her saree, her silhouette framed against the skyline. He approached, his voice low, urgent. “Come, let’s meet Sanjay. He’s been watching you.” Priya’s eyes widened, a flicker of unease crossing her face. “Watching me? Why?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Arjun’s smile was tight, his intent cloaked in enthusiasm. “He’s the boss, Priya. It’s good for us to make an impression.” She hesitated, her fingers smoothing her saree, but nodded, her love for Arjun overriding her discomfort. They wove through the crowd, Arjun’s hand on her back, guiding her toward Sanjay, who’d just returned from settling Neha in a guest room.

Sanjay stood near the jazz band, exchanging pleasantries with a group of clients, his smile professional but strained. As Arjun and Priya approached, his eyes flicked to her, a spark of recognition igniting before he masked it. Arjun, his voice bright, made the introduction. “Sir, this is my wife, Priya. She’s been excited to see the villa.” Priya offered a shy smile, her hands clasped, the saree’s sheen catching the light. Sanjay’s gaze lingered a fraction too long, her beauty—almond eyes, cascading hair, curves barely contained by the blouse—stirring a heat he fought to conceal. “Hi,” he said, his voice clipped, almost abrupt, as he extended a hand. His fingers brushed hers, the contact brief but electric, sending a jolt through him. Priya murmured a soft, “Hello,” her eyes meeting his before dropping, her cheeks flushing slightly.

Sanjay’s composure wavered, his desire a pulse he couldn’t ignore. He withdrew his hand quickly, his smile tightening. “Enjoy the evening,” he said, his tone polite but distant, and turned back to the clients, his posture rigid. “Sorry, we were discussing the Q3 projections,” he added, slipping away with a nod, his retreat swift to hide the flush creeping up his neck. Priya frowned, sensing the dismissal, but Arjun’s eyes gleamed. Sanjay’s brevity, his hurried exit, confirmed what Arjun had seen all night—the prodigy’s attraction, a crack in his polished facade. Arjun’s mind raced. He’d brought Priya to feed his voyeuristic thrill, to watch her beauty provoke desire in strangers. But Sanjay’s interest was an opportunity—a chance to weave his cuckold fantasy into the corporate game, to trade Priya’s allure for power and prestige.