The morning after the Command Sequence, the Rathore manor was buzzing with the carefully orchestrated chaos of post-wedding domesticity. The scent of jasmine and expensive coffee masked the tension of the financial shockwaves Ronak and Anya had unleashed.
Ronak had insisted on a public breakfast in the sunlit conservatory, a performance staged for the family, the senior staff, and any lingering social reporters. The Alibi was essential: they needed to appear utterly preoccupied with the bliss of their new marriage, ensuring no one suspected they had spent the night committing corporate espionage.
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