"How could you do this? Do you want to spoil everything?"

  Aarav's voice did not rise, but it trembled with tightly leashed anger. He had measured it carefully, keeping it low enough so it wouldn't travel past the bedroom doors. That control made it worse.

  He had been speaking for several minutes before ending with those words. Not shouting. Not ranting. Just a relentless, controlled tirade that left no space for me to interrupt.

  I stood near the window, my fingers clutching the end of the dupatta I was wearing, listening without retorting.

  When he finally paused to breathe, I said quietly, "I needed to meet Zahir urgently. It was important. I had taken precautions."

  His jaw tightened.

  "Precautions, my foot!" he snapped, his voice still low but vibrating. "Your face-Sameera's face-is all over social media. Entertainment portals are running it as breaking gossip. Look at this."

  He thrust his phone toward me.

  One headline read: Sameera on a secret rendezvous?

  Another: Mystery man spotted with Sameera at Mandarin Pce.

  My stomach tightened, but I kept my expression steady.

  "It was necessary," I repeated calmly.

  "You should have called your friend here."

  "But you warned me not to bring anyone from my world here," I replied.

  He lifted both hands in exasperation. "If it was so necessary, you could have called him here and made up a story for the servants. A writer. A journalist. Anything!"

  I knew I had messed up. I knew it very clearly.

  But something inside me refused to look apologetic or repentant.

  "I'll do that next time," I said.

  His eyes fshed at my tone.

  Before he could respond, his phone rang.

  He gnced at the screen and immediately straightened.

  VK Khatri.

  The transformation in Aarav's voice as he answered was almost theatrical.

  "Good morning, sir... yes, sir... I saw it, sir..."

  He paced the room as he listened, nodding repeatedly, murmuring polite reassurances. Then he stopped in front of me and held the phone out, putting it on speaker.

  "VK sir wants to speak to you."

  I took the phone.

  "Sameera beta," VK's voice came through-warm, controlled, authoritative. "I have always believed that all publicity, whether positive or negative, is good in this industry."

  I swallowed.

  "But you must be careful. Discreet. Do you understand what I am saying?"

  "Yes, sir," I said.

  "You are part of two very big projects. My projects. We all need to be careful, don't we?"

  "Yes, sir."

  A pause.

  "Actually," he continued, his tone softening, "one good thing has come out of this. Your simple, elegant desi look has been appreciated a lot on social media. I've told the director to explore this look further for the film."

  I didn't know how to react to that.

  "Thank you, sir," I replied.

  The call ended.

  Aarav looked at me again, the anger returning now that the polite performance was over. He dropped into the chair with visible irritation.

  For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.

  "What about Sameera?" I asked.

  He looked up sharply. "Sameera? What about her?"

  "Wasn't she supposed to undergo her corrective surgery today in the US?"

  He let out a breath before answering. "Yes, te night, our time."

  "So... she will be back after two weeks?"

  "Yeah, two, maybe three weeks... even four," he said with a shrug.

  "But you told me three weeks," I said.

  "Recovery time cannot be guaranteed," he said exasperatedly. "Would one more week be so bad for you? Wouldn't it be an opportunity for you to earn more money?" he sneered, then stood up and walked out of the room.

  I remained standing there, staring at the closed door.

  I hoped she would recover soon. I truly did.

  Because today, I felt tired of this "role".

  Tired of being careful every second.

  Tired of being Sameera.

  ---

  Four days after the Mandarin Pce disaster, the house had slipped back into its careful rhythm-as if nothing unusual had happened. Aarav hadn't dwelt on the incident and returned to his calm and cheerful self.

  I had asked him about Sameera's corrective surgery the next day, and he had reported that it had gone fine and that it would be two weeks before the bandages came off.

  We had gone back to our routine, wherein I dressed and behaved as Sameera in the house in front of the servants, with Aarav occasionally showing casual affection.

  He would lean close to me while dining or pull me closer when I sat in the living room, sometimes pcing a slight peck on my forehead or cheek.

  These didn't bother me much anymore, as I had begun to think of them as a necessary part of the role I was pying.

  Presently, I sat at the breakfast table, sunlight pooling over the marble counter and spilling across the polished wood, the morning feeling peaceful.

  Aarav folded his newspaper, looked at me for a long moment, and then leaned slightly closer.

  "Do you want to make some quick money?"

  I looked at him quizzically just as Sushi arrived with the tall gss of pale green juice-the special avocado and aloe vera mix that Sameera apparently had every morning. Aarav had insisted from the first day that I should drink it too, so that the servants would not suspect anything unusual in my routine.

  I had hated it initially.

  Now, strangely, I had grown used to its cool, grassy freshness.

  Sushi pced it in front of me and left.

  Aarav's hand slid over mine on the table in a gentle, affectionate gesture meant for the servants' eyes. I no longer flinched when he did that. I simply allowed it.

  He spoke softly, as if he were saying something intimate.

  "Laxmi Jewellers-you must have heard of them. A big chain from the South. They're opening their first store in Mumbai. They want Sameera... you... for the inauguration."

  I blinked.

  "They're offering ten khs for an hour's appearance. Wear some jewellery, smile for the cameras, cut a ribbon, and leave."

  "Ten khs?" I exhaled before I could stop myself.

  Aarav nodded. "Five for you. Five for Sameera. After all, it's her face."

  Another event.

  Another public appearance.

  Another evening of pretending to be someone I was not.

  The fear of being exposed still existed somewhere inside me, but it no longer had the sharp, paralysing edge it had during the first event. It had dulled into something else-an uneasy familiarity.

  I needed the money. That truth had become the centre of every decision I was making tely.

  And this wasn't difficult.

  Just be Sameera at an event for an hour. I was her 24 hours a day in the house anyway.

  "Okay," I said.

  "Good," Aarav replied immediately. "I'll confirm with them."

  He paused, studying my face.

  "They're a traditional jewellery house. They want you in a proper saree look. In fact, the offer came to you because your pics in the simple Anarkali dress at Mandarin Pace became viral. I'll ask Jyotsna to come and drape you. The event starts at six."

  Saree.

  I felt a flicker of apprehension.

  Anarkalis, gowns, kurtis-I had somehow managed those. But a saree was different. A saree demanded a kind of feminine presence. Could I carry it properly?

  Damn. I shouldn't have said yes so quickly.

  Aarav watched the flicker of doubt cross my face and smiled faintly.

  "This," he said, "is how you make money in this industry while your stars are shining." He clicked his tongue thoughtfully. "That Mandarin Pace restaurant has become the talk of the town. They got free publicity just because you were seen there."

  I said nothing.

  He wasn't wrong.

  I had two, maybe three more weeks to py Sameera.

  No harm in milking the situation.

  "How is she recovering?" I asked quietly.

  Aarav seemed momentarily confused. "Who? Oh. Sameera. She is well."

  He picked up his phone and began dialling the jewellery chain.

  "Yes," he said smoothly into the phone, already slipping into his professional tone. "Sameera will attend."

  I lifted the gss of green juice and took a slow sip.

  Cool. Familiar. Routine.

  And as Aarav's voice floated across the table, confirming my presence at yet another public event in Sameera's life, I realised something unsettling.

  I was no longer thinking, How will I do this?

  I was thinking, How well will I be able to do this?

  -----

  That's the end of Chapter 12. Do let me know your thoughts on the chapter. Comment freely. Drop a like if you enjoyed reading it.

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  > ? Moon Winters, 2025. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, pces, and events are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resembnce to real people, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this story may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review purposes.