CHAPTER XII LIARS PROFESSION
Morning did not knock.
Morning attacked.
It arrived as three sharp, impatient raps against the door—precise, clipped, authoritative. The kind of knock that did not ask whether you were awake. The kind that assumed you had no right not to be.
Tara jolted upright like she’d been hit with a live wire. Tara usually opened her eyes at 5:00 am sharp, yet this morning seems to be an exception. Perhaps because of the events of the other night.For a fraction of a second, her mind was blank. Then the world rushed back in, loud and unforgiving.
The bed.
The sheets.
The warmth. Wait, warmth? The other side of her bed was often times colder than her hands, mockery of her solitude ever eminent.
The weight.
Ishaani.....
Curled into her side like she had always belonged there—mouth slightly open, hair an absolute wreck across Tara’s shoulder, one arm thrown over her stomach with unconscious entitlement.
She was dead asleep. Peaceful and criminally comfortable, as she had almost suffocated herself with Tara's skin, denying to get away for even a second.
As if Ishaani was the sloth to Tara's eucalyptus.
The knock came again.
“Tara,” Vedika’s voice sliced through the door, brisk and sharp with morning authority. “Are you awake?”
Tara’s soul exited her body. She averted her gaze from Ishaani to the white framed, blurry glass door, observing the silhouette of her best friend.
“Fuck,” she breathed.
Ishaani did not move. Did not stir. Did not so much as flinch as she only made a tiny sound and burrowed closer, cheek pressing into Tara’s ribs like a cat claiming territory it had no intention of surrendering.
The knocking escalated.
“Tara. I know you’re up.”
On instinct alone, Tara slapped a hand over Ishaani’s mouth.
Ishaani mumbled something incomprehensible against her palm, eyebrows knitting together in mild, sleepy offense.
“Shh—” Tara whispered furiously, bending down. “Shh. Ishaani. Wake the fuck up.”
Ishaani didn't move a single muscle and gave absolutely nothing as Vedika tried the handle.
“Tara?”
“Oh my GOD,” Tara mouthed silently, eyes going wide. She was about to be frustrated, she could sense it in her anatomical system, therefore she had to act fast before she ended up hurling Ishaani out of the window.
Don't worry, there's a balcony just attached to the window.
She shook Ishaani gently. Then harder. “Ishaani. Ishaani, sweetheart. Wake up.”
One eyelid fluttered. Then the other. Ishaani’s eyes cracked open, glassy and unfocused, brain clearly nowhere near the building.
“Tara?” she slurred. “Why is the sun… screaming?”
Tara nearly lost her grip on reality.
“There is no sun,” Tara hissed under her breath. “There is my best friend and your sister. And she is approximately three seconds away from discovering my very illegal morning. She will whoop your ass and strangle me if she realises what we are upto."
Vedika knocked again, louder. “I’m coming in if you don’t answer.”
Panic detonated like a bomb, as Tara immediately left her bed, ready to pounce on the door if it so much as moved without ceremony.
“Closet,” Tara mouthed. “Now.”
Ishaani frowned, still half-dreaming. “Whyyyyyy?” The whine incited an eye-roll from Tara's morning features.
“Because if she sees you here,” Tara whispered, eyes wild, “she will skin me alive and wear my bones as jewelry.”
“Oh,” Ishaani said solemnly, accepting this as reasonable. “Okay.”
She rolled out of bed—and immediately tripped over the sheets. Classic Ishaani. Tara sweeped in for rescue as per usual, for she knew the smoke on the other side of the door would creep in quicker than intended or exoected.
Tara caught her on pure reflex, hands snapping to Ishaani’s waist, steadying her before she could faceplant into humiliation.
Too close, to contain Ishaani's hands to hersel.
Too warm for Ishaani to not purr and nuzzle closer.
Entirely too much for Ishaani's half alive cranial, if we speak from her past actions.
“Move,” Tara hissed, as she pulled Ishaani's head from the crook of her neck. In any other environment, Tara would've just caressed Ishaani's head given it ended up in the same position but it wasn't entirely pleasing when they were on the cliff of an inferno.
Ishaani giggled.
Actually giggled.
Tara dragged her across the room, yanked open the closet door, and shoved her inside just as Vedika knocked again.
“Tara,” Vedika said flatly. “Open. The. Door.”
“Coming!” Tara called, her voice snapping back into smooth control as she slammed the closet shut and tied her robe properly, pretending to fix a morning bun. Messy in initiation yet perfect in it's carelessness.
She opened the door with only minimal damage to her composure. Hair slightly unhinged. Face calm. The expression of a woman who had never, in her life, panicked.
Vedika stood there in biege pants and her powder pink shirt, heels matching the tones of her shirt, coffee in hand and as intended her eyebrow was already arched.
“You look… rumpled,” Vedika observed.
“Do I?” Tara replied lightly. “Must be the mattress. Terrible lumbar support. You should really fix the guest bedrooms."
Vedika nodded as she believed her for a second. She stepped inside without asking, her gaze sweeping the room with surgical precision. The bed—slightly messy. One pillow missing. Closet door shut just a fraction too firmly.
“Tough night?” Vedika asked.
“Productive,” Tara said. “You?”
Vedika took a sip of her coffee. “You’re blocking the closet.”
Tara shifted exactly one inch to the left.
Inside the closet, something tapped and slouched with a simple Thud! Simultaneously knocking softly against a hanging coat.
Tara wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or deeply concerned, by Ishaani's hiding skills. Survival Instincts of a bloody chicken tender.
Vedika leaned back against the desk, switching into Lawyer mode. “A journalist reached out.”
That snapped Tara’s attention into place, as she crossed her arms.
“Which one?”
“Naina Rizvi-Roy.”
Tara’s mouth tightened, as the name escaled the threshold of Vedika's mouth. “That’s… significant.”
“She wants to run Rajveer,” Vedika continued. “She has sources. She smells blood.”
“Good,” Tara said evenly. “About time.”
Vedika studied her. “You’re awfully calm about this. This case used to book the very surface of your blood."
“I’m relieved,” Tara corrected. " Relieved that we are about to serve Karma on a silver platter to a theif who thinks he's bloody Professor from Money Heist."
Vedika hummed. “She wants confirmation. Off-record. She knows there’s more.”
“There is more, indeed” Tara replied. “But we don’t give it to her until C1PH3R finishes tracing the offshore ladder.
I won’t let her publish a half-truth. That's unfair to the victims and quiet misleading for the public.
I do not intend to serve loopholes to the man who's integrity lives in a mole. "
Vedika nodded. Then her eyes flicked—pointedly—toward the closet.
The door was closed, yet she felt as if her best friend was acting very unlikely but she very well knew that she couldn't intrude on Tara's livelihood and space for the woman loved her stuff extremely organised and reserved.
She allowed intervening, simply to a certain low extent.
Therefore, Vedika left the room, muttering something about 'we'll speak on this later', allowing Tara to close the door.
Silence crashed back into the room as Tara sagged against the wall, dragging a hand down her face. “Holy shit."
She crossed the room and yanked open the closet.
Ishaani was slumped against the wall, mouth slightly open, breathing slow and even.
Completely asleep, as her arms clung onto a silk scarf of Tara's, holding onto it like it's the life boat to her Nirvana.
Tara simply stared at her in disbelief, trying to decipher how a normal human being could sleep given such an odd position.
“How the fuck,” she whispered, “can you sleep like this?”
Ishaani stirred, eyes fluttering open again. “Vedika gone?”
“Yes.”
“Cool.”
She tipped forward, clearly ignorant of the fact that she might fall flat on her face.
Tara barely caught her, arms wrapping around her automatically as Ishaani collapsed against her chest like a sack of exhausted potatoes.
“Morning,” Ishaani mumbled into her shoulder, smiling foolishly, as she nuzzled into the bare skin of Tara's collarbone.
“You’re unbelievable,” Tara muttered, yet her hand didn't leave Ishaani's hair.
“Mm,” Ishaani agreed lazily. “You smell nice.”
“I always do, but that's not an excuse.”
Ishaani hummed, content with herself. Tara guided her back to the bed, sat her down, and sat next to her, but Ishaani sprawled back on the bed with a soft Thud. “You need to go back to your room, Ishi."
Ishaani nodded. “I will, I will.”
She did not move, didn't even make an effort to raise a limb.
“Ishaani.” Came the commanding tone from Tara which made Ishaani spring up like a cadet.
Ishaani leaned forward and pressed a soft, absent kiss to Tara’s cheek, smiling faintly against the skin as if her last meal was served by Tara. “Thank you for last night.”
Something warm and dangerous bloomed in Tara’s chest which she didn't wish to name.
She stood, hauled Ishaani up gently, and steered her toward the door. “Go. Before I do something stupid.”
Ishaani smiled, sleepy and smug. “Too late. I'm the stupid that you should do."
She shuffled away barefoot, tripping, blissed out, leaving Tara alone with the wreckage of her composure.
Back in her own room, Ishaani collapsed onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. Her body ached. Her heart felt full in a way that scared her. She smiled to herself, small and private.
For all the chaos, all the fear, all the sharp edges of loving someone like Tara Kapoor—
having her in her life felt like winning something she had never known she was allowed to want.
She was one prize, I'd cheat to win....
Ishaani huffed as she grabbed the closest pillow and smushed her head into it, as Taylor Swift's words drowned her into her fantasy land.
And for once, the morning did not bite, it rescued her from tripping.
___________________
The courtyard breathed like a living thing.
Sunlight slid across the white stone in slow, deliberate strokes, spilling into the green and turning leaves into shards of glass.
The air carried layers—polish baked into marble, sweat earned honestly, jasmine drifting from somewhere hidden and indulgent.
It was the silence that gave it away, though.
Expensive silence. The kind money trained to behave.
Somewhere nearby, water murmured—fountain or pool, something ornamental and unnecessary, doing its best impression of serenity.
Ishaani was already soaked through.
Her vest clung to her like a second skin, dark down the spine, sweat mapping every line of muscle she had fought for.
The fabric hugged her ribs, her shoulders, the hard planes of her back.
Sweatpants sat low on her hips, waistband twisted, drawstring abandoned an hour ago when she’d stopped pretending to care.
Her fists were wrapped tight, tape biting into skin, knuckles bruised yellow and purple beneath it.
The punching bag swung in front of her, heavy and obedient, chains creaking softly as it returned, again and again, asking for more.
Thud!
Thud!
Thud!
Each strike landed with intention. Not rage—never rage.
Focus. Controlled violence. Her breath stayed measured, sharp exhales snapping out in time with impact.
Shoulder rolled. Hips pivoted. Power transferred clean and ruthless.
Veins stood out along her forearms, cords pulled tight beneath skin.
Two weeks of this. Morning and evening. Relentless.
Like she was trying to beat something invisible out of herself.
Across the courtyard, Tara Kapoor pretended—very convincingly—to care about paperwork.
Vedika had files spread across the stone table, neat stacks clipped and color-coded because of course they were.
Offshore accounts. Shell companies. Names buried inside names, lies stacked like nesting dolls.
Tara leaned back in her chair, pen resting between her fingers, eyes scanning pages with ruthless efficiency, posture composed, attention immaculate.
Except every few seconds—
Her gaze slipped.
Not obvious. Never sloppy. Just a flick.
A stolen glance between lines of text. Every time Ishaani moved, Tara’s eyes followed as if they had their own command.
The flex of her back. The slick line of sweat tracing from nape to collarbone.
The way she exhaled through clenched teeth, like she was holding the world together with her jaw.
Tara wondering how easily she could make Ishaani fall to her knees in an environment intimate enough for Tara to touch Ishaani.
She said nothing. Only arched one brow, infinitesimal, and turned a page.
Devika’s voice cut clean through the calm.
“No, Ambassador,” she said crisply into her phone, “I’m saying Switzerland is very beautiful, but I am not visiting for pleasure.” A pause. A smile sharpened. “Yes. No. I know you think otherwise. But, I cannot afford to risk my time for holidays.”
Amaya, sprawled dramatically across a lounge chair, kicked her legs in protest. “She’s lying,” she stage-whispered to the universe. “She absolutely fucked her.”
Devika didn’t even look at her. She picked up a pen and hurled it with terrifying accuracy.
“OW—what the fuck!”
“Shut up,” Devika snapped into the phone, smile sweet as poison. “Yes, of course. My sister sends her regards.”
Ishaani landed a final hit and let the bag swing. Her chest heaved. She shoved sweaty hair back from her face, eyes sharp, alive, adrenaline still humming under her skin. She glanced over—
And caught Tara watching.
Not fully. Just enough.
A slow, knowing smile tugged at Ishaani’s mouth. She rolled her shoulders deliberately, exaggerated the movement, and threw another punch—harder than necessary. The bag groaned. Her biceps flexed, muscle bunching and releasing.
Tara’s jaw tightened.
She closed her file with a soft, decisive snap. You’re enjoying this, she thought.
“She’s being distracting,” Tara thought as she moved her heeled foot in a clockwise rotation, eyes never leaving the page she had already memorized.
Vedika looked up as her eyes found Ishaani, her older sister tick already set off enough to drag Ishaani back to a couch and rest. “She’s being obnoxious,” she replied mildly, the tease baked into her voice.
“She’s being—” Tara paused, recalibrating. “Dedicated.”
Devika ended her call and turned, eyes narrowing, when she saw Ishaani's state. “Ishu.”
Another punch. THUD.
“Ishu,” Devika said again, louder now. “Ho gaya. You’ve been at it for two weeks straight.”
(Ho gaya— it's done.)
Ishaani ignored her and launched into a combination, breath snapping sharp. She punched the bag as if it had personally wronged her mother and got away to explain the story. Such prejudice and sharpness.
“Ishaani,” Devika warned. The older sister voice which meant only business.
Ishaani finally stopped. Let the bag sway. She turned, wiping her face with the hem of her vest, skin flushed and gleaming. “Didi, I need to win the next match too.”
“You need to sit the fuck down,” Devika shot back. “Before you break something important. Like your hand. Or your spine. Or my patience.”
Ishaani hesitated, jaw set, stubborn as sin. Then she sighed, long and dramatic. “Fine.”
She dropped onto the edge of the stone table beside Tara, legs spreading slightly now that the fight was done, posture loose, heat still rolling off her body. Close. Too close. Her knee brushed Tara’s thigh beneath the table.
Tara didn’t move.
Didn’t look.
She only shifted her chair an inch closer, under the impression of fixing her stature.
Under the table, unseen by everyone else, Tara’s hand moved.
Two fingers. Slow and deliberate in their nature, pressed against the inside of Ishaani’s knee making Ishaani Jokt then freeze in her spot.
Every muscle locked like she’d been shot. Her breath caught, sharp and silent. Her eyes went wide for half a second before she forced her face into something neutral. Her hands clenched around the table’s edge, knuckles whitening.
Tara leaned back, utterly composed, and continued speaking to Vedika about asset trails like she wasn’t actively trying to end someone’s life beneath the table.
Her grip was sharp enough to retract Ishaani's blood into her palm, but not because it was hard in it's nature instead the effect it somehow spead through Ishaani's senses.
“So if the journalist gets this,” Tara said calmly, fingers sliding higher, “it’ll force a reaction.”
Ishaani swallowed. Hard.
Devika glanced at her. “You okay, little?”
“Mm,” Ishaani managed, voice strangled, as she reached for the glass bottle of water kept on the table. “Hydration.”
Tara’s thumb pressed instinctively making Ishaani nearly faint and squeak like a toy.
She bit the inside of her cheek, eyes squeezing shut for a fraction of a second. Her foot knocked against the table leg with a soft, telltale thud.
Tara smirked into her file, as she wrote something. She knew how her stiletto filed nails would feel against the tender parts of Ishaani, hence it made her laugh at the reaction she was enticing.
Amaya was still rambling about the Swiss diplomat—blonde enough to be Devika’s type, authoritative enough to keep even Devika in line—which resulted in Devika hurling yet another pen in her direction.
Tara finally withdrew her hand as if nothing had happened and stood smoothly. Ishaani slumped forward, forehead hitting the table with a soft thunk.
“Fucking hell,” she whispered.
Tara leaned down, fingers flying across her laptop. She angled the screen just enough, subtle as sin, shielding it from Ishaani’s sisters. Ishaani, face flushed redder than a crime scene, read the single line on the screen.
'Go shower.'
Her ears burned. Why did it still feel like a command? Tara must've felt the thoughts running through Ishaani's head, and Ishaani particularly needed to cool off before she sank to her knees in front of Tara, for release.
Ishaani nodded weakly and whispered quiet enough to go unnoticed, “Yes, ma’am.”
She stumbled away, dignity in ruins, heart pounding like she’d just gone ten rounds.
From the table, Devika watched her go, then turned slowly to Tara. “I believe she would benefit greatly if she heard you speak more—boardrooms, phone calls, all of it.”
Vedika smiled fondly. “She looks up to you,” she said. “Talks about how amazing you are when you speak and yada yada.” Then the best friend slipped through. “I keep telling her you’re not. She insists.”
Tara smiled—just a little—and dipped her head. She didn’t need confirmation that the youngest Rajvanshi was smitten.
She only needed to know that Ishaani was willing to stay exactly where Tara told her to.