CHAPTER IV LUXURIA
The Rajvanshi mansion office felt like a mausoleum of old power that night.
Heavy velvet drapes the color of dried blood framed tall windows, blocking out the world beyond.
A single brass desk lamp cast a conspiratorial golden pool across the massive mahogany desk, illuminating stacks of leather-bound files, a half-empty crystal decanter of whiskey, and the sleek black laptop that sat like a sleeping predator in the corner.
The air was thick with the scent of aged teak, faint cigar smoke, expensive cologne, and something sharper — the metallic tang of secrets long buried and carefully guarded.
Ishaani stood just inside the door for a long moment, steadying her breathing.
The Bluetooth earpiece hidden in her delicate gold earring felt like a live wire pressed against her skin once again, warm from her body heat.
Tara, Vedika, and C1PH3R were listening.
Silent witnesses to the performance she was about to give.
Rajeev looked up from his papers. His silver hair caught the lamplight like a crown of thorns. For a second, his expression was stern — the disappointed father. Then it softened when he saw her, replaced by that new, dangerous warmth he now reserved only for his “good” daughter.
“Ishi,” he said, voice rich and approving. “Come in, beta. Sit with me.”
Ishaani crossed the room with measured steps, the perfect picture of a dutiful daughter seeking her father’s company. She took the leather chair across from him, folding her hands neatly in her lap, back straight, eyes lowered just enough to show respect.
“Papa,” she began softly, voice pitched with the right amount of weary exasperation. “Vedika and Devika keep calling me. It’s becoming really annoying. I don’t want to talk to them right now. They don’t understand anything. They just keep pushing and pushing, filling my head with their nonsense.”
Rajeev leaned back in his chair, studying her. His expression shifted from mild irritation to quiet approval. “They’re still bothering you even after everything?”
Ishaani nodded, keeping her voice steady and slightly tired — exactly the tone he liked. “I blocked them. I don’t need their noise anymore. It’s exhausting.”
Rajeev’s smile widened, slow and satisfied. He reached across the desk and patted her hand, the gesture paternal and approving. “Good girl. That’s the right decision. Did you need a new number, beta? I can arrange one for you immediately. Fresh start. No more distractions from those two.”
“No, Papa,” Ishaani replied smoothly, offering a small, grateful smile. “Blocking them is enough. I don’t want to deal with their drama anymore.”
Rajeev chuckled, clearly pleased. “That’s my daughter. Strong. Decisive. Not like your sisters — always emotional, always causing unnecessary trouble. You understand what really matters.”
Ishaani nodded, desperately trying to sell her performance to him. “I understand, Dadda.”
He paused, sipping from his whiskey glass, eyes gleaming with new warmth as he looked at her. “How would you feel about a trip to Dubai? Just you and me. We can get away from all this nonsense here. Three days from now. Business during the day, but evenings just for us. Father and daughter time.”
Ishaani’s face lit up with practiced excitement, the perfect son shining through. “Wow, Dadda! I’d love that.” She looked around the room, and questioned, “Just us? That sounds perfect.”
Rajeev laughed richly, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. “Yes, beta. Just us. We’ll talk about your future. The family legacy. The way it should’ve been talked about before.”
Devika sounded tense. “Exactly. He could leave you there. Or stay there himself and drag you into his world completely. Ishi, you don’t have to do this if it feels wrong.”
Vedika cut in, voice low. “We can’t let you go alone. This feels like a trap.”
Tara exhaled slowly, trying to stay calm for Ishaani’s sake. “Breathe, Bambi. We’ll figure this out together. But if he tries anything… You run. Promise me you’ll run.”
C1PH3R’s distorted voice came through next, calm and precise.
“I have a solution. I’ve prepared a custom hardware USB.
It’s small, untraceable, and will give us full mirror access to his system — every log, every encrypted file, every communication on the trafficking network.
If Ishaani can plant it in his laptop and harbour all of the information regarding his ventures, we’ll have everything we need. ”
Tara didn’t hesitate. “Ishaani can do it. She’ll find a way in the next few days. We go full throttle on this.”
The opportunity arrived on the very first night.
Sneha had retired early with one of her migraines.
Rajeev was downstairs in a long meeting with associates.
Ishaani slipped into his office like a shadow, heart hammering so violently she could feel it in her throat and wrists.
She felt like she was 16 again, slipping through the open doors and entering places she definitely shouldn’t, yet the curiosity of that young age had made her a slave to maladies.
The room was dark except for moonlight spilling through a gap in the drapes. She moved with practiced stealth, guided by C1PH3R’s calm voice in her ear.
“Open the laptop, Ishi. Password is ‘Legacy2023’.” Ishaani was successful in the given task, “Good. Now the desktop. Locate the folder named ‘Rajvanshi Foundation’. You’ll need to copy the entire directory to the USB I gave you.”
Ishaani’s fingers trembled slightly as she typed.
The screen lit up with cold blue light. She navigated quickly, heart in her throat.
Whilst she was at it, and the USB was successfully copying the necessary documents, her hand in its worldly swiftness opened the first drawer under the table, like it was a muscle memory… .because maybe it was.
She never had to throttle for the password because the one time she had been brave enough to go through with the task of guessing and claiming the password, she had been successful. And, she sincerely hoped that it hadn’t, yet here she was arranging the numbers stealthily on the silver dial.
8-0-8-0-4
She had been sixteen, angry, curious, and drowning in a loneliness so sharp it felt like knives under her skin.
One rainy afternoon when Rajeev was away for a week in Mumbai, she had snuck into his office.
The room smelled of his cologne — sandalwood and smoke — and the faint, lingering ghost of whiskey.
She had been looking for nothing in particular when she found the stack of CDs hidden in the first drawer, tucked behind old tax files.
She had simply been trying out number combinations to see if she could get past the silver dial.
She pondered on and on about what it could be, and suddenly, her father’s birthdate hit her, 8th of August, 1970. It was wrong, but somewhere in her heart, she knew that she was correct, and so she dialed, her own birthdate, 8th of May, 2004. It was wrong again;
However, she typed in 8080—4, accidentally joining their dates and it had opened, making her smile in delight.
Her hands had shaken as she took one CD out. The label was plain, handwritten. She had locked the office door, heart pounding, and slid the disc into the computer.
The video started. But, what followed drove her to her mind’s wit once again.
Women.
Beautiful, uninhibited women touching each other with raw hunger.
Moans filled the silent office — low, breathy, desperate.
The sound of skin on skin, wet and rhythmic, had made something hot and forbidden bloom low in her belly.
She had sat in his chair, legs spread, hand slipping under her shorts, touching herself frantically while watching them.
The leather of the chair was cool against her bare thighs.
The scent of his cologne still clung to the air.
The shame had mixed with the pleasure, making everything sharper, more intense.
She had come hard, biting her lip bloody to stay silent, tears pricking her eyes — rebellion and self-disgust tangled together in one messy, overwhelming release.
Now, years later, the memory filled her with visceral disgust. Self-loathing rose like bile in her throat as she worked.
How could I have done that here? In his space? What kind of person was I? She couldn’t help but scorn at herself.
She shoved the memory down hard, focusing on the task.
“Progress at 87%,” C1PH3R said. “Almost there. Be quick. Sneha might come to check on you any moment.”
Ishaani ejected the USB the second it finished, slipping the tiny device into her pocket. She closed the laptop, wiped the keyboard with her sleeve out of pure paranoia, and quietly shut the drawer.
She was turning to leave when her eyes landed on something else.
A folder on the corner of the desk. Slightly open.
Inside were photographs.
Dozens of naked women. She felt dizzy with an unmistakable urge to smash the fucking drawer on her father’s head. What she had been feeling, felt almost like solar cells to the inferno that took its place when her hand reached for a picture and she came eye to eye to her worst fucking thoughts.
And the first one — clear, unmistakable, taken recently in one of the guest rooms of this very mansion — was Tara.
Tara Kapoor. Naked. Vulnerable. Exposed.
Ishaani’s blood turned to ice in her veins, and she felt her body drop dead to the seat, unable to gulp down the fears and wrath that followed.
The drive back from Rajeev’s office felt endless.
The new Range Rover’s leather seats, once luxurious, now felt like a cage.
Streetlights blurred past Ishaani’s window in streaks of gold and white, but all she could see was that photograph — Tara’s naked body captured in cruel clarity, taken inside the very mansion she was returning to.
Her hands trembled on the steering wheel. The USB in her pocket burned like a brand.
The moment she stepped into Nayonica Sen’s apartment, the dam broke.
Tara was waiting near the door. The second she saw Ishaani’s face — pale, eyes wide with horror — she moved.
“Ishi?” Tara’s voice sharpened with concern as she cupped Ishaani’s face. “What happened? Talk to me.”
Ishaani’s breath hitched. She pulled the USB from her pocket with shaking fingers and pressed it into Tara’s hand, but that wasn’t what she needed to say.
“There were pictures,” she whispered, voice cracking.
“In his office. On his desk. Naked women. Dozens of them. And… you.” Ishaani took Tara’s hands in her own, which were resting on her face, as she couldn’t find the next words to articulate her thoughts.
“Tara, there was one of you. Recent. In the guest room upstairs.” She felt the tears surging through her face, “He has photos of you.”
The room went deathly silent.
Tara froze. Her hazel eyes darkened with something dangerous — rage, violation, and a cold, calculated fury. Her fingers tightened around Ishaani’s shoulders, almost bruising.
“He has pictures of me?” she repeated, voice low and lethal, as if asking for confirmation for such an atrocious task, to which Ishaani simply nodded with shaking breath.
Ishaani traced the inner lining of her mouth with her tongue to refrain from going ballistically mad at the people around her, just sticking to murmuring, “That bastard.”
Devika stood up slowly, face pale. Vedika’s fists clenched so hard her knuckles went white. Nayonica looked physically sick. Ishaani’s voice broke completely. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she grabbed Tara’s waist, desperate.
“Please,” she begged, voice raw. “We have to end this. Right now. I can’t do this anymore.
” Ishaani felt useless as she was unable to protect the woman she should've been. The sole purpose of her acting was proving to be utterly purposeless. “I can’t keep smiling at him while he keeps those photos of you. While he plans to take me to Dubai. While he talks about my ‘future husband’ like I’m property.
I want him behind bars. Today. Tomorrow.
I don’t care. Please, Tara. Please. I’m begging you.
Speed this up. I can’t breathe in that house anymore. ”
Tara pulled Ishaani into her arms, holding her tightly, one hand stroking her hair while the other pressed her close against her chest. She tried acting like it didn't affect her, but it had shaken her to her very core and the only way she could take support was within Ishaani’s arms and hence her arms tightened around her lover's shoulders, her voice that followed was soft but steel-edged.
“Shh, Bambi. I’ve got you. We’re not dragging this out. Not after this.”
Ishicka stepped forward, elegant and deadly calm, her socialite mask slipping to reveal the master manipulator beneath.
“I can help accelerate this,” she said smoothly.
“Rajeev still trusts me as his associate— at least enough to listen. I’ll tell him that if he wants Ishaani to fully embrace his legacy, he needs to come clean.
Completely. No more secrets. He’ll see it as a test of her loyalty, and he’ll talk.
Men like him love confessing when they think they’re winning someone over. ”
Tara nodded, still holding Ishaani close. “Do it. Tomorrow. We plant the final seeds and end this. We can't let it reach the final day.”
Ishaani buried her face in Tara’s neck, breathing her in, her hands trying to pull Tara in impossibly closer by Tara's waist— bergamot, smoked vanilla, safety. “I’m scared,” she whispered. “But I’m more scared of letting him keep those pictures of you.”
Tara kissed the top of her head, voice dark with promise. “He won’t have them much longer. And when this is over, I’m going to make sure he never touches anything that belongs to me again.”
The group gathered closer — Devika and Vedika wrapping their arms around their sister, Nayonica offering quiet strength, Ishicka already calculating the next move.
And Ishaani, trembling but resolute in Tara’s arms, was ready to burn it all down.