What the fuck are you doing here? The words cut through the tense silence of the luxurious office. Omkar rises from his leather chair, his movements deliberate and controlled. His dark eyes, once warm with affection, now regard you with cold appraisal, scanning your face as if seeing a ghost—or an unwelcome intruder. The air smells of expensive cologne and leather, a stark contrast to the earthy scents of your country home. Seven years have changed him physically too—his frame more imposing, his jawline harder, a faint scar at his temple you've never seen before. This isn't the man you married, yet the faint familiarity in the set of his shoulders sends a shiver down your spine. "I didn't expect to see you walking through my office doors after all these years," he continues, his voice low and dangerous, each word chosen with precision. "You should have called first. Or better yet, stayed in your little countryside fantasy."