Alisha

I had been waiting—impatiently, desperately—for Jayant. A part of me clung to hope, foolish hope, that he would stop Shreya from leaving. Every second stretched longer than the last, and when the door finally creaked open, my heart jumped.

But the sight of him stole the air from my lungs.

Jayant stepped inside slowly, as though his feet carried the weight of an entire world. His face was pale, hollow, lost—broken in a way I had never seen before. I was about to rush forward, to ask him what happened, when my eyes caught something that froze me in place.

In his hand, hanging loosely, was the mangalsutra.

My steps faltered, my heart sinking into silence. That one piece of jewelry told me everything—Jayant hadn’t stopped her. Shreya was gone.

He walked without a word, collapsing onto the corner of the sofa, shoulders slumped as if surrendering to something invisible. My gaze remained fixed on the mangalsutra, trembling in his hand. Before I could gather my thoughts, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring. My breath hitched, tears spilling before I even realized. That ring was meant to bind him to Shreya. And now, it lay lifelessly in his palm.

My chest ached. This was all… my fault.

I stood there, staring at him, drowning in guilt, when suddenly—arms wrapped around me. A sudden hug. I froze, stiff as stone, until the voice whispered with relief against my ear.

“Thank God, you’re safe.”

Aransh.

The sound of his voice snapped me back. My body loosened, but my mind reeled. Over his shoulder, I saw Jayant watching us, his expression unreadable. An inspector followed him into the room, adding to the confusion already spiraling in my head.

Before I could react, Aransh cupped my face, his eyes soft, and pressed a kiss to my forehead. My heart stuttered. I was stunned, caught in the whirlpool of too many emotions—until Jayant suddenly stood, walked over, and with a swift pull, separated me from Aransh.

His voice was low, steady, but sharp.
“Aransh… right?”

There was no trace of the brokenness I had seen minutes ago. Jayant’s sadness was gone, replaced by something harder, colder.

Aransh blinked, then nodded. “Yes. Alisha’s boyfriend.” He extended his hand politely, almost carelessly.

Jayant’s lips curved into the faintest, bitter smile.
“Are you telling me… or yourself?”

For a moment, silence. Confusion flickered in Aransh’s eyes. Then he chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “And you must be—what? Oh, of course I know. You’re the one who made my baby cry a hundred times. Her childhood tormentor. Her Bhalu.” He teased, almost mocking, though his tone carried a hint of familiarity.

I stood frozen, caught between the two of them, unable to grasp what was happening.

Finally, I turned to Aransh, my voice weak. “What are you doing here?”

"Doing what, came to meet you"
He stepped closer, his eyes heavy with regret. “Baby… I’m sorry. Because of me, all of this happened to you.”

Before I could respond, Jayant cut in, his voice sharp as glass.
“Because of you? What do you mean by that?” He moved between us, his body taut with restrained anger. “Tell me. How is any of this because of you?”

“Jayant!” I grabbed his arm, trying to push him back, my heart racing. “What are you doing?” I turned to Aransh, still bewildered. “And this inspector with you—who is he? Why are you here?”

Aransh straightened a little, his voice firm as he finally spoke.
“This is Inspector Nikhil Agarwal,” he said, gesturing to the man beside him. “He’s been investigating your kidnapping.”

“My kidnapping?” The words left my lips before I even realized I’d said them aloud.

“Yes,” Aransh’s tone softened, almost guilty. “All of this happened because our dating news went public. Your kidnapping… it only happened because of that news. I was in the middle of a shoot when the kidnappers called—demanding money.”

The air shifted—tight, suffocating. Jayant, who had been silent until now, turned sharply toward him.
“You got that call and you didn’t tell me?” His voice cut like glass, hot with anger.

“I tried,” Aransh countered,

Jayant eyes flicking toward the inspector. “When I told you before, you refused to help me.”

I watched Jayant then—the way his eyes darkened, not with disbelief, but with recognition. As though he knew this inspector.

“Relax, bhai,” Aransh finally said, trying to break the tension, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “The point is—you saved Alisha. That’s what matters. As for the kidnapper…” his gaze shifted back to me, soft, almost protective. “He’s in custody now. Every bruise he gave you, every pain… I’ll make sure he pays for it.”

But before his words could sink in, Jayant’s voice cut across the room like a blade.
"He will pay. Definately he will"

Inspector Agarwal stepped forward. “He’s in our lockup.”

"I want to see him." Jayant said.

A strange fear crawled up my spine, cold and unexplainable. My memory of the night was foggy, scattered like broken glass—I couldn’t piece together how I had been taken, what had been done to me.

Without another word, Jayant stormed out, Aransh moved to follow, but instinct made me grab his wrist.

“Don’t let Jayant meet him,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, trembling with a fear I couldn’t name. “Please.”

Aransh frowned, as though he hadn’t fully understood, and gently pulled away. “I’ll be back,” he promised—and then he, too, was gone.

___________________________________________

Jayant

I walked beside Inspector Nikhil, my steps heavy, my mind elsewhere.

“You found her before dawn,” he said, a faint admiration laced in his tone. “I’m impressed.”

I stopped just short of scoffing. “I didn’t do it to impress you,” I muttered, the bitterness sharper than I intended. His words felt hollow—how could anyone praise me when I had nearly lost her?

We were just about to step into the jeep when Aransh appeared, his face tight, determined.

“Where are you going?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“I need to see him too,” he replied.

“And leave Alisha here, alone, in a hospital bed?” My voice cracked like a whip.

“No, i mean no” he shot back instantly.

“Then stay by her side,” I snapped, He hesitated, but I had already turned away, stepping into the jeep with the inspector.

I didn’t want to leave Alisha with him—God knows, the thought of her leaning on Aransh burned me from inside. Yet, what right did I even have? My chest tightened. Shreya’s last words still circled like vultures in my head, tearing me apart.

I couldn’t even look at Alisha the way I once did—freely, carelessly, with that instinctive warmth. Now, every glance carried a weight, a fear, and beneath it all… guilt. The kind that gnawed at my bones. Why did it sting so much, watching Aransh go close to Alisha.

I just want to ask that kidnapper, Ranjan, one question—what did he do to Alisha that made her fail to recognize me? When I saved her, why did she look into my eyes and ask, “Who are you?” Why did she say that?

The jeep jolted to a stop outside the station, As I followed Inspector Nikhil into the station, my steps dragged with a different weight.

___________________________________________

Alisha

I lay on the hospital bed, the dim light of my phone glowing against the pale walls. My thumb scrolled without thought, desperate to find something—anything—that could explain the chaos of the last night. And then I saw it.

The headline leapt at me, bold and merciless: “Aransh Khanna’s girlfriend kidnapped.”

My heart stopped. For a moment. The words pressed against my ribs, and before I could hold it in, it slipped from my lips—“What the—”

The sound of movement pulled me back. At the door, Aransh stood, a bag of fruits in his hands, watching me with that too-polished calm of his.

“Wanna Eat?” he said softly, placing the bag on the table beside me. “I brought these for you.” Then, almost as if it was his room, his stage, he dropped into the sofa with a casual grace.

Something sharp rose in me. “I should’ve known this,” I said, my voice colder than I meant. “This kidnapping… it had to be your plan.”

He blinked at me, startled. “What? Why on earth would I kidnap you?”

“For your benefit. For attention. To stay in the headlines,” I shot back, words tumbling out before I could stop them.

Aransh gave a small, almost theatrical laugh. “Oh, come on, Alisha. I’m not that cruel.”

“No,” I said quietly, cutting him off. “You’re not cruel. Just selfish.”

His lips curved in a half-smile. “Selfish? If I were truly selfish, I would’ve walked away from all this mess. I would’ve told the world our dating news was fake, cleared my name, and saved myself. But I didn’t. I came here. For you. To keep this charade alive.”

“I didn’t need you to,” I whispered, bitterness curling around the words.

“Yes, you did, and I did this for myself” he replied instantly. “If I hadn’t come, people would’ve talked. What kind of boyfriend doesn’t even visit his girlfriend in the hospital?” His tone was mocking, almost playful, but the sharpness underneath it pricked at me.

“You shouldn’t have called me baby,” I said suddenly, the word burning my tongue.

His eyes flickered. “That’s part of the act, isn’t it? This… fake dating of ours. Should I stop calling you Alisha too? Would that make it easier?”

The air between us thickened. I stared at him, searching for something—anger, sincerity, even malice—but his expression was unreadable.

“You hate me that much now?” I asked finally, my voice low.

“No,” he said, after a long pause. “Not hate. Just distance. I want to keep my distance from you, that’s all.”

For a heartbeat, time stilled. The room felt frozen, and all I could do was watch him, his face carved in shadow and light.

“Don’t worry,” he added, his voice suddenly softer, almost tired. “There’s nothing left in my heart for you anymore. I just… want space.”

I swallowed the ache rising in my chest and forced a small nod. “Good then,” I said, even though nothing about it felt good.

Silence pressed between us until I broke it, my voice hesitant. “Where is Jayant?”

"At police station"

I sat up, startled. “I told you not to let him go—”

Aransh tilted his head, confusion in his eyes. “When did you ever say that?”

I opened my mouth, the protest on my lips, but just then my phone rang. My father’s name flashed across the screen. The panic in his voice spilled into my ears the second I answered—he had seen the news, he was terrified. I soothed him, lied if I had to, telling him I was fine, promising him I was safe.

Then another call came. And another. Relatives, friends, voices layered one after another, all carrying the same worry, the same pity.

By the third call, I was already exhausted. By the fifth, I felt like I was drowning again—only this time, not in darkness, but in concern that pressed too hard, too fast.

And through it all, Aransh just sat there on the sofa, silent, watching.

By the time the last call ended, Aransh lounged lazily on the couch, stretching as if exhaustion itself were a luxury. With a faint smirk he said, “You’re being showered with love from all directions.”

I ignored his remark, though it pricked me. Instead, I asked, “Will you head back to Mumbai after this?”

He yawned, replying carelessly, “Once Jayant returns, yes. I’ll be on the next flight.”

“Come to Delhi with me,” I said abruptly. “We need to continue this act a little longer.”

His brows arched, amused. “Are you asking me—or ordering me?”

“I’m telling you. Come.” My voice was sharper than I meant it to be.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Soumya had only said my name would be used, that I wouldn’t have to do anything. Yet here I am, caught in the middle like a fool.”

“No,” I cut in, my tone steadier now. “You came here for yourself. Just like the day you saved that minister’s daughter—you do only for your own benifits. You agreed to Soumya because you saw an your career benifits. And I’m sure you see another one now.”

His amusement dimmed into curiosity. “What kind of benefits?”

“A wedding,” I replied simply. “Play your part for a few more days. Once this drama is done, I’ll be in Mumbai too. You know how weddings are—celebrities attending wedding is trending now, Isn’t that what you want?”

He fell silent, thinking, then said lightly, “Not a bad idea. Let me arrange my schedule.” With that, he drifted toward the window, phone pressed to his ear, speaking in low tones to his manager.

I barely had time to process it before the doctor entered. His smile was polite, professional. “Alisha, you seem perfectly fine.”

“Yes, doctor, I feel well. When can I be discharged?”

“Any time, though I’d recommend staying until evening. Your reports will arrive by then.”

The word froze me. Reports. My face drained of color. “What reports?” I asked quietly.

“The blood test. The MRI,” he replied, almost casually.

A tremor ran through me. “Discharge me now. I’ll collect the report this evening myself.”

“Do you live in Bangalore?”

“Yes,” I lied firmly. “live near by this hospital.”

Once he left, I turned to Aransh, who was still mid-conversation. “Please complete my discharge formalities,” I murmured. He nodded, distracted, and stepped out.

That was when the unease struck. A throbbing ache spread across my head, my breath shortening as if the walls themselves were closing in. And then—like a cruel flash—memory crashed into me.

That night.
The kidnappers.
Jayant running towards me, i running to him. I had clung to him, trembling, and the words that had fallen from my lips: “Who are you?”

The memory ripped through me like a storm. My chest tightened. No. No, this cannot be true.

Pain lanced through my skull, heavier, sharper. My breaths grew ragged. I stumbled out of the room, almost colliding with a nurse. Gripping her wrist desperately, I whispered something into her ear. Her eyes widened at my request, but seeing my state, she rushed to the nearby medical store.

When she returned, she pressed a small tablet into my palm. I swallowed it dry, clutching the edge of the wall for support. Slowly, mercifully, the tension in my chest began to ease.

“Thank you,” I breathed, again and again, my voice cracked with relief. "Thanku so much"

She looked at me with concern. “You should be admitted, madam.”

“I’m fine,” I whispered hoarsely. “I’m fine. Please… just go.”

But she didn’t. She steadied me, guiding me back into my room and easing me down onto the bed. My body gave up its fight, my eyelids dragging closed against my will. Within minutes, exhaustion swallowed me whole, and I drifted into a restless, fragile sleep.

<•∆∆∆∆∆•>

Hours later, I stirred awake. My lashes fluttered open to the soft light, and the first thing I saw was Aransh sitting quietly by my side, watching me with a calmness that felt almost rehearsed.

“What time is it?” I asked, my voice still heavy with sleep.

“Two in the afternoon,” he replied, leaning back into the chair.

I pushed myself up on the bed, ignoring the dull ache in my head. “Did you finish the discharge formalities?”

He smiled faintly. “Long ago. I was only waiting for you to wake.”

“Then let’s leave,” I said at once, urgency pressing into my tone.

He hesitated, then suggested lightly, “Not  waiting for Jayant?”

“No,” I answered sharply. “He will come himself. I can’t wait any longer.”

Without giving him a chance to argue, I pulled myself together, and with Aransh at my side, I stepped out of that suffocating hospital. The air outside hit my lungs like freedom, yet it carried a heaviness I couldn’t shake.

I dialed Jayant’s number. My heart raced, though I disguised it behind a steady voice. “I’m leaving for Delhi,” I told him.

There was a pause, then his voice cut through the line, sharp with disbelief. “Why… why so soon? Stay a little longer. I’m coming—just wait for me.”

“No, Jayant,” I replied, steel wrapping around my words. “I’ll go with Aransh. You… you should stay. Patchup things with Shreya before you return.”

“My chapter with Shreya is already over.” His voice was clipped, defensive.

“Nothing is over,” I retorted, my throat tightening with frustration. “It only ends when you try and fail—and you haven’t even tried.”

“I don’t want to try,” he snapped back, his tone final.

My grip tightened around the phone. "You will have to do it, if you come back to Delhi without Shreya then I will never talk to you"

And before he could respond, I ended the call. My hands trembled as I slid the phone back into my bag.

For a moment, silence stretched between me and Aransh. He said nothing, Together, we moved toward the airport—my decision final, though the storm inside me only just beginning.

At any cost, I have to bring Shreya and Jayant back together, back to the way they once were. For that, I’m willing to do whatever it takes—even if it means staging this charade of fake dating again.

Yes, I’ve used this tactic before, and it turned against me, burning deeper than I’d ever expected. But still, here I am, reaching for it once more. Not because I trust it, but because I have no time left to waste.

Every moment matters now, and whatever must be done—I will do it quickly.

<•∆∆∆∆∆•>

At Delhi

“Papa…” The word barely left my lips when a sharp crack split the air—the glass vase beside me shattering against the floor. My father had thrown it, his face burning with rage.

“Papa, I’m sorry… sorry for leaving without telling you,” I whispered, trembling.

His voice thundered back, each word heavy with disappointment: “Pahle kisi ki Jaan le lo fir Sorry bol do, Kitna Aasan hai nah?” Without waiting for my answer, he turned and walked into his room, the slam of the door echoing like a verdict.

("First take someone's life, then say sorry, it's so easy isn't it?")

Behind me, Aransh stood silently, watching. My younger brother Sonu glared at me with the same anger I saw in Papa’s eyes.

“Sonu… at least you try to understand me,” I pleaded.

But his voice was bitter, cold. “Why should we always be the ones to understand you, Di? Why is it always your way? You do as you please, and it’s Papa who pays the price every time.”

My throat tightened, eyes burning. “Sonu…” I could barely speak, my voice breaking under the weight of guilt.

He shook his head, softer this time. “I may be younger, Di, so maybe I don’t have the right to be angry with you. But Papa does. Go to him first… ask for his forgiveness.” His words cut deeper than his anger.

And without waiting for my reply, he walked toward Aransh and guide him to sit on sofa.

Everyone already knew who Aransh was—the news had made sure of that. There was no need for introductions, no explanations.

I drew in a shaky breath and began walking, step by step, toward Papa’s room. Each step felt heavier than the last, as though guilt itself were weighing me down.

The door was half-open. Of course it was. Papa rarely locked it; some part of him always stayed available, in case one of his children needed him. I stepped inside quietly, my voice softer than usual, almost casual.

“Papa… what would you like for dinner? I was thinking… maybe tonight I’ll cook.”

No reply. He sat still, unmoving.

I tried again, forcing cheer into my tone. “I booked Dr. Dutta’s appointment. It’s for tomorrow morning. You’ll come with me, won’t you?”

Silence again.

I walked closer, my heart sinking with every step. He was on the bed, shoulders bowed, holding a photograph of Mummy in his trembling hands. Tears had gathered in his eyes, and seeing them there shattered me more than any angry word ever could.

Without thinking, I slipped onto the bed and wrapped my arms around him from the side. “Papa…” The word came out broken.

That was all it took. His composure crumbled. He collapsed against me, his chest heaving as he wept—deep, helpless sobs that shook through both of us. I held him tighter, my own tears spilling, our grief folding into each other. His hand found my back, trembling as he stroked it, and I mirrored him, as if we were both trying to soothe away years of hurt at once.

And then, gently, another presence pressed into the hug. Sonu. He had joined us, silently sliding into the circle we had made.

The three of us clung together, locked in that fragile embrace. No words, no accusations, no justifications—only tears, only the warmth of bodies that had wounded each other but still belonged to one another.

Papa’s anger was gone. In its place was pain, raw and human, mirrored in Sonu’s eyes and in mine. For a long time, we stayed that way, lost in the ache of love and loss, as if the world outside had vanished and only this small, broken family existed.

<•∆∆∆∆∆•>

A little while later, the three of us found ourselves in the kitchen. I was at the stove, sleeves rolled up, stirring spices into the pan, while Papa and Sonu hovered nearby, insisting on helping though both were far more trouble than assistance.

We laughed and bumped into one another as if years of distance had never existed.

“Sonu,” I teased, glancing at the chopping board, “what is this? Why have you cut the paneer into such tiny cubes?”

Sonu scowled dramatically. “Di, you didn’t guide me properly. How was I supposed to know the right size?”

“I did tell you,” I shot back, unable to hide my smile. “I said I was making paneer tikka. Don’t you know how big the pieces are supposed to be?”

I turned to Papa for support. “Papa, now what do we do?”

Papa, still smiling faintly, didn’t hesitate. “Sonu, go downstairs and bring another packet of paneer.”

“But Papa,” Sonu protested, pointing at his miniature cubes, “what about this one? What will happen to it?”

“I’ll make something out of it. Just go,” Papa replied, his tone both stern and amused.

Sonu, with an exaggerated sigh, shuffled toward the door. Under his breath he muttered, “You love Di more than me. Admit it—you probably picked me up from some garbage heap.”

I laughed so hard the spatula almost slipped from my hand. “Yes,” I said, mock-serious, “the garbage right around the corner.”

Papa burst out laughing too, and Sonu, half-embarrassed, half-pleased, stomped out dramatically with his usual pout.

The kitchen was warm, fragrant, alive with a kind of peace I hadn’t felt in years. Papa stood beside me, helping with the spices, when suddenly his voice dropped, quiet but edged with something heavy.

“If someday, in the future, you have to choose between me and Jayant…” He paused, his hands still. “…you’ll choose me, won’t you?”

The words cut through the laughter like glass through silk. I froze, my heart thudding. “Papa… what are you saying?”

He turned toward me, his eyes steady, serious in a way that left no room for dismissal. “I’m not asking you, beta. I’m telling you. You will choose me. Promise me that.”

I understood him in that instant. The meaning behind words. It took courage to answer, but I forced the words past my throat.

“I’ll choose you, Papa. When that time comes, it’ll be you standing with me, not Jayant.”

For a moment, his face broke open—half-relief, half-pain—and he pulled me into his arms, holding me as if anchoring himself.

He whispered gruffly against my hair, “Why this pretence? Why did you bring him here?”

I let out a shaky laugh, hiding my own tears. “Because… sometimes, Papa, we do need a little pretense.”

<•∆∆∆∆∆•>

Day 4

The next morning, Papa and I were seated at the dining table, quietly sharing breakfast. The house felt ordinary—warm, alive, familiar.

From Sonu’s room, Aransh appeared, stretching lazily and rubbing his eyes as he yawned. His hair was a mess, his shirt creased as if he had wrestled with the bed all night. “Last night’s food was too heavy,” he groaned, his voice still thick with sleep.

I stared at him, incredulous. “You’re waking up now?”

Aransh collapsed onto the living room sofa as though he had returned from a war, covering his face with one hand. “Not waking up, actually,” he mumbled. “I never even slept.”

I looked at him in disbelief, but before I could say anything, Sonu piped up cheerfully between bites of paratha. “Leave him, Di. He didn’t get sleep last night. He kept tossing beside me the whole time.”

Heat rose in my chest, half-annoyance, half-concern. “Listen,” I warned Sonu, “Make sure he doesn’t step outside alone. Specially not without me, The neighbors have already noticed he’s here. Twice this morning, girls from next door showed up asking for him. It was hard enough to shoo them away.”

Sonu grinned, clearly enjoying the secret chaos, and nodded. “Don’t worry, Di. I’ll keep him inside.”

I sighed, shaking my head at both of them, though a faint smile tugged at my lips despite myself. Aransh lay sprawled on the sofa, eyes half-shut.

After breakfast, Papa and I gathered our things and prepared to leave for the appointment.

<•∆∆∆∆∆•>

After the checkup, Papa and I drove back home in silence. His hands tightened around the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the road, but the tension on his face was unmistakable. I knew his worry wasn’t for himself—it was for me, for my health. He tried to hide it, but I could read it as clearly as if it were written across his forehead.

But my own thoughts weren’t on my health at all. They kept circling back to Jayant.

Since the day I had returned from Bangalore, not once had he called. Not once had he tried to reach me. By now, it was already noon, and the silence from his side felt heavier than ever. I was the one who told him not to show his face until he had patched things up with Shreya. At the time, it felt like the right thing, the only thing. But now… now the regret stung sharper with every passing hour.

Had he came back to Delhi?
Had he reconciled with Shreya?

These questions gnawed at me, but I couldn’t share any of them with Papa. He was carrying enough already.

A while later, we pulled up in front of our apartment. Papa pressed the doorbell, and Kusum opened the door with a smile. But the moment the door swung wide, both Papa and I froze in disbelief.

Our quiet home had transformed into something unrecognizable. Music throbbed faintly in the background, laughter spilled through the hall, and the living room was overflowing with people—friends of Sonu and Kusum. The air buzzed with the unmistakable energy of a party. And at the center of it all, standing like some chief guest of honor, was none other than Aransh.

Papa’s eyes widened, but instead of anger, he stepped forward and hugged Kusum warmly, as if to mask his shock. I, however, wasted no time. I darted toward Sonu, grabbed his arm, and dragged him away from the crowd to a quieter corner.

“What the hell are you doing?” I hissed. “A party? Seriously?”

Sonu, unfazed, shrugged with maddening calmness. “Aransh was bored at home. And you told us not to let him go outside.”

“Yes, but I didn’t say you could throw a party in our house!” I snapped, my voice rising despite myself.

“He just woke up a few hours ago, He was restless.” Sonu tried to defend himself, but I glared until he quickly added, “Fine, fine… it was Kusum’s idea.”

A short, incredulous laugh escaped me. “Wow. First guy I’ve ever seen who blames his girlfriend so casually.”

Sonu grinned sheepishly. “Because you won’t scold her. And Papa definitely won’t scold her either.” He winked, slipping out of my grasp. “Relax, Di. Just enjoy the party.”

And with that, he vanished back into the crowd, leaving me standing at a distance, watching my family laugh and mingle as though nothing unusual was happening. I folded my arms across my chest, uneasy. Kusum, I hope you know how to hold this family together. Because if you don’t, it will all come crashing down.

Not long after, Aransh approached me. There was a knowing smile tugging at his lips, the kind that unsettled me.

“Lost in Jayant’s thoughts again?” he asked, his tone almost teasing.

“No,” I said quickly, too quickly.

He tilted his head, studying me. “So then… when do we start? The charade You’ve made it very clear we can’t perform it in front of your family. So tell me, who exactly is this show for?”

I turned to face him fully, meeting his gaze head-on. “The wedding. That’s where the act begins. Not here.”

His smile deepened, a flicker of triumph in his eyes. “Not even in front of Jayant?”

“Especially in front of him,” I replied firmly.

“I knew it,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then, louder: “So, when do we start?”

I drew in a steady breath. “Tonight.”

_____________________