Olsen’s lips turned blue and Saffi let go of his shirt. He’d slumped in his seat and hadn’t spoken another word. Despite that minor setback, she’d left the hotel with a sense of accomplishment. Even though the world still believed Olsen to be a liar and even though he would never speak another candid word to her again, Saffi couldn’t help feeling like it had been worth it. A man so stupid he’d confess something like that in her presence simply could not be the same killer she had been going toe-to-toe with this entire time.
It bothered her that she didn’t get the chance to speak with Laila Olsen before the flight. Still, Saffi didn’t like the idea of letting a murderous actress leave the country unsupervised. It wasn’t that she expected her to run, but Dimple Kapoor was a menace enough by herself in America. Who knew what she’d get up to in Canada? No, it was important to keep her close.
Extremely close. The airplane seats were uncomfortably tiny. Dimple had taken the middle seat, but Saffi had a feeling the troubled expression on her face wasn’t discomfort. Her attention dropped to Dimple’s hands. They were crossed over her chest, fingers digging into her biceps. Years of harsh touches—was it also the only way she knew to hold herself?
“What—are you scared?” Saffi asked, but the look Dimple gave her was enough to both confirm her suspicions and stop her line of questioning in its tracks.
“Don’t say a word,” Dimple warned.
“There’s no way. If you’re scared of heights, why did you throw yourself off a balcony?” Saffi hissed. It made sense, given her history, but she had assumed she’d found some way to move past it. That she’d been terrified and done it nevertheless spun Saffi’s mind in circles. What was it like, to want something that badly?
Dimple’s expression said she knew exactly how much this revelation had made Saffi question herself, and that it amused her.
On the opposite side, Priyal had both earbuds in and her eyes closed. The flight attendants performing final checks indicated that it wouldn’t be long before takeoff. Dimple’s biceps now had red marks where her nails were diggingin.
“Relax, will you?” Saffi said. “You’re gonna break your arm.”
“Iamrelaxed.” Dimple said it so convincingly, Saffi would’ve thought she was telling her the sky was blue.
This was the first real sign Saffi had seen of what lurked underneath the mask of Dimple’s manufactured emotions. She wanted to see more. She wanted to see her break. Saffi wanted to know what it took to push her over the edge—what it took to get her to push someone else over the edge.
She reached over and pinched the actress nearly hard enough to draw blood. Dimple let go of her arms, but not before shooting Saffi an irritated look.
“That thing you said to me—about Andino and Taylor holding me back,” Saffi began.
That had Dimple’s attention immediately. It was a weighty thing, receiving every ounce of the actress’s focus. “I have to admit, I’m surprised it stuck with you,” she said.
If anything, Saffi hadn’t been able to forget. “What did you mean?”
Dimple seemed to consider it for a moment, turning it over in her mind. “They don’t let you be great.”
Saffi raised an eyebrow, unsure if she should be offended. “I think I’m starting to see where your ego stems from.”
Dimple continued as though she hadn’t heard. “Where do I begin? You reported the miscarriage of justice when it was far from your fault. Despite the fact that enough evidence was presented for a jury to convict someone, you made sure the correct verdict was reached in the end. But look how that turned out. You blame yourself. Atlas and Eli blame you as well, and you let them. Even though the only reason you’re here is to fix their mistakes. And you have the gall to ask how they’re holding you back? They’re doing so because you’re letting them. The only way to move on is to stop letting them.”
Oh. That was—Saffi didn’t know how to respond. Everything from her brain to the tips of her fingers felt numb.
Still, intentions didn’t matter as much as people thought they did. It was a point her father had emphasized as soon as she’d been old enough to understand it. The courtroom was no playpen. Every misdeed had consequences—whether natural or lawful.
She cleared her throat. “Didn’t realize you hated Andino and Taylor so much.”
“I don’t hate them,” Dimple countered immediately. “I like them fine. Before meeting Atlas, I’d never had someone I could talk about all my favorite old films with. And Eli is perfectly polite and gentlemanly. It’s an odd thing to come across these days. But it’s not about anything they’ve done to me. It’s about what they’re doing to you.”
Saffi swallowed. “Careful, Kapoor,” she said. “It’s starting to sound like you care.”
“How many times have I told you to call meDimple?”
Saffi should’ve felt horrified, but the flipping in her stomach wasn’t of discomfort.
“You really could have so much more,” Dimple said, but her voice sounded distant. As though it were coming from the plane’s intercom. “Where’s your hunger? Why work with Atlas and Eli when you could open your own agency? Why save face for your father when you could run for office yourself? All you have to do is want.”
Was this why every moment with Dimple Kapoor felt so grand? Why every breath she took felt like it should be recorded in history books? Simply because she believed it. Despite what anyone said or did to her, she believed it and so it became true.
Saffi shook her head. “I do it because I care about them,” she argued. “And because they’d do the same for me. It’s selfish to go about life only living for yourself.”
“You think they’d do the same for you?”
“Of course they would.”
