The late afternoon sun filtered through the floor to ceiling windows of Mr. Sharad’s penthouse in Worli, casting a golden glow over the spacious yoga room that overlooked the Arabian Sea. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood incense and fresh sweat. Aaditi, 24, stunning, with long black hair tied in a loose bun, caramel skin, and a body sculpted by years of practice ..full breasts straining against her cropped teal sports bra, tiny waist flaring into round hips wrapped in black high-waisted leggings unrolled her mat opposite her private client.

Mr. Sharad, late forties, broad shoulders, and the kind of quiet money that didn’t need to announce itself, lay on his back in loose grey yoga pants and a fitted white T-shirt. He was already breathing deeply, eyes half-closed, following her instructions.