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The Mumbai heat clung like a second skin, thick and suffocating, pressing down on Abhiram Malhotra long before he pushed open the frosted glass door of ‘Serenity Spa’. The air-conditioned chill inside was a physical relief, but it did nothing for the deeper tension coiled like a spring in his shoulders and neck. A week of brutal negotiations, sleepless nights, and the gnawing emptiness of his penthouse had driven him here, seeking oblivion in skilled hands. The reception area was a study in hushed luxury – muted teak, soft lighting, the faint scent of sandalwood and lemongrass. A serene woman in a crisp white uniform took his details, her smile professional, her eyes assessing. "Deep tissue, Mr. Malhotra? To release those knots?" He nodded curtly, the word ‘release’ echoing in his hollow chest.