The Khanna mansion had transformed from a corporate fortress into a labyrinth of unspoken desires. The traditional boundaries of "shame" and "modesty" were being eroded, not by a sudden explosion, but by the slow, rhythmic pulse of a secret that lived in the hallways between midnight and dawn.
The Hunter Becomes the Haunt
Shagun was a woman possessed. The encounter with Mihika hadn't satiated the fire Esha had lit; it had acted like oxygen. She found herself unable to focus on the "missions" Esha gave her. Her mind was a constant loop of Mihika's skin, the sound of the girl's stifled gasps, and the power she felt when she forced the younger Iyer sister to abandon her principles.
She began seeking Mihika out at all hours.
* Under the guise of "training" in the library, Shagun would lock the doors, her hands finding the small of Mihika's back through the gaps in a modern, backless choli.
* In the gym, beneath the whir of the air conditioning, Shagun would corner her, the scent of sweat and expensive floral mist creating a heady, intoxicating atmosphere.
Shagun moved with a new, aggressive confidence. She stopped wearing the heavy silks of a Delhi socialite. Instead, she opted for sheer georgette sarees that clung to her damp skin, draped so precaterally that every movement was a silent invitation. She was no longer just Esha's tool; she was a woman discovering the raw, unadulterated power of her own sensuality.
Mihika's Calculated Descent
Mihika, meanwhile, believed she was the architect of this chaos. She had convinced herself that by making Shagun "addicted" to her, she was neutralizing Esha's strongest ally.
To fuel Shagun's obsession, Mihika began to shed her "innocent girl next door" persona. She started wearing shorter, Western-style cocktail dresses and sarees with plunging necklines that were utterly scandalous by Iyer family standards. She learned the art of the "accidental" touch—the way a saree pallu could slip "unintentionally" at the exact moment Shagun entered the room.
But as the days turned into weeks, the line between "acting" and "wanting" began to blur.
Mihika found herself checking the mirrors, wondering if Shagun would notice the curve of her waist. She began to crave the moments when the door locked and the world of Raman, Ishita, and "morality" vanished. She liked the way Shagun—the sophisticated, icy Shagun—would lose all composure the moment they were alone. Mihika wasn't just trapping Shagun; she was falling in love with the feeling of being the center of someone's dangerous, forbidden world.
The Invisible Architect
From the shadows of the mezzanine, Esha Khanna watched it all.
She had installed discreet, high-definition security feeds in the common areas—and some private ones—long ago. She watched the way Shagun's hands shook when she touched Mihika. She watched the way Mihika leaned into the touch, her "spy" mission forgotten in the heat of the moment.
Esha sat in her darkened office, a glass of expensive red wine in hand, watching the monitor as Shagun and Mihika shared a heated, whispered argument in the garden pavilion that quickly dissolved into a desperate, clinging embrace.
"You think you're playing me, Mihika," Esha whispered to the screen, a cold, beautiful smile touching her lips. "And you think you're winning, Shagun. But you're both just preparing the ground for Ishita."
To Esha, this was the ultimate psychological "softening." When Ishita eventually came to "rescue" her sister, she wouldn't find a prisoner. She would find a woman who had been completely corrupted, a woman who had chosen the "sin" over the family. And that realization would be the hammer that finally broke Ishita's iron-clad moral compass.
The Mid-Day Encounter
The tension reached a breaking point on a Tuesday afternoon. The house was supposedly empty; Esha was at the factory, and the servants were in the quarters.
Mihika was in the sunroom, wearing a short, white lace dress that left little to the imagination. She was pretending to read, but her eyes were on the door. When Shagun entered, she wasn't wearing a saree. She was in a silk robe, her hair damp from a shower.
"You're late," Mihika whispered, her voice a mix of defiance and longing.
Shagun didn't say a word. She crossed the room, the silk of her robe hissing against the marble floor. She grabbed Mihika by the waist, pulling her up from the chair.
"I don't have time for your games today, Mihika," Shagun hissed, her eyes dark and wild. "Ishita called the house. She's coming here. She wants to see you."
Mihika's heart hammered. "What? Now?"
"In an hour," Shagun said, her grip tightening. "So we have sixty minutes. Sixty minutes for you to remind me why I haven't told Esha about your little 'spy' phone yet."
The air in the sunroom was heavy with the scent of blooming orchids and the raw, electric tension of two women who were now utterly codependent. As they collapsed onto the oversized velvet sofa, the dialogue was rich with the bite of betrayal and the sweetness of the forbidden.
"I hate you for this," Mihika gasped, even as she pulled Shagun closer.
"No, you don't," Shagun replied, her voice a low, triumphant purr. "You hate that you love it. You hate that you're finally awake."
High above, in her office at the factory, Esha saw the notification on her phone. Front Gate: Ishita Bhalla arrived.
Esha closed her laptop. The timing was perfect.