ACT IV- CHAPTER I AVARITIA
The low velvet sofa was strewn with notes and half-empty coffee cups, the air thick with the scent of vanilla candles burned low, coconut shampoo lingering on the pillows, and the faint, intimate musk of two bodies that had spent too many hours pressed close in both comfort and tension.
Tara sat cross-legged on the floor, laptop balanced on her thighs, fingers hovering over the keys without moving.
Her dark hair was tied back in a messy knot, a few strands escaping to frame her sharp cheekbones.
The borrowed black t-shirt clung to her frame, but her usual commanding presence was fractured tonight - shoulders slightly hunched, hazel eyes narrowed in frustration as she stared at the screen.
The mastermind was stuck. Every angle she tried to approach Rajeev felt too obvious, too direct.
He was too careful, too eloquent, too deeply entrenched in his web of plausible deniability.
She rubbed her temples, exhaling sharply. "How do you make a man like him confess? He's spent decades wrapping his sins in silk and diplomacy. He'll never admit anything if he thinks we're coming for him."
Ishaani was sprawled on the couch behind her, legs draped over the armrest, watching Gossip Girl on her laptop with half-lidded eyes.
She had been quiet for most of the evening, letting Tara work, but now she spoke aloud without thinking, voice soft and absent-minded.
She had the utmost irritable habit of voicing opinions about shows because she undoubtedly felt she was smarter than the average writer.
"You know... Chuck should've just listened to Bart Bass.
Acted as he agreed with everything he said.
Pretended to be the perfect son. Then he could've done whatever he wanted, however he wanted, right under his nose.
That's how you win against someone who thinks they're always ten steps ahead.
At last, Bart would've died either way..
..why make the love of his life wait just because of the poor execution of plans.
" Ishaani shook her head, possibly envisioning how she would have been the perfect match for Blair Waldorf. ...or Georgina Sparks.
Tara froze and raised her head, staring off into space as if the pieces actually clicked into their designated spaces.
The words hung in the air like a revelation.
She turned slowly, eyes wide, a spark igniting behind them - sharp, brilliant, dangerous. The mastermind resurfaced in full force.
"That's it," she whispered.
She grabbed her diary from the coffee table, flipping it open with trembling fingers, scribbling furiously.
The plan poured out in elegant, ruthless strokes - Ishaani playing the obedient daughter, feeding Rajeev exactly what he wanted to hear, drawing him out until he confessed everything.
The long con would be the perfect trap. He would never be able to look past Ishaani's tomfoolery because in his mind, he has always treated Ishaani as the son he never had, and by the grace of the universe Ishaani had always played the part perfectly-intentionally or unintentionally, and it irrevocably orchestrated as the origin of Tara's newest fallacy.
THE BLAIR-BASS PRINCIPLE
Tara looked up, eyes shining with something close to awe.
"Oh God, Ishi," she breathed. "I have it. I have it done."
She surged forward, climbing into Ishaani's lap with fluid grace, straddling her hips and cupping her face with both hands.
The laptop slid forgotten to the side as Tara kissed her - deep, desperate, devouring.
Her fingers tangled in Ishaani's hair, pulling her closer, smothering her with affection and gratitude and the kind of hunger that had been building for days.
"You helped me, Bambi," Tara whispered between kisses, lips brushing Ishaani's with every word. "You brilliant, perfect girl. You gave me the key." Tara sealed the last sentence with another kiss, her hands sliding from Ishaani's cheeks to her hair.
Ishaani laughed breathlessly into the kiss, hands sliding down Tara's back to grip her ass possessively, pulling her closer.
"Does that mean I finally get to have you?
" she murmured, voice husky, fingers squeezing with intent, her eyes looking up at Tara with a look far too innocent for feelings which overflowed with reverence. "Right now?"
Tara pulled back just enough to smirk, eyes dark with promise and teasing cruelty. "No. Not until I wrap this up." Tara firmly sat on Ishaani's stomach and straightened her spine, pulling on the hair-tie leading to her hair cascade down her back and frame her face.
Ishaani huffed dramatically, head falling back against the couch. "Just say it if you want me to die a virgin."
Tara's smirk deepened, wicked and delighted. She leaned in, lips brushing Ishaani's ear, voice low and velvet-rough.
"Baby... It's a made-up scenario about virginity. But if you meant it..." Tara caught Ishaani's lobe between her teeth and bit deliberately, "I took it away quite a while ago."
Ishaani's breath hitched, a flush creeping up her neck as memories flooded back - heated nights, Tara's commanding hands, the way she had been taken apart so thoroughly she had forgotten her own name. She whimpered softly, hips shifting restlessly beneath Tara.
Tara chuckled, low and satisfied, pressing one last lingering kiss to Ishaani's swollen lips before climbing off her lap with graceful reluctance.
"Be patient, Bambi," she whispered, thumb brushing over Ishaani's lower lip. "When this is over... I'll give you everything you've been dreaming about."
Ishaani watched her walk away, heart racing, body aching, completely and utterly in love with the woman who had just turned their pain into a weapon.
"Good things come to girls who wait...." Ishaani couldn't help but think of Christina Aguilera's Candyman....more like Candywoman.
Tara sat at the edge of the couch, back propped, laptop balanced on her thighs.
Her dark hair was tied back in a messy knot, a few strands escaping to frame her sharp cheekbones- shoulders straight, hazel eyes narrowed in focus as her fingers moved across the keyboard with quiet precision.
The files from Ishicka and C1PH3R glowed coldly on the screen, lines of transactions, timestamps, and damning correspondences that painted Rajeev Rajvanshi as far more than a peripheral player.
Tara's mind worked like a scalpel, cutting through layers of lies, building the case that would end him.
Ishaani lay curled beside her, head resting on Tara's thigh, her course book - Postcolonial Literature - open but forgotten on her chest. She had tried to study for an upcoming exam, eyes tracing lines about hybridity and resistance, but exhaustion had won.
Her breathing was slow and even now, face soft and vulnerable in sleep, one hand loosely curled around Tara's knee as if even unconscious, she needed the reassurance of touch.
Tara's free hand occasionally drifted down to stroke Ishaani's hair, nails dragging gently across her scalp in slow, soothing patterns.
It was a quiet ritual - one that grounded Tara as much as it comforted Ishaani.
The weight of Ishaani's head on her thigh was a reminder that this war was not abstract.
Hours passed as the laptop screen flickered as Tara cross-referenced records, building timelines, connecting dots.
The city outside had gone quiet, the distant hum of traffic fading into a low, constant drone.
Tara's eyes grew heavier, but she pushed on, determined to have something solid by morning.
Eventually, exhaustion claimed her, too.
She slouched forward without realizing it, laptop sliding to the side of the couch.
Her body folded over Ishaani's sleeping form like a protective curve - head resting on Ishaani's stomach, one arm spread out on Ishaani's pelvic girdle and the other over her own stomach, legs folded under her, whilst they both laid together in a messy, puppy-like heap.
Tara's breathing deepened, syncing unconsciously with Ishaani's, the two of them curled into each other like they had been made to fit this way.
Ishaani stirred sometime in the early hours, blinking slowly into the dim light.
Her body registered the weight first - Tara's head heavy on her stomach, the warmth of her breath against her skin, the way Tara's tall frame had curled around her smaller one in sleep.
It was uncomfortable, no doubt. Tara's neck was bent at an awkward angle, her shoulders hunched, the kind of position that would leave her in pain by morning.
They both sleeping at a 180 degrees to each other, and it looks nonsensical.
...but it was comfortable in the moment.
Ishaani's heart swelled with a quiet, fierce tenderness.
She reached down carefully, sliding one arm under Tara's shoulders, the other under her knees.
With surprising strength - honed from years of boxing and the raw protectiveness that came from loving someone this deeply - she lifted Tara gently, cradling her against her chest. Tara stirred briefly, murmuring something incoherent, but didn't wake fully.
Ishaani carried her the few steps to the bed, lowering her with painstaking care, arranging the pillows under her head, pulling the blanket over her long legs.
Tara's eyes fluttered open for a moment, hazy with sleep. "Ishi...?"
"It's fine," Ishaani whispered, brushing a strand of hair from Tara's face. Her hand moved in slow, soothing circles on Tara's back. "Go back to sleep, baby."
Tara made a small, contented sound and nuzzled closer, already drifting off again.
Ishaani stayed there for a long moment, watching her, heart full to bursting.
There was something profound in this - the ability to protect Tara, to give her comfort, to be the strong one for once.
It made her feel needed, like she was worthy and felt loved in return.
She slipped under the blanket beside her, pulling Tara close until their bodies fit together perfectly - Ishaani's smaller frame a steady anchor for Tara's taller one. She pressed a soft kiss to Tara's forehead, then rested her chin on top of her head, breathing her in.
The night wrapped around them like a promise.
In the quiet dark, with Tara safe in her arms, Ishaani allowed herself to believe that they could survive whatever came next.
Morning light in Nayonica Sen's apartment arrived like a reluctant witness - soft, pale, and almost apologetic as it slipped through the sheer curtains, painting the deep maroon walls in muted gold and catching on the geometric trim like faint, hesitant blessings.
The room smelled of fresh coffee, the rich, earthy aroma mingling with the lingering vanilla of yesterday's candles and the subtle coconut trace of Nayonica's shampoo that always seemed to cling to the pillows.
Tara sat propped against the headboard of the guest bed, laptop balanced on her thighs, fingers hovering over the keys without moving.
She had been awake for hours, the glow of the screen casting sharp blue shadows across her sharp cheekbones and the faint lines of exhaustion etched beneath her eyes.
Her hazel eyes - usually so cool and commanding - were shadowed with something deeper this morning.
Not regret, exactly. But the slow, creeping realization that morality was not a clean ledger. It was a slow bleed.
THE BLAIR-BASS PRINCIPLE
It had seemed so elegant when Ishaani had said it aloud the previous evening - a casual line from a television show, a clever tactic for undermining a tyrannical father.
You just had to pretend to agree, and act as the perfect heiress, then simply strike from within.
Tara had seized it like a gift from the gods, turning it into the blueprint for their long con against Rajeev.
Ishaani would play the obedient daughter.
The one with internalized views that would make her father proud. The blade slipped under his guard.
It was brilliant. Ruthless and so necessary to overthrow a rotten man.
But now, in the quiet light of morning, Tara felt the true cost settling into her bones like frost.
She would be asking Ishaani - her fierce, loving, reverent Ishaani - to betray pieces of herself.
To swallow her rage. To smile while her sisters were humiliated and to become the "good daughter" in the eyes of a man who saw women as assets or liabilities.
Ishaani would do it willingly. As soon as Tara would say for me, Ishaani would jump on the high horse and head into the avalnche, as long as Tara used her soft almost persuading eyes with her.
But Tara could sometimes envisionwhat if Ishaani had sometimes expected to pay the price for loving Tara.
Tara's hand trembled slightly as she reached down to stroke Ishaani's hair. The younger woman had fallen asleep with her head in Tara's lap, even after waking up initially. The sight of her - small, strong, and so painfully devoted - twisted something deep in Tara's chest.
What have I done to you? she thought, fingers tracing gentle patterns across Ishaani's scalp. I made you complicit in your own family's destruction. I asked you to become the thing you hate most, just to win.
The Blair-Bass Principle had felt clever in the abstract.
In practice, it had required Ishaani to perform hatred.
To nod along as Rajeev spoke about "a woman's place.
" To watch her sisters be torn apart and say nothing.
Tara had always believed the ends justified the means.
But what if the means changed the person you loved?
What if winning required breaking the very thing you were fighting for?
She closed her eyes, letting the weight of it settle.
Some prices, she was learning, were paid in silence.
And some victories tasted like ash.
The soft shifting of the comforter pulled her from her thoughts.
Ishaani stirred, blinking slowly as she woke.
She sat up with a sleepy stretch, her compact muscles stretching wide drawing Tara's eyes with sheer hunger, hair messy and eyes still heavy.
Ishaani turned around, and smiled sleepily, "Good Morning, Tara.
" then padded out of the room. A few minutes later, she returned with two steaming mugs of coffee, the rich, earthy aroma filling the space like a quiet offering.
"Here," Ishaani said softly, handing one to Tara before climbing back onto the bed and settling her head in Tara's lap again, as if it were the most natural place in the world. She curled up like a contented puppy, one arm wrapped loosely around Tara's thigh, breathing in the warmth of her.
Tara set the laptop aside and took the mug with a small, grateful smile. Her free hand moved automatically to Ishaani's hair, stroking through the messy strands with slow, soothing motions. The gesture was instinctive now - petting her like a beloved puppy who had earned her rest.
Ishaani sighed happily, nuzzling closer. "You look like you didn't sleep."
Tara's fingers continued their gentle petting, nails dragging lightly across Ishaani's scalp. "I was thinking."
"About the plan?" Ishaani asked, voice muffled against Tara's thigh.
Tara was quiet for a long moment, staring at the wall as her hand kept moving - slow, rhythmic, almost meditative.
The ethical weight pressed on her more heavily now, with Ishaani so trusting and warm in her lap.
She would be turning this bright, fierce girl into a performer of hatred.
She would be asking her to smile while her family broke.
And Ishaani would do it. Willingly. For love.
But at what cost to the one person Tara had sworn to protect?
"You look like a puppy," Tara said softly, the words slipping out before she could stop them. Her voice was fond, almost wistful. "My sweet, trusting puppy."
Ishaani lifted her head slightly, eyes sparkling with playful indignation. "I'm not a dog."
Tara's lips curved into a small, teasing smile, fingers still stroking through her hair. "Puppy. Not a dog. There's a difference, Bambi."
Ishaani huffed, but her cheeks flushed with that familiar, adorable mix of embarrassment and adoration. "Well... I'd be a dog for you either way too."
Tara rolled her eyes, the gesture fond and exasperated. "You act so masochistic sometimes."
Ishaani frowned, tilting her head up with genuine curiosity. "What exactly does a masochist mean, Tara?" Tara had said the term so fluidily, expecting Ishaani to have known the terminology.
Tara paused, her hand stilling for a moment in Ishaani's hair. Then she smiled - slow, sharp, and utterly sinister in its cutting elegance, with just a touch of wicked delight.
"Oh, Bambi," she purred, voice dropping into that low, velvet register that always made Ishaani's stomach flip.
"A masochist is someone who finds pleasure in pain.
Who craves the sting. Who looks at the person who could ruin them and says, 'Yes, please, harder.
' It's not just about whips and chains, darling.
It's about handing someone your heart and saying, 'Break it beautifully.
' It's about knowing the world will hurt you and running toward it anyway because the hurt feels like love when it comes from the right hands. "
She leaned down, brushing her lips against Ishaani's ear, voice dropping even lower.
"And you, my sweet girl... You look at me like I'm the only one allowed to destroy you.
" Tara pecked the ear lobe, leaving a lingering kiss.
"You let me use you" kiss "tease you" kiss "leave you aching and desperate.
You defend me even when your own sisters turn on you.
You crawl for me. You bleed for me. And you smile while doing it.
That, Bambi, is the most exquisite form of masochism I've ever seen. "
Tara could never understand her life, now that she had Ishaani who made her act so unnecessarily possessive and hot-headed.
Perhaps, it was her greed because she had never experienced the love that Ishaani made her experience; not in the sense of materialism but in the sense of standing beside her, submitting to her and loving her in irrevocably hard situations.
Ishaani's face went bright red. She sat up abruptly, cheeks burning, eyes wide with a mix of embarrassment and something darker, hotter. "Oh... um."
She scrambled off the bed, nearly tripping over her own feet. "I'll... I'll go take a shower. It's getting late."
Tara glanced at the clock. It was only 9:00 AM.
She smirked, slow and satisfied, watching Ishaani flee toward the bathroom with flushed cheeks and shaky legs.
"Run along, Bambi," she called softly after her. "But we both know you'll be back for more."
The door clicked shut behind Ishaani.
Tara leaned back against the headboard, the smile fading into something quieter, more contemplative. The Bass Principle still weighed on her. But watching Ishaani - flustered, blushing, utterly hers - reminded her why she was willing to pay the price.
Some loves were worth the moral cost.
Even if the cost was paid in pieces of the person you loved most.
"Don't ever make my greed drive you to hate me Ishi. I don't think I will be able to take that blow."