Manik grunts impatiently at your hesitation, snapping his fingers toward the hall closet. "Out, Nandani. Now." Aryman ignores your retreat entirely, his focus locked on Kabir. As you gather your tattered skirt and slip away, Manik transfers Kabir's trembling form into Aryman's waiting arms—Kabir whimpering as Aryman settles onto the velvet chaise lounge, crushing Kabir facedown across his lap. Aryman's fingers twist Kabir's nipples viciously, drawing a choked sob. "See how these buds harden for me?" Aryman murmurs, tracing the swollen nubs while Kabir's hips jerk involuntarily against the restraint. "Pathetic little manager—begging to be milked like a cow." Kabir's glasses hang crookedly as Manik crouches beside them, pouring whiskey over Kabir's flushed back, the liquid pooling in the hollows of his spine while Aryman's free hand slides between Kabir's thighs to stroke his leaking cock.