Chapter 1: The Lap War
The air in the bedroom was thick with vanilla and spilled wine, a sweet, cloying smell that clung to the back of the throat. Candle flames shuddered in unseen drafts, making the silk sheets on the large bed glow like molten gold and twisting the shadows of the four women into giants on the wall.
Advika took a slow sip, her eyes tracking over her friends. Over Daniella, who was stretched out like a panther on the velvet cushions, her lean frame all sleek angles in the low light. Over Anaiah, the model, who was laughing at something with a sound like wind chimes, her slim body folding elegantly where she sat on the floor. Her gaze lingered, inevitably, on Samaira.
Samaira was a force of nature. She was pouring more rosé, her movements exaggerated, her laugh too loud. The candlelight loved her impossible figure, etching the dramatic curve of her waist, the swell of her hips, the cascade of her hair. She was a living Instagram filter, a masterpiece of proportions that somehow, tonight, felt like a provocation.
“He said he might come,” Samaira said, not looking at anyone, a sly smile playing on her too-full lips. “Shiven. And maybe Ranvir.”
A charge went through the room. Daniella stopped tracing the rim of her glass. Anaiah’s perfect eyebrows lifted. Advika felt her own pulse give a hard, inconvenient thump against her ribs.
“Shiven?” Anaiah said, her voice carefully light. “Here? To a girls’ sleepover?”
“It’s not a girls’ sleepover if boys are coming, Sam,” Daniella murmured, her Croatian accent softening the edge of her words. She took a long drink, her dark eyes unreadable.
“It’s spontaneous,” Samaira countered, waving a hand. The silk of her robe whispered. “They were nearby. I said we were just hanging out. It’s chill.”
It didn’t feel chill. The atmosphere had tightened, the earlier lazy comfort replaced by a sudden, sharp awareness. Advika adjusted the strap of her own camisole, acutely conscious of the cling of the fabric. The doorbell’s chime was a gunshot in the quiet.
Shiven filled the doorway. He was just… unfairly handsome. His smile was easy, his eyes scanning the room with amused appreciation. Ranvir hovered behind him, a pleasant, okay-looking shadow.
“Ladies,” Shiven said, his voice a warm rumble. “Don’t let us interrupt.”
But their presence was an interruption. A delicious, unnerving one. The dynamic shattered and reformed instantly. Postures straightened. Laughs became more musical. Advika watched as Daniella arched her back just so, as Anaiah tucked a strand of hair behind her ear in a gesture that was pure, practiced grace.
Samaira was in her element. She brought them glasses, her laughter too close to Shiven’s ear. She dominated the space around him, her body a constant, beautiful barrier.
Advika stayed quiet, sipping her wine, feeling strangely invisible. She watched Shiven’s hands as he talked, the confident set of his shoulders. She saw him glance at Anaiah, who was telling a story about a photoshoot gone wrong. He was listening, but his gaze was on the line of her neck, the way her slender arms gestured through the air.
Then it happened. A lull in the conversation. Anaiah went to rise from her spot on the floor, a hand going to the rug for balance. Shiven, with a casual, natural charm that made it seem like the only logical thing in the world, reached out.
“Easy there,” he said, and his hands were on her waist, lifting her slightly. He didn’t pull her so much as guide her, turning the motion into a seamless pivot until she was sideways on his lap, one of his arms resting loosely around her middle.
Anaiah let out a small, surprised “oh!” that turned into a flustered giggle. She didn’t jump up. She settled, a pretty blush blooming on her cheeks.
The sound of shattering glass was shockingly violent.
Every head swiveled. Advika looked down at her own hand, stupidly surprised to find it empty. A dark red stain was spreading like a Rorschach test across the honey-colored silk duvet. Shards glittered at her feet.
“Shit,” she breathed, heat flooding her face. “I’m so sorry, my hand just slipped—”
But Samaira was already moving. She uncoiled from her seat with a predator’s speed, a smile fixed on her face that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Clumsy,” she sang, but the word was a dart aimed at Advika. She didn’t look at the mess. Her entire focus was on the couch, on the space where Anaiah perched on Shiven’s lap.
She didn’t ask Anaiah to move. She simply inserted herself. With a fluid, deliberate motion, she slid onto the cushion right beside Shiven, her own body curving into the space between him and the now-frozen Anaiah. Her hip pressed against his, her arm stretching along the couch back behind his shoulders. She was a wall of perfumed, perfect flesh.
“You’ll get a stain,” Samaira said to Anaiah, her voice sweet as poison. “That silk is ruined. You should go help Advika clean up before it sets.”
The dismissal was absolute, brutal in its social precision. Anaiah’s smile froze, then melted away. She looked from Samaira’s implacable face to Shiven’s, which held only bemused curiosity. A flash of hurt crossed her features before she masked it, sliding off Shiven’s lap with as much dignity as she could muster.
Advika stood rooted, holding a wad of napkins Daniella had silently handed her, watching the carnage. She saw Daniella’s hand, still on the couch, her knuckles white where her nails dug into the velvet. She saw Ranvir watching it all with the detached interest of someone viewing a compelling TV show.
And she saw Samaira, victorious, lean in closer to Shiven. Her mouth was a hair’s breadth from his ear. The candlelight caught the gloss on her lips, the hard glitter in her eye.
The whisper was just loud enough for Advika to catch, the words a hot, smug promise in the charged air.
“Now,” Samaira murmured, her breath stirring the hair at Shiven’s temple, “where were we?”
The question hung in the air, thick and presumptuous. Shiven’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes held a flicker of assessment, as if recalculating the room’s coordinates. Anaiah drifted toward the bed, her movements stiff, and began dabbing mechanically at the wine stain. The silence was a living thing, broken only by the wet pat-pat-pat of napkins on silk.
Daniella watched from her nest of pillows, her dark eyes narrowed to slits. She took a slow, deliberate sip of her wine, her gaze fixed on Samaira’s proprietary hand now resting on Shiven’s shoulder.
Advika stood frozen in the middle of the room, a discarded napine in her hand, feeling utterly absurd. The center of the storm had shifted to the couch, leaving her in a quiet pocket of wreckage. She was just the catalyst, the broken glass. The main event was unfolding without her.
A soft cough broke her isolation.
“That’s a lost cause, you know. Silk. It’s a nightmare.”
Ranvir stood beside her, hands in his pockets. He nodded toward the bed where Anaiah worked. He had a quiet, unassuming presence, but his observation was practical, grounding.
“Tell me about it,” Advika muttered, finally bending to pick up the larger shards of her glass. “My wallet’s already crying.”
“Here,” he said, crouching down beside her. He took the napkins from her and used one to carefully sweep the glittering fragments into a small pile on the floor. “You don’t want to cut yourself. This is the kind of floor that hides things.”
His proximity was unexpected. Not threatening, just… there. A solid, mundane presence amid the high drama. She could smell his detergent, something clean and piney, a stark contrast to the vanilla and wine.
“Thanks,” she said, sitting back on her heels. She glanced over at the couch. Samaira was laughing now, a bright, artificial sound. Shiven was listening, his arm now slung along the back of the cushion behind her. The message was clear.
“Quite a show,” Ranvir said sotto voce, not looking up from his task. He gathered the shards into a napkin, folding it into a neat, dangerous little package.
“Isn’t it just,” Advika replied, her voice drier than she intended.
“Shiven’s like a planet. Has his own gravity. Things tend to crash into him.” Ranvir stood, offering a hand to pull her up. His grip was firm, warm. “Or orbit him, aggressively.”
She couldn’t help the small snort of laughter that escaped her. It felt good, loosening the tight knot in her chest. “You’re not orbiting.”
“Nah,” he said, shoving the bundled glass into an empty cup on the dresser. “I’m more of a comet. Pass by every now and then, enjoy the view, don’t get caught in the atmosphere. It’s warmer on the fringes anyway.”
He leaned against the dresser, facing her, effectively creating a small, separate circle. The candlelight played differently on his face, softening his features. He was okay-looking, but his eyes were kind, and right now, that was a revelation.
On the couch, Samaira threw her head back, exposing her throat. Shiven’s attention was fully hers. Daniella had turned her body away, engaging Anaiah in a murmured conversation that seemed intensely focused, a quiet alliance forming in the aftermath. The room had bifurcated.
Ranvir picked up the wine bottle from the bedside table and inspected the label. “There’s about a glass left in here. Seems a shame to waste it.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “I’d offer you some, but you’re already one glass ahead of everyone. Literally.”
Advika looked at her empty hands, then at the stain on the bed, and finally back at Ranvir’s easy, lopsided smile. The tension in her shoulders began to ease. “I think I’ve had enough drama for one glass,” she said. “But don’t let me stop you.”
“All the best people are dramatic,” he said, pouring the dregs into his own glass. “Makes for a better story.” He took a sip, his eyes meeting hers over the rim. “Quiet observers just write the footnotes.”
For the first time all night, Advika felt seen. Not as a body, not as competition, but as a person standing in a puddle of wine. It was a start. She offered him a real, tired smile just as a peal of Samaira’s laugh sliced through the room again.
Ranvir’s gaze held hers, a silent, shared acknowledgment passing between them in the flickering dark.