The Udaipur palace rose from the waters of Lake Pichola like a dream carved from marble and moonlight. Its turrets and domes glowed amber in the setting sun, its reflection rippling across the placid water in shards of gold. This was the City of Lakes, the Venice of the East, and for three nights, it belonged to them.

The babymoon had been Kabir's idea. He had booked the suite himself, the grandest in the palace, with its own private courtyard and an infinity pool that seemed to spill directly into the lake. "You have been working too hard," he had told them both. "Priya is six months pregnant and still pulling eighteen-hour days. Reyansh, you are one board meeting away from becoming a tyrant again. Go. Sleep. Swim. Do whatever rich people do in palaces. I will handle the company." His eyes had flickered with something like guilt, the old residue of his twenty-year betrayal. This was his penance. His gift. They had accepted.