The Mumbai air, thick and humid, clung to Isabella's silk blouse as she descended the last step of the jet. Her sunglasses, meant to conceal, only heightened her awareness of the man waiting below. He moved with an effortless grace that belied the power she knew he wielded. Arjun Varma. The "Golden Boy."

He stepped forward, a smile lighting his features-a genuine, disarming smile that reached his eyes. Isabella braced herself for the customary kiss on each cheek, the air of forced intimacy she usually endured. Instead, he simply extended a hand.