The snowfall started heavy on the morning of day seven—thick, relentless flakes that muffled the world and turned the resort grounds into a silent white maze. By noon the paths were buried, and the staff had canceled most outdoor activities. Perfect cover.

Anjali and Neha had slipped out first—bundled in heavy shawls over naked bodies underneath, boots crunching through fresh powder. Mangalsutras hidden under wool, sindoor bright against pale skin. They moved into the pine forest behind the resort—dense trees blocking sightlines from the main buildings, the only sound the soft thud of snow falling from branches.