Atlas tensed, face flushing in what seemed to be a combination of embarrassment and righteous fury. “That’s rich, coming from you. You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”
Sensing motion, Dimple turned to catch the interns—who’d been watching from the open doorway—being herded away by Eli. It was almost adorable until Saffi and Atlas exchanged another round of loud, scathing retorts.
This was nothing at all like the closeness in the photograph Dimple had seen on Atlas’s desk. Perhaps she hadn’t been completely off when she’d assumed that Saffi’s years away had put a strain on their relationship.
The wax candle stared at Dimple from Saffi’s desk. The flame hadn’t extended past the wick and yet warmth had spread across both of her palms. She missed it now as she hugged her arms tighter around herself, remembering Saffi’s expression as she’d saidHappy Birthday.
Dimple found that she rather liked the way Saffi looked at her. It was nothing like the way Atlas looked at her—not like she was the sun. Nor in the way Eli did, a mix of polite intrigue and professionalism. While the rest of the world looked at Dimple through a camera lens, Saffi was the only one who felt present. Her scene partner.
There was a beautiful shot inInsomniaof a campfire reflecting in Dimple’s eyes that she hoped made it into the movie. Her teeth had been chattering as she warmed herself up beside it. That was what it felt like. Saffi looked at Dimple like she was that raging fire and Saffi was frozen to the bone.
“Go, run away again,” Atlas was shouting. “At least then you can’t fuck up any more investigations!”
“Fuck you,” Saffi spat.
Saffi crossed the room in a few angry steps, slamming the door shut behind her. But Dimple recognized the expression on her face the same as she did the one in her mirror. A chord struck. It became clear exactly what this performance was. Where it was all culminating. Two women weighed down by their past. One who’d faced ithead-on and the other who’d run. Like this, neither of them would be free.
“Is everything all right?” Dimple asked, startled to find that it wasn’t all that difficult to inject concern into her tone.
Atlas ran an angry hand through gelled hair. Now that Saffi was gone, he seemed to realize how out of hand their argument had gotten, judging by the way he refused to face Dimple. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
It was unclear if that was aimed at Dimple or the absent Saffi. And it was too late to ask before he too was leaving the room, right as Eli was returning. Atlas couldn’t seem to look at him either.
“Is it really all right to let them argue like that?” Dimple wondered aloud once she and Eli were left alone. She couldn’t imagine forgiving someone who’d spoken to her the same way Atlas had just done to Saffi.
“Sorry you had to see that. I didn’t mean to abandon you with them, but the interns are too nosy for their own good,” Eli replied tiredly. “Saffi and Atlas are harmless anyway. I let them fight it out because that’s the only thing that works. By tomorrow it’ll be as though nothing happened.”
Nor would the root issue be solved. Eli shot her another apologetic look before hurrying after his friends. Part of her wanted to follow, curious to see whether he’d speak to Atlas or Saffi first, but that would be inappropriate. And Dimple couldn’t risk not being invited back. Not when the show was just beginning.
Good thing she was perfectly capable of piecing things together on her own.
Chapter Twenty-Three
June 15, 2026
It seemed DimpleKapoor was making a habit of letting herself into Saffi’s office. She sat on the desk, same as before, but Saffi refused to give her the satisfaction of her attention. Instead, she continued to pace as she studied Dimple in her peripheral.
The actress always sat so properly, her shoulders squared and chin tilted up. Had she always been that way? Saffi imagined a small child holding her head up high as the weight of the world bore down on her. Discomfort pricked at her skin like ants until she banished the thought.
Saffi worried how much Dimple had figured out from the fight with Andino. It had been eating at her far more than the fallout of the fight itself, which had been inconsequential. Andino had apologized for calling Saffi abitch—either Taylor’s doing or of his own volition, she still wasn’t sure—and things were more or less back to normal.
For the rest of the agency, at least. An unnerving hush blanketed her office now. The news was still playing at a soft volume in the corner and Saffi watched Dimple’s attention draw up toward the TV. This scene was too familiar, almost eerilyso.
“Can I help you with something?” Saffi asked, unable to take it any longer.
Taylor had informed her that Dimple’s training was nearlycomplete, but Saffi still wondered how she had the time to come bother her alongside the auditions, interviews, and nefarious schemes she was surely busy with. With her brace removed and the skills she now had to safely go undercover, it was only a matter of time before their stalemate would come to an end. Dimple clearly had a plan, but so did Saffi. It would come down to who was better prepared.
“Sit down,” Dimple said, strangely gentle.
It infuriated Saffi enough to keep her standing, arms crossed, but the way Dimple laughed made her regretit.
“Even now, you always have one foot out the door,” she said.
Saffi was sitting before she’d even realized what had happened, hands fisted, nails digging crescents into her palm. The gall of this woman. She didn’t know the first thing about Saffi.
“Do you always argue with Atlas?” Dimple asked, leaning closer. She was either oblivious to or uncaring of Saffi’s anger.
This was somewhat expected, but the question still sent another spike of anxiety through Saffi’s veins. Anxiety and defensiveness. But she would never let that show. Dimple was clearly practiced in using people’s emotions against them. So she allowed a manufactured calm to settle over her features. One that her father had helped her perfect. He’d always said that Saffi’s turbulent emotions would be her downfall.
