Her words felt like a blow. Was she really so easy to read? Or was Dimple Kapoor just that intuitive? Part of her felt that same, age-old instinct to flee. To give up on this investigation that was unraveling her and go back to Hong Kong or Paris. But she would never win that way against Dimple Kapoor. And oh how Saffi hated to lose.
“Being around Atlas and Eli only serves to remind you of your greatest mistake,” Dimple said. “Haven’t you seen how much more you can accomplish on your own? Because they certainly have. And it makes them feel incompetent. That’s why they’re always trying to tear you down.”
Saffi was at a loss for words. Dimple’s expression, however, was bright. Saffi was a stranger to such a show of earnestness.
“You’re reading way too much into this,” she said, but her words sounded uncertain even to herself.
And just like that, the moment was broken. Dimple leaned away, the usual pleasant mask taking over her features. “Perhaps. But do not presume to know what it is to take a life.”
That much was true. Saffi had never experienced the desperate state someone like Dimple would have to fall into to kill someone. What was it like, to watch the life drain from someone’s body? To be the last thing they ever saw? An ice-cold chill shot down Saffi’s spine.She wished she could go back in time and force herself to keep her mouth shut, to talk about anything else, to have never allowed Dimple to carve a space for herself at all.
But at least she had no right to judge Saffi.
“My childhood punishments weren’t as simple as being put in a corner.”
Saffi’s head snapped up at Dimple’s words and she frowned in confusion, but Dimple’s gaze was trained on her own feet. It took Saffi a moment to work out that she was meeting Saffi’s vulnerability with some of her own. Thatnot todaywas now.
“They’d always threatened to throw me off the balcony,” she continued. “I don’t know why I never thought they’d actually go through with it.”
Saffi’s blood ran cold.
“The hitting and shouting and drinking I could handle, but living in fear is not living at all,” Dimple said softly. “I just wanted it to be over, but bruises can be covered up until they fade, and broken bones eventually heal. I always had good grades and minded my manners. No scars meant no proof.”
And so Dimple had taken it into her own hands, Saffi realized. She tried picturing a scared young girl on death row, sickened by the picture her mind supplied. How many times had Dimple asked for help before realizing it would never come? How many people had failed her? If she were in Dimple’s position, Saffi couldn’t imagine herself rising to the challenge like that. If anything, she could see herself running, but as she was beginning to realize, that was not a permanent solution.
This was no use. Taylor’s investigative method often relied on picturing himself in others’ shoes, but Saffi had always thought it was an unfair comparison. Who was to say whether another person saw colors more vividly or felt pain more deeply? The fact of the matter was, Saffi was Saffi and she could be no one else no matter how hard she tried. This was why there was no use getting to know the characters involved in every case; it would only complicate things.
But this truth given by Dimple was paid in good merit, a reimbursement for the one Saffi had given her. In a currency only the twoof them seemed to understand. Dimple Kapoor was not someone who had initially struck Saffi as caring about fairness. And the notion that Dimple could never understand her didn’t coincide with why it sometimes felt like the world viewed the two of them through the same warped lens.
Chapter Twenty-Four
July 9, 2026
Saffi’s story rattledDimple more than it should have, now that she knew the weights of their individual guilt could balance a scale. They were connected, in a way, both haunted by accidents and a path to hell paved with all the right intentions. It didn’t change the fact that they were on opposite sides of an ongoing war, but maybe they didn’t have to be. Dimple had always thought that, by the end of this, either she would be on death row or Saffi would be bleeding out at the bottom of a grand staircase, but perhaps they were more alike than she’d initially thought. Alike enough to share a fate even.
Exasperated by the dead heat of summer, Dimple had her first meeting with everyone involved inInsomnia’s production. Save for Chris Porter, of course.
With the inclusion of the public relations and legal teams, it was excruciatingly long, fluffed up by incomprehensible jargon mentioned every five minutes. Dimple’s co-stars were somber. Shyla Patel seemed to teeter between anger and holding back tears. Dimple wasn’t sure what to do with herself.
By the end of the meeting, it wasstrongly suggestednot to make an official statement about Chris Porter’s situation. They wanted to wait and see what would come of it first. Chris wasn’t to be involved in any of the promotion, but they were keeping him in the movie for now. In his place, it was suggested that Dimple take on the task ofbeing the face of the film. On one hand, she was terrified it would all backfire on her. On the other, it was too good an opportunity to passup.
“Are we not going to talk about it at all?” Shyla spoke up suddenly. “Hekilledsomeone!”
A hush overtook the room. Somehow, that word had been avoided for the better part of three hours. Dimple watched as the executives exchanged glances.
“She has a point.” Jerome took the opportunity to speak up. He sounded contemplative, picking at his fingernail. “It’s our job to fix this. We don’t want the public taking us down with him. The best thing we can do in this situation is to treat it as a learning opportunity. Chris is already working with his team. To cover our bases, I propose we donate a portion of the movie’s box office proceeds to charity.”
Dimple hoped that portion would come from Chris’s paycheck. Because why should they suffer for Chris’s mistakes? Dimple might’ve done worse, but at least she hadn’t been caught.
The executives put a pin on Jerome’s proposition with a promise to discuss the logistics further and the meeting concluded, but not without bringing up lawyers, contracts, and NDAs to ensure everything remained among the people in the room.
Online traction, on the other hand, was on a steep upward trend. Say what you may, death was not terrible marketing for a psychological thriller. Even if the reception was as chilling as it was.
Fans were nearly split down the middle regarding Chris Porter. One side called himmurdererandvillain,even escalating to death threats—which Dimple found dreadfully ironic. The other claimed he was misunderstood—that he’d learned his lesson and didn’t deserve to have his life ruined over a simple mistake.
Regardless,Insomniahad been trending worldwide since the news first broke. And while Dimple had gained several followers, most of them were only there in anticipation of what she had to say about the situation. Some even berated her for ever having dated a monster like Chris—going off baseless rumors from their early filming days. As though she’d been the one behind the wheel.
Dimple, admittedly, was no different from those so fascinated by everything going on. She’d spent every waking moment religiously monitoring the state of affairs. She was sure not even Chris Porter’s lawyers were as up-to-date as she was.
