Ｐｒｅｓｅｎｔ

ＳＡＨＥＪ

───────

Ｐｒｅｓｅｎｔ

Gitanjali Mansion

AT LAST, I take the time to use the laptop he gave me. I check a few work-related emails I've received today. Lastly, I check Tapish's. Actually, the first thing I checked was his, but I'm now revisiting them to respond to him. From now on, I'm going to use this MacBook. And my old one will still be used for movies, Kindle stories, and art galleries.

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1: iCloud Inbox

From: Tapish Adyanthaya
Subject: Medical Report
Date: February 24, 11:55 a.m.
From: Sahej Luthra

Love, you haven't yet sent me the details. I've been waiting for you all day. Do let me know about your dates and what your gynecologist said. I'm sending you my medical report, as I promised way back then.

I hope you remember the words you didn't hesitate to use because I have only one addiction, and that is you.

Tapish Adyanthaya

1: Attachment: medical.report.pdf

2: Attachment: books.to.read.pdf

3: Attachment: .galleries.jashnpur.pdf

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Uff, this guy. I can't resist him.

He might be insane at some things, but here he takes the cake of sanity.

But the last line—what about it? Yes, that's right. I do recall asking him once whether he was a sexual addict. And how embarrassing I was.

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2: iCloud Inbox

From:Sahej Luthra
Subject:Medical Report
Date:February 24, 6:32 p.m.
To: Tapish Adyanthaya

Hi, my infinitely handsome CEO,

I remember each conversation we had in the past. Don't remind me, please.

And I trust you; you didn't have to send me.

The report's nothing. I'm healthy. But I doubt it. Because you're not at all healthy for me. I need to see the doctor.

xoxo

PS: I trust you, but I do know about your passion for protecting people.

But if I find out you're stalking me from this computer, I'm not going to be in your lap, licking your throat. We'll be playing another game called Concept Clearing. And in that case, you can't justify it.

Your company's software should better protect me from spyware such as stalking and hacking, and from the NSA's surveillance.

Sahej Luthra, artist.

Attachment: dates.and.pills.pdf

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iMessage

TAPISH 6:35 PM

Well, when it comes to security, my company can monitor a stalker's every move. So don't doubt its credibility. But it seems here that you're doubting my intentions more.

You still don't trust me?

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My heart is pounding reading the last line.

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iMessage

SAHEJ 6:40 P.M

I trust you, Tapish. I swear, I do. But when it comes to my protection, I don't want you to be my dad and send people and eyes behind me in the name of protection. I do understand your job and all, but still... will talk about this later... I'm getting late for the club.

I love you. Muah. Bye. <3

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iMessage

TAPISH 6:41 P.M

Uff, pretty girl, you can't leave me hanging.

Clubbing? Oh, I know you don't drink, but intoxication is not just about alcohol.

Take care of yourself.

Meet me after that. Will you?

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iMessage

SAHEJ 6:41 P.M

Haha, glad you still speak the language I don't understand.

Byeeee....

:P

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iMessage

TAPISH 6:43 P.M.

Hey, please, I'm sending you a form. 

Fill it. It's important. if you have time.

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From: Tapish Adyanthaya
Subject: Confidential
Date:February 24, 6:45 p.m.
To: Sahej Luthra

S,

As we already talked about, clear conversation is a must for our relationship. Especially when it's our level of comfort.

I don't want to rely on assumptions, so I have set up our concept game into this brief form to map out boundaries, preferences, and comfort levels in a direct, quantifiable way.

Please review the questions (confidential) below and tick with your rankings.

Attachment: .concept.clear.game.pdf

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I click on the link, and what I find is 6 to 7 questions related to our concept game

More than I am shock, I am also getting late.

So I just quickly read it and hit a sent.

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From: Sahej Luthra
Subject: Re: Confidential
Date:February 24, 6:46 p.m.
To: Tapish Adyanthaya

That Godown Guy,

You and your data sheets. Only you could make something this intimate feel like a high-stakes board exam. Though I can't deny my invigilator is hot.

Here are my completed answers:

RE ATTACHMENT: concept.clear.game.pdf

----

📎

RE: ATTACHMENT: ONSCREEN

By Sahej Luthra In reply to Tapish Adyanthaya.

1. How much would you rank biting as a form of physical affection in our relationship?

TAPISH: (Scale: 1 to 10)

[ ] 1 – 2 (Absolute No)

[ ] 3 – 4 (Uncomfortable)

[✓] 5–6 (Conditional)

[ ] 7 – 8 (Enjoyable / Preferred)

[ ] 9 – 10 (High Priority)

(UPGRADED FROM 0 to 6)

2. Select the locations where you are NOT comfortable having sex:

(Check all that apply.)

[X] Table (No tables.)

[ ✓] Bathroom

[✓ ] Hall

[✓] Drawing Room

[✓] Dinner Table

[✓] Living Room

[ ✓] Stairs

[ ✓] Kitchen

[ ✓] Piano

[✓] Swimming Pool (HMM, INTERESTING ... I'D ACTUALLY LOVE TO TRY THIS.)

[✓] Other: Mirror

2.1 Notes: If any boxes above were checked, please specify reasons or notes:

ALSO my note: Bedrooms aren't listed, but it's obvious given how universal they are.

***

3. Rank/Select your preferred positions:

[✓] Missionary

[✓] Flats

[ ✓] Bodyguards

[ ✓] Butterfly

[X] Doggy (CALL IT RARE!!!!!!! DOGGY IS AN IRRITATING NAME.

4. Dynamic & Engagement Preferences:

(Check areas of interest or familiarity.)

[✓] Battery-operated toys

[✓] Manual toys

[✓ ] Roleplay

[✓] Dominance / Submission (not sure)

5. Which physical touch areas do you prefer?

(Check all that apply.)

[✓] Arms

[✓] Legs

[✓] Thighs

[✓] Cheeks

[✓] Other (Please specify) THROAT (EXCLUDED) YK!?

6. Hard Limits / Non-Negotiable Boundaries:

Please state any specific gestures, actions, or movements that are strictly off-limits:

1) Hair Grabbing: Strict NO. I hate when someone grabs my hair, even as a gesture.

2)Behind / Table Positions: I don't like being taken from behind while bent over a table or controlled from behind.

Byeeee... Getting late.

Sahej

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Short after....

I look in the mirror, adding a very small drop of blue and baby pink liquid glitter over my collarbone for a wet look, carefully spreading it with a makeup brush, exactly matching the overall makeup with the graphic gradients of the butterfly's wings.

I'm wearing yet another of my signature dresses inspired by the year 2000. It's a clubbing dress that fits the shimmer theme perfectly—a bodycon mini dress with a front bodice that has two symmetrical butterfly wings wrapping around my bustline, completely covered in heavy, light-catching sequins and rows of silver bugle beads.

Next, I adjust the rhinestone spaghetti straps over my shoulders, smoothing the sheer mesh at my waist and pulling the plunging V-neckline flush against my chest to ensure everything is positioned correctly. The glittering fabric hugs my figure in all the right places.

My hair is parted in the middle, as I run my fingers through a strand dusted with glitter that flows down, resting over my chest. The rest of my hair is loosely styled, some in braids with neon hair ties, giving me an easygoing vibe with an energetic flair.

On either side of my eyes, I have decor at their corners with rhinestone gems that catch the vanity light, while my lips shimmer with a glossy, peachy-red color. It's evening, so my friends and I are going out clubbing to celebrate Preet's last day of freedom before she soon gets hitched.

Parking our cars, we walk across the street as the buildings loom extravagantly, just like always. The sky is a deep blue with a few scattered clouds. Then, while we cross the entrance, our coats are slung over our shoulders, and everyone's looking. Everywhere we go, people turn to stare, admiring our group's confidence and style. Or maybe it's because I'm Luther's daughter and my father was involved in the bridge collapse case that ended the life of a small boy.

Hardly any time had passed since my return to India from London when that news hit the TV headlines, and my heart felt like it was being choked; it's when I decided to leave Luthra Mansion and move to Gitanjali Mansion. My father wasn't in the city at that time, but he reached out to me when he got to know I was living on my own and insisted that no boy died in the bridge collapse because no such incident happened.

I wanted to trust him, but I couldn't and can't. He can do anything to get me back.

Anyway, those shouldn't be the things I should think about today, seeing that we've entered the club and settled at a table.

  ＴＡＰＩＳＨ

"What if I tell you that it wasn't a coincidence that I came at the club to save you? Just so it will bring you closer to me? Your dad would trust me, and at last I didn't attack you, but I was also the reason behind your attack?"

"Then let's start from the beginning...."

✦✦✦

A FEW DAYS AGO...

Now, sitting in the car, the silence is different. It's the silence of my own thoughts. I look at my hands on the steering wheel as I pull up to the Talwars. They're clean now—smelling of expensive soap and Italian leather—but I can still feel the ghost of the 'sacrifice' on them. It's funny.

I can deal with the blood.

I can deal with Goldsmith's demands, and I can deal with the screams that put me to sleep.

But Sahej?

Thinking of her while my hands are still warm from this 'work' feels like a sin I'm not ready to confess.

She's a Luthra.

Her father, Dhananjay, isn't just a client; he isn't just a friend of Mr. Talwar.

He's a kingpin in my world.

I have no idea what Goldsmith really wants from him other than what he portrays to me. That is, it can't be just Mr. Luthra's money he is after. Goldsmith needs something else, and for that he wants me to get close to her daughter.

After the incident that happened at the club, which was carefully planned.

Monty used to work for me.

Who did he work for me or him? There was not much of a difference.

I remember the night when I met her at the party. Following the gunfire at the club, my team cleared the mess behind her. The following days, I showed my interest to Mr. Dhananjay about how I am interested in her daughter.

He agreed because he trusted me? Not just that he trusted me, but then he also had his own agenda.

As far as I know him, he is and was also hiding things from me. But I was more focused on her, and the most difficult part was to make her believe that I want to date her.

She might not be interested in what his dad really says sometimes, but she is smart; she won't just believe anyone who wants to just date her, so I hate to lie and state some fact.

Telling her his dad wanted me to protect her wasn't my part of our plan; our plan was to just woe her, but when I looked into those eyes, I gave her the most logical answer I could come up with.

It was more practical for her to believe in me than for me to tell her she is beautiful and I like her.

After the date went pretty well, I was busy with NSA's work. Then we formally meet for the Mr. and Mrs. Talwar anniversary.

And from where things started to change, I never thought after everything that happened between us after we lost her aunt she would ever like to see my face. She was upset with me because I erased her from CCTV. While I gave her the reason I had to do it.

After that, I spent these last few weeks paralyzed by her thought? Was the wait as bitter as poison?

No. Not at all. I was exactly who I've always been.

I still decode the hidden motives of every shark in the room. I still 'buy the breath' of my enemies.

I haven't lost my talent for manipulation.

My rivals still know my bank balance better than I do.

The game is still playing out around me.

But suddenly, the score doesn't matter.

I'm not delusional enough to lose my head over a girl. And yet, she's the one person I can't bring myself to manipulate.

She's too interesting for a simple con.

She's clean-hearted, but she's a vault of secrets. She's the girl who wouldn't even deign to look at the people I'm forced to play nice with at these parties. I saw her that night—the way she played the game of high standards and cold shoulders.

She is pure, but there's a mystery there.

A danger.

She's a fireball of sweet cranberry. I want to play with, but only in the most delicate of ways. You know what I mean?

I think I already do. I've already crossed the line.

At her dad's birthday party. I followed her profile.

First I stalked, then I committed.

So for the very reason the attack I wasn't part of or planned or imagined took place as planned, and for the very reason, I'm furious that Goldsmith tried to really hurt her.

...

After saving her, and giving her safety in Sankalp's hands and informing her that I'll meet her at my mansion, I take that time, and now, driving to a place I need to visit, I'm thinking about whether my world has been narrowed down until only she is visible.

Now, I'm doing my best to cover the stupidities Goldsmith has done to gain the trust of Dhananjay Luthra again. Because her daughter didn't want to be with his son.

That this is what he did? He faked an attack on Sahej so I could save her? Or something else?

Sahej thinks there is nothing between us that is common, that we both are different personalities, but that's not entirely true; there are a few things that are common between us, and that is...like her, I don't live with my so-called adoptive father. Mr. Talwar. I leave my own. Have my own surname, for which I had to do so many sacrifices to let him keep my surname. But I must say, an eleven-year-old Tapish was also fun to watch; he was also dark yet innocent.

Not like how I'm today.

Now I play with morality vs. immorality.

The old me was smart. Sometimes evil. As evil as I can be, I push anyone under the bus to save myself.

I wink.

Now, opening my car door and stepping out, heading into the house, and all I can think of is burning this house where Goldsmith lives.

My steps are purposeful, yet a slow walk towards the entrance; it's already open, and six guards standing by the door nod to acknowledge my presence with their heads down. As they step aside, I walk down the hall to his room.

I knock, but there's no reply. Then, after a few seconds, when someone opens a door, it's his personal servant who opens it. He nods to me in silence as I enter and find, as usual, a complete silence and a room where light is only reaching from an expensive chandelier in the center of the room.

I see him, with his back facing me, looking at a portrait on a wall, looking at his guru—his father—along with praying to God; his hand is still holding three incense sticks, sticking them into a copper pot filled with sand on the table, decorated with yellow flowers, and their essence is everywhere in the room.

I have kept my anger under the breath but don't know how; maybe I have learned in a better way.

And right now all I have to do is wait for him to be done with his night routine before he sleeps early. My father is also very health conscious.

Once he is finished, he turns around, and the silent man standing inside the room hands him a pot of water, usually, but this time, it's not been taken to continue with the ritual. In fact, for a second there is a silence. I step in, knowing what he wants. I take the glass in my hand and gesture to the guy to leave. He opens his mouth, and I put the medicine inside help him drink water as he gulps it down.

He has a medical problem that is called severe osteoporosis. I put his glass aside. And without saying a word to me, I see him reclining on the bed.

He breaks his vow of silence after looking at the wall clocks, as it's past 7am. and says, "You came here at this time. I guess something is very important. Don't worry. I'm taking care of myself and taking medicine on time."

He says, pulling his diary from his drawer, that he's working on. And take his ink pen to start writing the headline of a chapter.

He's writing an autobiographical account of his life and the struggles he has faced.

He says one day he'll publish it.

"Yes, it is. I'm here to ask, did you arrange another attack on Sahej?"

"What are you saying?" He asks casually, his hands running over the white page.

My legs are pinned to the floor, right across from his bed. I am not able to move even if I want to, but the words burning in my throat are making me feel something I've never felt before. Even if a part of me wants to stay silent, I have to say what I came here to say.

"I'm asking—did you have Sahej attacked again?"

He slides his manuscripts to the side, leaving them scattered on the pillow as he stands. He moves until he is directly in front of me, his eyes boring into mine.

"Are you here to not meet me? Or to question my decisions?"

Every step he takes toward me makes my heart hammer harder. My fist starts clenching tightly—it feels like the only way to find peace is to put my fist through a wall and shatter it into pieces.

"What you did wasn't our part of the plan," I grit out.

"I want to just scare the little girl," he replies smoothly, "so she doesn't cross her limits."

"She will cross those limits," I snap back, "because I'll let her. She can be as stubborn as she wants for as long as she wants. But I'm telling you this one last time—I'll get whatever work you need done from her father, but you will stay away from his daughter. I'll handle her..."

I turn to leave, the final words hanging heavy in the air, but his voice stops me cold.

"Look at you. Is it the attraction to that girl, or are you actually falling in love with her? Don't forget who you are. You are my son, and I made you to rule."

I look back at him, my gaze colder than it's ever been.

"Then you should know I can handle her without your involvement. As far as I know you, you're an impatient man. You're the one who taught me how to control myself... so I am doing it now. Just don't test the patience of the monster you've made out of me. Stay away from her. She isn't even close to being a threat to you."

"Okay. I will. But now when is Dhananjay going to find out who did this to her?"

After doing so? Is he asking me about this now?

"Mr. Talwar, don't worry about it. Her father has a lot of enemies. Will a human being be a goat to the god for the sacrifices? I guess you never know."

＊＊＊

A few days after the meeting...

I love the moonlit sky over me and how it is truly holding me for now. And sometimes after having a hectic work schedule, only the pool's cold water is left to wash the blood off my skin.

It's never my blood.

I watch the clear blue of the pool turn a bruised, sickly purple as the water strips the red from my knuckles. I stop mid-stroke and drift toward the edge. Sankalp is there, a silent shadow against the wooden deck, holding a phone on speaker as my team relays an update.

A short while ago I was at Sahej's place. I truly enjoyed what we shared in the backseat of my car. But the moment I left the gate of the Gitanjali mansion, I surrendered myself to the darkness, and as always, it loved me back.

To anyone else, what happened in the darkness where I live is disgusting, but to me, it's a sedative.

It settles into my veins, reducing a tension the water can't touch. I've never had a taste for unearned peace.

Silence is empty unless it's bought with the price of someone else's agony—the kind of suffering written into their DNA before they ever took their first breath. Today was one of the days. After the gift was unwrapped, it hit a few notes of the stringent smell of blood and bitten-up shit body in the air. Wearing a mask before the body that's already given to us in a rek of copper and worn flesh. I dumped the dead body in Jashnpur's jungle.

It was a sacrifice gift made for a man desperate to keep his truths buried.

He chose me to be his secret keeper.

Just as her name drifts through my mind, but I don't want to think about her yet, her name is the loudest thing in my head.

I haul myself out of the pool, water falling off my skin like melted silver.

I don't look at Sankalp as he speaks. I walk naked to the cubicle shower and wash myself with fresh water. I don't want blood smell anywhere near my nose. As I shower, Sankalp has his face turned away from me as he speaks, "If we keep on fulfilling his demand, Chinu? We will end up killing all our toy's—"

Sankalp pauses, his voice clear. "Are you listening or forgetting? Murder isn't even in our policy. We don't do that... Shit."

I turn off the shower once I am finished and come out to grab a towel from Sankalp's hand.

I turn slowly, wrapping the towel around my hips.

"Murder? Who said anything about murder? Don't forget, Sankalp, this is our Godsmith's henchman and not ours? We don't 'murder' people. We are just disposing of bodies."

"But they are our—"

"They are not, trust me," my voice as cold as the blood in the pool. "Those who are dead were never going to help us anyway. Do you think they would have? After whom were they? Morality wasn't for them, nor was it for us. Don't forget what they did?"

"No, I didn't. In fact, them being dead is far more useful to us than them being alive... besides, the scoundrels are just a burden on this earth anyway." His voice shifts. "But that woman? "What happens to her?" Sankalp asks.

"I don't know."

"Did Goldsmith find her already?"

I turn around. "I couldn't care less, Sunny. But why are you asking? Do you want to save her?"

"No..." A ruthless smile sweeps across his face as satisfied as he can sometimes. "I actually wanted her to die, but I was just thinking about you."

"What about me?"

"Nothing—I leave, good night, Boss."

The question that Sankalp wanted me to ask about Sahej. But since he's not allowed to take her name, he didn't. That's the boundary Sankalp himself is following without me saying it. Because he knew what I feel for her.

＊＊＊

LAST YEAR'S August...

When old money speaks, some people think it is just for show. But behind these closed doors, in soundproof rooms, the real elite can buy and sell entire worlds without the public ever hearing a whisper.

We are seven men, sitting around a table, and one of them across from us is 43-year-old Yatharth Prasanna, the newest member allowed into our secret cigar meeting.

I don't know. How has he managed to score? By making Mr. Dhananjay Luthra his enemy or befriending Mr. Talwar?

A man who recently came into massive wealth was beseeching people around throughout the party and was flexing his influence in the eyes of the old guard after losing his image. He has his targets fixed.

A set on a massive piece of prestige land in the Heritage District.

"The Gitanjali Mansion," Yatharth says, laying the proposal onto the table right in front of Mr. Luthra.

The proposition is simple, or I say it looks simple and absurdly aggressive.

The Heritage District is a single luxury residential property worth at least 500 crore.

But Yatharth hasn't just made an offer, but he secretly bought a residential property in that area purely to be on the muscle memory of Dhananjay.

By just being Dhananjay's daughter's neighbor.

Mr. Luthra's daughter is currently in London. All I know is she is an art scholar who is studying at London Art University and soon will come back as her graduation year is nearing.

Mr. Luthra thinks this freak has set up all of this just to force him to sit across from him as an equal.

"Amazing, isn't it?"

Yatharth taunts, trying hard to make the old man angry. "At first, you wouldn't even deign to speak to a person like me. But look at us today..."

Before her dad rises from the seat and punches his face, smashing that ugly dickface, a man is sitting beside Mr. Luthra interrupts, "Mr. Prasanna, say whatever you came to say, but maintain decorum. Mr. Luthra is here for the court statement..."

Men sitting here are well aware that heated arguments can sometimes lead to people pulling out their guns.

"Time is expensive," he mutters, but that grin bounces back. "Sorry, I'm talking about mine."

Yatharth chuckles, leaning back.

We are here as a fatal bridge failure had been making national headlines for weeks, a few months ago. Scores of people were injured when the poor quality steel was used.

The government is screaming for a fall guy. Both Mr. Luthra's infrastructure firm and Yatharth syndicate were tied to the consortium that built it. But looking at the dossier, it is clear Yatharth holds the internal audit logs and forged safety clearances.

Now things are stable, and the case is solved.

"Like I said, I'm not going to make myself bankrupt again. I have poured way too much money into many projects. And bearing loses at the same time."

Mr. Luthra swirls the dark liquid in his glass as Yathard continues. "When the public wanted blood a few months ago for those dead bodies on the bridge, someone's name needed to be on the charge sheet and take public fall for the cheap materials. My firm handled the logistics, so I had to go to the paper trail as long as the deal you said yes to. Now it's time you fulfill it.

Transfer the acres of land and the Gitanjali Mansion to my development group. Sign over your Heritage District holdings as private compensation. Refuse, and I hand this folder to the federal prosecutors by midnight. And reopen the case."

"Shut the fuck up. That can't happen. Just name the price. Do a favor for the pocket change sitting in your bank account, and don't show your face here again."

Yatharth's cockiness does not move an inch.

"And what if I offer a merger? Name your price—double market value. 1,000 crore in cash, sent into my offshore account? Before the courts open on the Friday?"

He slides a thick, leather-bound folder across the glass table.

Yatharth glances down at the dossier, then back at Mr. Luthra, remaining as quiet as a phantom in his leather armchair. Mr. Luthra does not even touch the folder. A tight, dangerous smile touches his lips.

"As I said, the Gitanjali mansion isn't an asset for me now. My daughter inherits every inch of it. It's not for sale. Not for one thousand crore."

Yatharth grins; he finds the man's words amusing. He stands up and puts both his hands on the table authoritatively.

That guy suddenly has the guts to do that. My hands are controlling not to throw him out of the nineteenth floor and watch him die there for raising that voice against Sahej's dad. But I have to control it. Because this meeting is important to Dhanjay Luthra to seal a deal.

"You can't keep her locked up in that tomb like a secret." Mr. Luthra's knuckles turn white as he crushes his burning cigar with his hand under the table.

His hands reach into his jacket to draw his gun, but I hold his hand tight. "I said name the price, or you won't have those legs supporting your body if you ever let my daughter's name cross your filthy mouth—"

Yatharth raises his hands in a desperate bid to turn the table.

"I... I have a second offer!" he stammers, his bravado crumbling into desperate laughter.

"If you agree to this, then fine... and Gitanjali Mansion stays completely yours..." He swallows hard. ''What if I become your son-in-law?"

. . . . ╰──╮𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪╭──╯ . . . .
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