The Deceit

CHAPTER 1

SIMRAN

NEW YORK (An Hour Ago)

I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white as I drive through the dark streets of New York. The soft music playing in my car does little to calm my frayed nerves. It’s late—around half past two—and the usual bustling streets are now deserted. My phone lies on the passenger seat, and I glance at it to check for any messages from Claire, my housekeeper. Thankfully, there are none. Good. At least things are quiet at home. I had informed her I’d be late tonight.

New York City has always had a way of making me feel alive. The city lights, its vibrant energy, and the endless possibilities exhilarate me. But tonight, as I drive back home after winning the Best Designer Award at a prestigious event, an unsettling feeling gnaws at me. The award ceremony was grand and exciting, yet I skipped the after-party. Something in me just wanted to get home.

The city that never sleeps seems oddly quiet tonight. The usual hustle-bustle of New York has faded to a whisper, leaving an eerie stillness in its wake. I’ve been living here for eighteen months now, chasing my dream of expanding my fashion brand beyond India. On most nights, I revel in the energy of this place. But tonight… Tonight feels different.

As I approach a turn, I check my rearview mirror, a habit born from years of city driving. That’s when I see it: a black sedan, some distance behind me. I immediately try to shrug off the unease creeping up my spine. It’s probably nothing, I tell myself. Just another late-night driver heading home.

I take the turn, and the sedan follows. I tell myself it’s just a coincidence; New York’s a big city, after all. But when I turn again and see the sedan doing the same, the first tendrils of real fear begin to wrap around my heart.

This feeling... it’s not new. For the past two weeks, I’ve had this nagging sensation of being watched. It all started at the mall—a slight prickle at the back of my neck that I casually brushed off. Then came the anonymous message on my phone: “My eyes will always be on you.”

At first, I dismissed it as a wrong number, a prank, maybe. But then, a week ago, after a meeting in Manhattan, I found a sticky note with the same message on the windowpane of my car. That spooked me. I asked my friends if it was indeed a prank, but none of them admitted to it.

Tonight, that eerie feeling is back. I can’t shake off the sense of being followed. I’m just being paranoid, I tell myself. I check the rearview mirror again, and now, the black sedan has disappeared. Maybe I’m really overthinking this. But the relief is short-lived, and is quickly replaced by a new wave of unease. Where did it go?

I realise I’m close to home now, but I still need to stop for cat food. Leila, my constant fluffy little companion in this big city, needs her dinner. There’s a 24/7 store just around the corner from my apartment. I can make a quick stop and then head home.

I pull into the parking lot, the harsh fluorescent lights of the store, a stark contrast to the darkness of the street. As I step out of my car, the night air feels heavy, oppressive. I hurry into the store, nodding a quick greeting to Harry, the elderly cashier I’ve come to know over the months.

The store is nearly empty, just as I anticipated at this hour. I make my way to the pet food aisle, my heels clicking against the linoleum floor. As I reach for Leila’s favourite brand, a chill runs down my spine. I whirl around, certain I’ll find someone right behind me. But there’s no one there.

With my nerves on edge, I grab the cat food, eager to get out of here and back to the safety of my apartment. But as I turn towards the checkout, I freeze.

There, at the end of the aisle, stands a figure. A man, I think, though it’s hard to tell. He’s wearing a long black coat and a hat pulled low over his face. He’s just... standing there. Not shopping, not moving. Just watching.

My heart begins to race. I look around frantically, searching for another way out, but there’s none. I have to pass him to get to Harry at the counter.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. It’s probably nothing, I tell myself. Just another late-night shopper. But as I take a step forward, so does he.

That’s when I see it. The mask—a white joker’s face, looking ridiculous in the harsh store lighting. And scrawled across his black coat, right over his chest, are the very words that have been haunting me since days: “My eyes will always be on you.”

A scream bubbles up inside me, but before I can let it out, the figure lunges forward. I stumble backwards, the cat food clattering to the floor. Desperate now, I turn to run, but my heel catches on the slick floor, and I tumble down, hitting the ground hard.

As I scramble to my feet, I hear Harry’s concerned voice. “Miss Simran? Everything okay back there?”

I want to call out, to scream for help, but fear has stolen my voice. I manage to get to my feet, my hands shaking as I brace myself against the shelves. I look back down the aisle, expecting to see the masked figure bearing down on me.

But there’s no one there.

I blink, confused. Did I imagine it? Am I losing my mind?

“Miss Simran?” Harry calls again, his voice closer now, filled with worry.

I take a shaky breath. “I’m... I’m okay, Harry,” I manage to call back. “I just... just dropped something.”

I bend down to pick up the fallen cat food, my eyes flitting nervously around the store. But everything seems normal. No masked figure lurking, and no ominous presence. Just the quiet hum of the refrigerators and the flickering fluorescent lights overhead.

As I make my way to the counter, my legs feel like jelly. Harry looks at me with concern etched on his kind face.

“You sure you’re alright, Miss? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I force a smile. “I’m fine, Harry. Just tired. Long night, you know?”

He nods, though I can tell he’s not convinced. As he rings up my purchase, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched. I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to see the masked figure standing there. But there’s nothing. Just empty space.

Paying for the cat food, I rush out of the store, my heart pounding in my chest. The cool night air hits my face, but I barely register it. All I can think about is escaping and getting back to safety. I fumble with my car keys, my hands shaking so badly that I can barely grip them.

Just as I reach my car, I glance back, and my blood runs cold. There he is, emerging from the back exit of the store, moving slowly and deliberately towards me. The mask, that eerie joker face, seems to glow in the dim light of the parking lot, and he’s holding a knife in his right hand.

Panic overtakes me. I abandon my car, my feet carrying me towards the main street before I can even process the decision. My heels click against the pavement, the sound echoing in the quiet night. I desperately need help. I need someone.

My fingers, operating on pure instinct, pull out my phone and dial the last number called. It’s only when I hear the familiar voice that I realise I’ve called Meher, my friend back in India whom I’d spoken to just this morning, informing her about the award I was receiving tonight.

“Simran? What’s going on? Why are you calling at this hour? It’s the middle of the night there, isn’t it?” Meher’s asks in concern.

“Meher,” I gasp, still running, my voice raspy with fear. “There’s someone after me. A man in a mask. I think he’s been following me for weeks, and now... now he’s chasing me with a knife!”

“WHAT?? Simran, slow down. Where are you?” Meher’s voice sharpens with worry.

I explain in breathless bursts as I race towards my apartment building—the store, the mask, the threatening messages. It all comes tumbling out in a frantic stream.

“I’m almost at my apartment,” I pant. “I had to leave my car behind. I just... I just ran for my life.”

“Okay, Simran, listen to me,” Meher says, her voice steady, though I can sense her underlying fear. “Get inside, lock all the doors, and call the police immediately.”

I nod, even though she can’t see me. The elevator dings open on the 36th floor, and I stumble out, fumbling with my keys again.

“Simran? Are you there? The call dropped for a second,” Meher’s voice comes back, thick with worry.

“I’m here,” I pant, finally managing to unlock my door. I rush inside, slamming it shut behind me and engaging every lock. “I’m inside my home now. I’m safe... I think.”

I lean against the door, trying to catch my breath. The adrenaline is starting to fade, leaving me shaky and exhausted.

“Thank god,” Meher breathes. “Simran, you need to call the police. This isn’t a joke or a prank. Don’t take it lightly. Maybe someone is really stalking you.”

“I know,” I whisper, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. “I will. I’ll call 911 right now.”

“Good,” Meher says. “And Simran? Keep me updated, okay? I’m worried about you.”

“I will,” I promise. “Thank you, Meher. I... I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

We say our goodbyes, and I hang up, sliding down to sit on the floor, my back still against the door. For a moment, I just breathe, trying to process everything that’s happened.

The silence of my apartment feels oppressive now, every shadow a potential threat. I force myself to stand, to move. I need to call the police, just like Meher said. But as I reach for my phone again, a thought stops me cold.

What if he followed me here? What if he knows where I live?

The fear that had begun to subside comes rushing back. I’m not safe. Not really. Not as long as he’s out there, watching, waiting.

I quickly dash into my bedroom to check if everything is okay. Leila, my cat, greets me with a soft meow. The familiar surroundings should be comforting, but I can’t shake the feeling of dread that’s settled over me.

Leila follows me out in the living room where I double-check all the locks and draw the curtains tightly. As I sink onto my couch, she jumps up and curls onto my lap.

I try to make sense of what’s happening. Am I really in danger?

I consider calling the police, but what would I tell them? That I’m being stalked by a figure in a Joker mask? That I’m receiving cryptic, mysterious messages? They’d think I was crazy and was imagining things as I had no substantial proof to show them.

As the fear begins to fade off, exhaustion takes its place. But I know sleep won’t come easy tonight. Not with the image of that mask haunting my thoughts and those eerie words echoing in my mind.

“My eyes will always be on you.”

I hug Leila closer, seeking comfort in her warm presence. Whatever’s happening, whatever danger I might be in, I know one thing for certain: I can’t face this alone. I need help. I need protection.

As my eyes drift close, one name keeps floating through my mind. The one person I know who could handle this, who would believe me, who would protect me no matter what.

Vishnu.

****************

A few hours later

I jolt awake, my heart racing as memories of last night come flooding back into my mind. Feeling disoriented, I rush to my bedroom, relief washing over me as I find everything just as I left it. Leila, my faithful companion, greets me with a soft meow from her spot on the bed. She was on the couch with me last night, and must have snuck off here, just like she did every morning.

“Sim?” Claire’s voice makes me jump. I turn around to see her concerned face peering at me from the doorway. “What’s wrong? You look a bit disturbed. When did you come home last night?”

I close the bedroom door and follow Claire into the living room, wrapping her in a tight hug. Claire, my sixty-year-old housekeeper, has been my rock since I moved to New York eighteen months ago. She’s seen me through every high and low, both physical and emotional. She’s more than just an employee; she’s the motherly figure I’ve needed in this bustling city.

“Sim? You’re scaring me. What happened, dear?” Claire asks again, her voice laced with worry.

I pull away, taking a deep breath before recounting the terrifying events of last night. I tell her about the cryptic messages, the feeling of being followed for the past two weeks, and the masked figure at the store. As I speak, I can see the worry deepening in Claire’s eyes.

“Oh, Sim,” she says, squeezing my hand. “I can’t believe you haven’t called the police still. You need to call them right away. That way you can ensure you’re safe.”

I nod, agreeing with her. The thought of involving the authorities makes it all feel more real, but I know it’s important now.

Claire continues, “And I think you should take a break today if there’s nothing urgent at the boutique. Until you sort this out with the police, it’s best not to go out alone.”

I mentally run through my schedule, figuring out which client visits and tasks I can reschedule.

“You’re right,” I say. “I’ll make some calls later.”

“I’m so grateful for you, Claire,” I add, feeling a rush of emotion. “For looking after me and this house when I’m at work. I couldn’t do any of this without you.”

Claire’s eyes soften, and she smiles warmly. “Oh, honey. This may have started as just a job, but now... you’re like a daughter to me.” She pats my cheek affectionately. “Now, you go freshen up and make that call to the police while I brew some coffee and whip up a hot breakfast for you.”

I’m about to reach for my phone when the intercom buzzes, signalling someone at the door. My heart leaps into my throat, fear gripping me once again. Claire checks the monitor and turns to me, her expression puzzled.

“It’s the police,” she says.

Confused, I head to the door with Claire. Two officers from the New York City Police Department stand before us. The taller one steps forward.

“Good morning, Miss Simran. I’m Sergeant Mark, and this is Detective Edwin from the NYPD,” he says, gesturing to his partner. “We’re here to investigate the threat you faced last night.”

My brow furrows in surprise. “But... how did you know? I haven’t called the department yet.”

“We received a call from the Walia family back in India,” Sergeant Mark explains. “They informed us of the situation.”

Realisation dawns on me. Meher must have made the call to the police after our conversation last night. She was really worried about me.

I invite the officers inside and recount everything that’s been happening. While I talk, Claire busies herself in the kitchen, occasionally throwing worried glances our way. Leila weaves between our legs, meowing softly as if offering her support.

The next two hours passes in a blur of questions, statements, and security assessments. The NYPD officers are thorough, making sure every detail is covered. They arrange for increased patrols in my neighbourhood and install a direct alarm system connected to the nearest precinct.

“We’re taking this very seriously, Miss,” Detective Edwin assures me. “We’ve assigned a team to investigate the source of those messages and to identify the individual you saw last night.”

Sergeant Mark adds, “In the meantime, we’ve arranged for a plainclothes officer to be stationed near your building. They’ll keep an eye out for any suspicious activity.”

I’m so engrossed in the proceedings that I barely have time to check my phone. Claire, bless her, handles all my calls as she reschedules appointments through my secretary, asking her to reassure my clients that I’m dealing with a ‘minor emergency.’

Finally, as the officers prepare to leave, Sergeant Mark hands me his card and says, “Remember, Miss, any suspicious activity, no matter how small, you call us immediately.”

I nod, feeling a mix of relief and lingering anxiety. “Thank you, officers. I can’t express how much I appreciate everything you’re doing.”

After they leave, I sink onto the couch, exhausted. Leila immediately jumps up and snuggles up beside me as if sensing my need for comfort.

“Claire,” I call out, “did anyone call while I was busy with the police?”

She appears from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. “Oh, yes. Your friend Meher from India called to check on you. I told her you were fine and that you’d call her back when you could.”

I smile gratefully. “Thanks, Claire. For everything.”

She waves off my thanks. “That’s what family does, dear. Now, why don’t you call Meher back while I fix us some dinner?”

I nod, reaching for my phone only to realise its midnight now there in India and Meher must be sleeping. I don’t want to disturb her at this odd hour, so I shoot her a quick message, thanking her for sending the NYPD team to help me and ensure my safety. I decide to call her as soon as it’s morning in India, just a few hours from now, and soon get busy with work.

As night approaches, the phone rings and I answer Meher’s call, my eyes drifting to the window, watching the New York skyline fade into twilight. The city lights have begun to twinkle, a reminder of why I fell in love with this place.

“Hello, Meher,” I say, a mixture of relief and exhaustion in my voice.

“Simran! How’s everything there? Are you okay?” Meher’s concern is palpable even through the phone.

I sink deeper into the couch, Leila curling up beside me. “I’m okay now, feeling much safer already. Thank you for sending the NYPD team. I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end. “Actually, Sim... I didn’t send them.”

My brow furrows in confusion. “What? But then who...? Was it Ayaan?” It wouldn’t surprise me if Meher’s husband, with his connections as Director of a global law enforcement organisation, had stepped in.

“No, it wasn’t Ayaan,” Meher replies. “I didn’t even have to bring this to his attention. Someone else overheard our conversation yesterday and took action immediately.”

My heart starts to pound. There’s only one person who could have done this, but I can’t bring myself to say the name. “Who?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Vishnu,” Meher says simply.

I freeze, a whirlwind of emotions coursing through me—shock, gratitude, and... something else I can’t quite name. Fear?

Meher breaks the silence. “You know, Sim... I’ve never seen Vishnu this panicked and concerned for anyone outside the Walia family. When I told him you were in danger, he didn’t waste a single minute. He got every detail from me and made all the necessary calls. You know how he is. When Vishnu decides to protect someone, he’ll cross any border and push any limit to make sure they’re safe.”

My breath catches in my throat. “What exactly do you mean by, ‘cross any border’?”

Meher chuckles, but there’s a note of seriousness in her voice. “Vishnu has left for New York just an hour after he found out what happened.”

I shoot up from the couch, startling Leila, who gives me a disapproving meow.

“What? Meher, why is he coming here ? There’s no need! The NYPD is handling everything. We don’t even know if this is a real threat or just some sick prank. Please ask him to go back to India. I don’t want him here.”

“That’s not my call to make, Simran,” Meher says gently. “You know how Vishnu is. And what’s the harm if he comes to check on you himself? I thought you’d be happy. It’s been, what, eighteen months since you two last met? And how can I forget all those times you used to openly flirt with him?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, memories I’ve tried so hard to suppress rushing back. “That was in the past, Meher. Things are different now. I don’t want him here. Please... do anything, just—”

The doorbell interrupts my plea, and my heart leaps into my throat. Who could it be? Claire is out grocery shopping, and she’s the only one who can reach the door without using the intercom. She must have forgotten her keys.

“Meher, I have to go. My housekeeper’s back. I’ll call you later, okay?” I hang up before she can respond, rushing to the door.

I swing it open, ready to tease Claire about her forgetfulness, but I freeze, the words stuck in my throat. Standing before me isn’t Claire, but the very man I’ve been dreading to see.

Vishnu.