Adultery The Swamiji

[shailu4ever]

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Then came Dev Khanna, India’s most bankable leading man. His usual confidence faltered, just slightly, when their eyes met. 

She inclined her head, a small, unreadable smile tugging at her lips. When they exchanged a brief, elegant embrace, it was electric, not passion, not possession, but a mutual recognition of force and elegance. 

He felt younger, sharper, more alive in her presence. The cameras flashed, but their focus was irrelevant; the room around them seemed to pause, as if respecting the private orbit they briefly shared.
 
Rhea moved through the ballroom like gravity incarnate, every step a display of effortless glamour. The crowd responded as a single organism, their collective focus bending around her path. Each hand she shook was remembered, each brush of her sleeve lingered in memory. 

Men noticed the subtle curve of her figure, the gentle sway of her hips, the way her shoulders aligned with grace. Every gesture was fluid, intentional, magnetic, yet entirely natural. 

No one could anticipate her movement, and yet everyone felt included in the orbit of her presence.
 
A producer she passed caught the faint scent of her perfume as she leaned slightly to nod in greeting. His pulse raced, his fingers unconsciously straightening as he extended his hand. 

When their palms met, he felt her warmth, the controlled strength beneath the delicate exterior, and a shiver ran down his spine. 

He dared not speak too long, for a glance at her almond-shaped eyes, rimmed in kohl and flecked with amber, reminded him silently that she was untouchable, unbought, and sovereign.
 
As she walked toward The Grand Podium, whispers followed in her wake. Champagne glasses were topped off instinctively as she passed nearby tables. Laughter rose gently, sharpened by the aura she carried.

Gossip columnists and photographers jostled subtly for a glimpse, a word, a smile, yet no one could command her attention; it arrived naturally, on her terms. Her pace was leisurely, unhurried, yet utterly unstoppable, as if the very path to the podium had been carved for her, every step a quiet declaration of her allure, elegance, and magnetism.
 

 
Her face, a flawless vision of symmetry and radiance, drew every eye first, the high cheekbones, the sharp yet soft jawline, the almond-shaped eyes that seemed to see everything at once. Just below, her bust, subtly and perfectly accentuated by the emerald silk of her gown, hinted at curves that were impossible to ignore, yet revealed with exquisite restraint. 

Men found themselves caught in a silent, electric struggle, torn between the irresistible pull of her gaze and the tantalizing allure of her figure. No one could fully command their attention; it was a battle of wills in which she never wavered. Rhea moved with effortless grace, allure, and glamour, a force so complete that it commanded respect without ever demanding it.
 
By the time the host prepared to begin the ceremony, Rhea had already exchanged polite, warm, private words with three major producers, one top politician, two industrialists, and the city’s most influential gossip columnist. 

No favors were asked; no attention was demanded. She existed, and the world bent itself to her orbit.

 
From the shadows of the balcony above

A figure watched her. Not moving. Not smiling. 

Simply… waiting.
 

-- oOo --

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