The sun beat down on the manicured lawns of the Khanna estate as Ishita stepped out of her car. Her heart was a drum of anxiety. She had spent sleepless nights rehearsing her plea to Mihika, her arguments against Esha, and her prayers for her family's restoration. She was dressed in a simple, modest cotton saree—her "armor" of middle-class virtue.
At the door, she was met not by a servant, but by a cold, professional assistant.
"Ms. Khanna is deeply sorry, Dr. Iyer. An emergency board meeting regarding the textile plant has called her away to her private study. She is not to be disturbed. However," the assistant paused, gesturing toward the sun-drenched dining hall, "she has requested that you join Shagun-ji and Mihika for lunch."
Ishita felt a pang of rejection, but also a sliver of relief. She wasn't ready to face Esha's piercing emerald gaze yet. She wanted her sister.
The Transformation of Mihika
When Ishita entered the dining hall, she nearly stopped breathing. Mihika was sitting at the head of the long marble table, sipping a glass of chilled white wine. She was wearing a silk slip-dress with a dangerously low back, her hair styled in loose, voluminous waves that looked nothing like the simple braids of her youth.
"Mihiku?" Ishita whispered, her voice trembling. "What... what have you done to yourself?"
Mihika rose, her movements fluid and practiced. She saw the horror in Ishita's eyes and felt a momentary pang of guilt, but it was quickly swallowed by the thrill of her secret life. She rushed to Ishita, pulling her into a corner.
"Akka, shhh," Mihika whispered urgently. "It's an act. I told you—I'm a spy. Esha expects me to look like this. I have to play the part of the 'glamorous consultant' to keep her trust. Don't be fooled by the clothes. My heart is still with you."
Ishita looked into her sister's eyes, wanting so desperately to believe her. "But you look so... different. Your eyes, Mihika. They look tired. Or... restless."
"It's just the stress of the mission, Akka," Mihika lied, her voice steady. "Come, sit. Shagun is waiting."
The Feast of Tension
Shagun sat across from them, looking like a high priestess of decadence in her gossamer black saree. She watched the sisters with a predatory amusement. She knew the truth. She knew that underneath that lace dress, Mihika's skin was still humming from their afternoon encounter.
"Ishita, how lovely of you to join us," Shagun said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "Esha wanted to make sure you were well-fed. She cares so much for the 'well-being' of her guests."
Lunch was served—a lavish spread of lobster, spiced lamb, and saffron rice. But the atmosphere was stifling. Ishita tried to talk about home, about Ruhi, about the clinic, but the conversation felt one-sided. She noticed that Shagun and Mihika kept exchanging glances—sharp, knowing looks that felt like a private language.
Under the Marble
As the main course was served, Shagun decided that the psychological torture wasn't enough. She wanted to reclaim Mihika's attention, which was currently fixed on Ishita's worried face.
Beneath the heavy silk tablecloth, Shagun kicked off her heels. She extended her leg, her toes tracing a path up Mihika's calf.
Mihika stiffened, her fork clattering against the fine china. "Is something wrong, Mihika?" Ishita asked, looking up from her plate.
"No... no, Akka. Just a... a cramp," Mihika stammered, her face flushing a deep crimson.
Shagun didn't stop. Her foot moved higher, her toes finding the hem of Mihika's short dress. She began a rhythmic, slow teasing, her eyes fixed on Ishita with a terrifyingly innocent smile.
"The weather in Delhi is so unpredictable lately, don't you think, Ishita?" Shagun asked, her voice calm and conversational, while beneath the table, she was driving Mihika to the brink of a breakdown.
Mihika's breath began to hitch. At first, she was paralyzed by fear. Her sister was right there. If Ishita dropped a napkin, if she leaned over, the scandal would be irreparable. But as Shagun's touch grew more bold and insistent, the fear began to transform into a dark, forbidden thrill.
The danger of being caught by the most moral person she knew—her own sister—acted like an accelerant. Mihika found herself leaning back into the plush chair, her legs parting slightly under the table to allow Shagun better access. She gripped the edge of the table so hard her knuckles turned white.
The Clueless Witness
Ishita sensed the shift. She saw the way Mihika was breathing—shallow, ragged gasps. She saw the sweat beading on Shagun's upper lip.
"Mihika, you're glowing. Are you feverish?" Ishita reached across the table to touch Mihika's forehead.
Mihika flinched back. "I'm fine, Akka! Just... the spices. The food is very rich."
"Yes, it is very 'rich'," Shagun echoed, her voice dropping into that low, smoky register that Mihika had come to crave. Shagun's foot was now working with a relentless, practiced precision.
Ishita looked from one woman to the other. There was a vibration in the room, a frequency of pure, unadulterated carnal energy that she didn't have the vocabulary to understand. To her, these were two women who had been corrupted by Esha's wealth. She didn't realize they were being consumed by each other.
The Final Crescendo
The dessert—a chilled rosewater souffle—was served.
Mihika was no longer listening to Ishita's stories about the Bhalla household. She was lost in a world of sensory overload. The clinking of silverware, the scent of the roses in the center of the table, and the agonizing pleasure Shagun was providing created a symphony of taboo.
Shagun, too, was reaching her limit. The thrill of violating Ishita's presence with this act was pushing her toward her own climax. She locked eyes with Mihika, a silent command. Don't you dare make a sound.
In the final moments of the meal, as Ishita took her last sip of tea, a wave of heat crashed over Mihika. She squeezed her eyes shut, her head lolling back for a split second. At the same moment, Shagun felt the surge of her own release, her body tensing under her saree.
"It really was a lovely lunch," Ishita said, setting her cup down, completely oblivious to the fact that the two women across from her were currently drowning in the aftermath of a shared, silent orgasm.
Mihika slumped forward, her chest heaving. "Yes... lovely."
As Ishita rose to leave, feeling more confused and alienated than ever, she turned back at the door. "I'll be back, Mihika. I won't give up on you."
Mihika didn't look up. She couldn't. She was staring at the marble tabletop, realizing that the "act" she told Ishita about was no longer a lie. She wasn't a spy anymore. She was a devotee.
And from the camera in the ceiling, Esha Khanna watched the screen, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her face. "Checkmate, Ishita," she whispered. "You're the only one left who thinks you're safe."