The air on the rooftop terrace of ‘AURA’ was a heady mix of night-blooming jasmine and expensive champagne. It clung to the city’s humid August air, a gilded cage of clinking glasses and manufactured laughter. I stood with my hand tucked into the crook of Raghav’s arm, a diamond ring—a promise—weighing down my finger. He was in his element, charming his way through his father’s business partners, his laughter bright and easy. I was the perfect accessory, the smiling fiancée.

"And this," Raghav announced, his voice booming slightly as he turned us toward a figure who had been observing the glittering Mumbai skyline, "is my brother. The elusive Arjun Varma."