25-08-2026, 04:31 AM
(This post was last modified: 29-08-2026, 10:38 AM by adams_masala. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Chapter 140: Cold Shoulders
# Scene 1
Morning light hit the Falcon’s polished skin and broke into bright lines. The Dassault sat on the private apron with its door open, airstairs down, engines quiet. Texas heat already building.
Summer stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
“Oh.” Her voice lifted. “This is ours now?”
Selvam nodded. “As of last week.”
Vanitha said nothing. She stood three steps behind with her carry-on at her feet, blazer folded over one arm. Her sunglasses were on.
Summer climbed first. Her sandals clicked against the metal. Inside, the cabin opened wide... cream leather, dark wood, overhead lighting still warming up from amber to white.
“Jesus Christ.” Summer turned slowly. “This is an apartment with wings.”
The flight attendant met them at the galley. Slim, professional, hands folded. “Welcome aboard, Ms. Hamilton, Ms. Sivakumar. Mr. Chandran.”
Vanitha nodded once.
The pilot appeared from the forward compartment. Silver hair, pressed uniform, clipboard tucked under one arm.
“Good morning. Clear skies to Oakland. Two hours thirty minutes. Light headwinds, nothing significant. We’ll climb to forty-three thousand and hold there.” His voice was calm, rehearsed. “Baggage secure?”
“Secure,” Selvam said.
The flight attendant gestured toward the forward cabin. “Seating is open. Refreshments once we’re airborne.”
Summer dropped into a wide leather club chair facing starboard. Vanitha took the one opposite. Close enough that their knees nearly touched when both settled.
Summer kicked off her sandals. “Last night was the weirdest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
Vanitha’s mouth curved. Not fully.
“That explosion.” Summer leaned forward. “One second it’s hovering. Next second... boom. White light. Everything on fire.”
“The director didn’t even blink.”
“The director looked like he’d seen worse.”
They both laughed. Summer poured water from the carafe. Ice clinked.
“Blackpink.” She shook her head. “All four of them. Standing right there. I still can’t... ”
“They were polite,” Vanitha said. Her voice was light. Her eyes stayed on Summer.
“They were terrified. Lisa kept asking real engineering questions because she was too nervous to do anything else.”
“That’s smart.”
“Jisoo complimented your dress.”
“She has good taste.”
Selvam settled three seats back, near the portside window. He opened his tablet and began scrolling. The tablet light reflected off the dark glass.
Vanitha’s gaze never crossed his section of the cabin.
The engines spooled. A low rumble moved through the frame. The attendant closed the main door. Hydraulics hissed. The cabin pressurized with a soft, settling sigh.
Summer pulled her knees up. “Did you see the studio head’s face when it blew up?”
“Like he’d just found his next movie.”
“The F1 guy was already asking for the telemetry.”
“Because he’s building something that goes three hundred kilometers an hour and he just watched a building fall out of the sky.”
The jet began to taxi. Gentle forward momentum. The interior lights dimmed automatically as the morning sun filled the windows.
Selvam looked up from his tablet.
“Vanitha.”
She turned her head without meeting his eyes. “Yes?”
“You wanted me to remind me about…”
“Ashok handled it. He texted this morning.”
“Good.”
She turned back to Summer without another word.
The runway stretched ahead through the cockpit glass. The engines rose to a higher pitch. Acceleration pressed them gently into the leather. The nose lifted. Ground fell away.
Summer pressed her face to the window. “Holy shit. That’s fast.”
“First time on a private?” Vanitha asked.
“First time on one that’s ours.” Summer grinned.
Vanitha’s mouth curved again. The left corner higher than the right.
The jet climbed through scattered cloud. Sunlight strobed through the windows. The attendant appeared with a tray of sparkling water and fresh orange juice. Summer took the juice. Vanitha took water. Selvam declined with a small gesture.
“So,” Summer said, lowering her voice. “Jennie.”
Vanitha’s fingers tightened on the water glass. One beat.
“What about her?”
“She spent ninety minutes in the private suite with him.”
“I’m aware.”
“And?”
Vanitha took a slow sip. “And nothing.”
“You don’t think... ”
“I think she’s a professional performer who asked technical questions and got technical answers.”
Summer studied her face. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. Your jaw gets tight right there.” Summer tapped her own cheekbone. “I’ve seen it three times now.”
Vanitha set the glass down. Hard enough to click.
“I don’t want to talk about Jennie.”
“Okay.” Summer backed off. “We’ll talk about the F1 guy instead. Did you see his watch?”
“Patek Philippe. Sky Moon Tourbillon.”
“Seven figures?”
“At least.”
The jet leveled at cruising altitude. The cabin settled into quiet hum. Clouds moved beneath them in broad white fields.
Selvam watched Vanitha from three seats back.
She had not looked at him once since boarding. Her answers were polite, clipped, delivered over her shoulder. The particular warmth she carried... the effortless charisma that filled rooms... had cooled to something formal. Professional. The voice she used for strangers.
He tried to place it. The rocket failure had been public. Embarrassing. But Voss had framed it as progress, not defeat. The market reaction had been positive. The technical team was already rebuilding.
Something else, then.
He set the tablet down and stood. The cabin floor felt solid under his shoes. He moved to the galley, poured himself water, and stood at the portside window.
Texas unspooled beneath them. Flat. Brown. The morning sun caught the occasional river and turned it silver.
Behind him, Summer and Vanitha’s voices continued... lower now, intimate, the particular rhythm of two women sharing a joke they had no intention of explaining. Vanitha laughed. The sound was real. Warm. Directed entirely at Summer.
Selvam drank his water and watched the landscape turn.
The jet banked west. The sun moved from the portside windows to the starboard. Light shifted across the cabin in a slow gold sweep.
Oakland lay ahead. Two hours. Smooth air. Nothing but sky between here and there.
Vanitha’s laughter cut through the cabin one more time. Bright. Unrestrained. Directed at nothing he could see.
He did not turn around.
# Scene 2
Summer’s driveway curved under oak trees. The red Porsche sat in the shade, clean, recent wax. The house rose behind it... white stucco, wide windows, the kind of California modern that cost more than it looked.
Ashok pulled the Rivian in behind Selvam’s Aston. Both engines cut. Doors opened.
Vanitha emerged from the Rivian’s passenger seat.
Latha stepped out next.
“Summer!” She waved. “Your house is so pretty!”
Summer came down the front steps.
“You made it.” She hugged Latha first, then Ashok. “Food’s ready. Wine’s open.”
Selvam closed his door. Dark jeans, black t-shirt, the particular stillness that followed him everywhere.
They moved inside.
Summer’s kitchen opened to a patio. Glass doors stood wide. The table was set outside... white plates, blue napkins, a pitcher of sangria sweating in the heat. The pool beyond caught sky and threw it back in bright pieces.
Latha touched everything. The marble counters. The glass cabinet of summer dishes.
“This is like a magazine,” she said.
“You should see my lingerie studio.” Summer grinned. “Upstairs. Whole room.”
“Lingerie studio?”
“For work. I model.”
Latha’s eyes widened. “Yes, I knew that, my hot lingerie model.”
“You are too kind.”
They settled around the table. Ashok poured wine. Summer brought out plates... grilled salmon, herbed potatoes, a salad with peaches and burrata. The food steamed. Conversation filled the space.
Selvam sat at one end. Vanitha took the chair farthest from him, beside Summer. Ashok and Latha filled the middle.
“So the rocket just... fell over?” Ashok cut into his salmon. “On live television?”
“Not television,” Selvam said. “Private viewing. No cameras.”
“Still. In front of Blackpink.”
The name landed.
Latha’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth. She set it down.
“Wait.” Her voice lifted. “Blackpink was actually there? In person?”
Summer laughed. “All four of them. Quiet, polite, very put-together.”
Latha leaned forward.
“Tell me everything. What did they look like up close?”
Summer wiped her mouth. Settled in.
“Lisa first. Tall. Sharp features. The kind of face that makes you look twice. She asked real questions about the autonomy stack... like, technical ones. The engineers stopped talking when she spoke.”
Latha’s eyes were wide. “I love her, OMG the way she dances.”
“She’s the everything. Then Rosé... softer. Warm smile. Kept asking about the self-driving trucks. Wanted to know if they really drive all night without stopping.”
“Did they?”
“Yes.”
“Jisoo was elegant. Reserved. Almost classical. She and Vanitha spent twenty minutes talking about fabric and cut.”
Vanitha nodded. “She knows her lines.”
“And Jennie?” Latha’s voice had dropped to a whisper.
Summer paused. One beat.
“Jennie was the quietest. Very still. Perfect posture the whole time. Didn’t talk much, but when she did it was precise. Every word.”
“Was she wearing the silver ring? The one from the ‘Pink Venom’ video?”
“Yes.”
Latha gasped. “It’s real?”
“It’s very real. Heavy. Catches light.”
“What were they wearing? All black?”
“All black. Structured. Expensive in the quiet way.”
“Did they seem starstruck? By the rocket? By Selvam?”
Summer glanced at Selvam. His expression didn’t change.
“Not starstruck. Respectful. Professional. They came to watch something historic and they watched it.”
“Did any of them smile easily? Like, real smiles, not performance smiles?”
“Rosé. Definitely Rosé. Lisa too, but differently. Jisoo’s smiles are smaller. Jennie’s...” Summer trailed off. “Jennie’s are rare. But when they happen, you notice.”
Latha sat back. Her face was flushed. “I can’t believe you met them. All four. In one room.”
“The room also had a four-star general and two studio heads.”
“I don’t care about generals. Blackpink was there.”
Ashok laughed. He refilled Latha’s wine. “Easy. You’ll hyperventilate.”
“I’m allowed to hyperventilate. It’s Blackpink.”
The table stayed lively. Food moved. Wine poured. Ashok described the rocket tipping in slow motion, arms waving, making a whistling noise for the descent. Everyone laughed. Even Vanitha.
She participated fully. Laughed at Ashok’s impression. Answered questions about the charcoal dress. Described the studio head’s reaction to the explosion with perfect timing. Her warmth filled her corner of the table.
But she never quite turned toward Selvam’s end.
He watched her. Once, across the shifting plates and glasses, he tried to catch her eye. Held his gaze steady. Waited.
She looked back. Polite. Neutral. The particular expression she reserved for business associates she neither liked nor disliked. Then she turned to Summer and asked about the burrata.
The neutrality landed. He felt it settle.
Summer noticed. Her eyes moved between them once, quick, then away.
The lunch stretched. Second helpings. More wine. Latha kept circling back to Blackpink... their height, their skin, whether they wore makeup in person (“Yes, but subtle”), whether they seemed tired (“No, alert”), whether any of them glanced at their phones during the countdown (“No, they watched the whole thing”).
Summer answered every question. Clearly enjoying it. The retelling gave her pleasure.
Vanitha listened. Smiled at the right moments. Drank her wine.
Selvam ate. Spoke when spoken to. Watched the pool surface shift in the afternoon breeze.
The jealousy had traveled with her. Two thousand miles. Through private terminals and coastal drives and a lunch table set with blue napkins. It sat in the space between Vanitha’s chair and his. Quiet. Patient. Not going anywhere.
# Scene 3
Downstairs noise filled the house. Summer laughed at something Ashok said. Glasses clinked. Latha’s voice carried up the stairs... excited, melodic, still talking about Blackpink.
Selvam found Vanitha in the hallway. She was putting her plate in the sink, running water.
“Come upstairs with me.”
She didn’t look up. “Why?”
“Summer’s studio. I want to talk.”
Her hands paused under the faucet. Water ran.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
She shut the water off. Dried her hands on a towel. Didn’t speak.
They climbed the stairs together. Not touching. Her mini skirt whispered against her thighs.
Summer’s lingerie studio took up the entire second guest room. One wall was floor-to-ceiling mirror. A long padded bench ran along the opposite wall. Racks of delicate things hung from chrome bars... lace, silk, straps, things Selvam recognized and things he didn’t. The air smelled faintly of vanilla and clean fabric.
Vanitha closed the door. The latch clicked.
Selvam turned.
“What’s wrong?”
She stood with her back to the door. Arms loose at her sides. The white t-shirt caught the afternoon light from the window.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“You haven’t looked at me since yesterday.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
She was quiet. Her jaw worked once. The gold at her throat caught light.
“Jennie,” she said.
The name hung.
“What about her?”
“I think you fucked her.”
Selvam’s expression didn’t change. His breathing stayed even. But something shifted behind his eyes... surprise, genuine and immediate.
“No.”
“You were alone with her for ninety minutes.”
“I showed her rocket footage. She asked questions. I answered them. We walked back to the deck. That’s all.”
Vanitha’s eyes held his. Searching.
“Nothing happened?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re sure.”
“Completely.”
She studied his face. The particular stillness she knew so well... the calm, measured presence that never performed, never exaggerated, never lied because lying required effort he didn’t waste.
Her shoulders dropped half an inch.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay, I believe you.”
He stepped closer. Not touching. Close enough that he could smell the wine on her breath, the faint citrus of whatever she put in her hair.
“You’ve never been jealous before.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“You are. I can see it.”
She looked away. At the mirror wall. At their reflections... him standing, her against the door, the space between them precise and charged.
“Emilia,” he said. Quiet. “You handed her to me. You told me to demonstrate on her so her boyfriend would learn. You watched me fuck her and you smiled.”
Vanitha’s throat worked. “That’s different.”
“How?”
“Emilia needed something.”
“What did she need?”
“To feel what a real man feels like. To have a standard. So she’d stop letting that soft boy control her.”
Selvam waited.
“Yazhini needed the same thing. A cock that would reset her expectations. So she’d stop chasing college boys with weak hands.”
He was quiet. The studio held its breath. Downstairs, Summer laughed again. A door opened and closed.
“Jennie doesn’t need anything,” Vanitha said. Her voice had dropped. Lower. Rougher. “She’s already at the top. She’s built what she built. She has the world. She doesn’t need you to teach her anything.”
The sentence sat between them.
“That’s why this feels different.” Vanitha’s eyes found his again. “Emilia was a gift. Jennie is a threat.”
The word landed. Threat. Heavy in the warm studio air.
Selvam didn’t move. His hands stayed at his sides. His breathing remained steady.
“You think I’d choose her.”
“I think she’s the first woman you’ve met who’s your equal.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“How does it work, then?”
The question hung. Honest. Raw. The mask was fully gone now. What remained was the particular heat of a woman who had built everything alongside him and was suddenly, violently afraid of losing it.
Selvam reached for her. One hand. Cupped the side of her face. His thumb traced the line of her jaw.
“You are not replaceable.”
She held still. His palm was warm against her skin.
“Jennie is remarkable. So are you. They are not the same category.”
Vanitha’s eyes closed. Briefly. His thumb kept moving along her jaw.
“I have never once looked at another woman and thought what I have with you was negotiable.”
She leaned into his hand. One small movement. Almost involuntary.
“Say it again.”
“You are not replaceable.”
Her breath caught. A small sound. Behind it, something gave way... a wall she had been holding since the observation deck, since the private corridor, since the morning on the jet when she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.
She stepped forward. Into his space. Her forehead pressed against his chest. His arms came around her. Warm. Solid. The particular embrace of a man who built rockets and held them steady through failure.
Downstairs, the noise continued. Summer’s voice. Ashok’s laugh. Latha asking another question about Blackpink.
Upstairs, the studio was quiet. Just their breathing. Just the gold chain settling against Vanitha’s skin when she moved. Just Selvam’s hand in her hair, fingers working through the dark strands with a patience that matched the way he built everything.
Vanitha looked up. Her eyes were dry. Clear.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I was... small.”
“You were human.”
She smiled. The left corner higher than the right. The particular expression that had filled rooms for years.
“I still think she wanted you.”
“Probably.”
“And?”
“And nothing changes.”
She held his gaze. The studio light caught the gold at her throat, the particular warmth of her skin, the clean lines of a face that had won pageants and built companies and carried itself with the grace of someone who knew exactly what she was worth.
Downstairs, a door opened. Summer called something up the stairs. Words lost in the distance.
Neither of them moved.
The jealousy had nowhere to go. So it stayed, acknowledged, contained, not gone but managed. The way they managed everything... with clear eyes and steady hands and the particular courage of people who built impossible things and watched them almost land and built them again anyway.
Vanitha’s hand found his. Fingers laced through his. Warm. Present.
“Come downstairs,” she said. “They’ll wonder.”
“They can wonder.”
She laughed. The sound filled the studio. Bright. Real. Directed entirely at him.
They went down together.
# Scene 1
Morning light hit the Falcon’s polished skin and broke into bright lines. The Dassault sat on the private apron with its door open, airstairs down, engines quiet. Texas heat already building.
Summer stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
“Oh.” Her voice lifted. “This is ours now?”
Selvam nodded. “As of last week.”
Vanitha said nothing. She stood three steps behind with her carry-on at her feet, blazer folded over one arm. Her sunglasses were on.
Summer climbed first. Her sandals clicked against the metal. Inside, the cabin opened wide... cream leather, dark wood, overhead lighting still warming up from amber to white.
“Jesus Christ.” Summer turned slowly. “This is an apartment with wings.”
The flight attendant met them at the galley. Slim, professional, hands folded. “Welcome aboard, Ms. Hamilton, Ms. Sivakumar. Mr. Chandran.”
Vanitha nodded once.
The pilot appeared from the forward compartment. Silver hair, pressed uniform, clipboard tucked under one arm.
“Good morning. Clear skies to Oakland. Two hours thirty minutes. Light headwinds, nothing significant. We’ll climb to forty-three thousand and hold there.” His voice was calm, rehearsed. “Baggage secure?”
“Secure,” Selvam said.
The flight attendant gestured toward the forward cabin. “Seating is open. Refreshments once we’re airborne.”
Summer dropped into a wide leather club chair facing starboard. Vanitha took the one opposite. Close enough that their knees nearly touched when both settled.
Summer kicked off her sandals. “Last night was the weirdest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
Vanitha’s mouth curved. Not fully.
“That explosion.” Summer leaned forward. “One second it’s hovering. Next second... boom. White light. Everything on fire.”
“The director didn’t even blink.”
“The director looked like he’d seen worse.”
They both laughed. Summer poured water from the carafe. Ice clinked.
“Blackpink.” She shook her head. “All four of them. Standing right there. I still can’t... ”
“They were polite,” Vanitha said. Her voice was light. Her eyes stayed on Summer.
“They were terrified. Lisa kept asking real engineering questions because she was too nervous to do anything else.”
“That’s smart.”
“Jisoo complimented your dress.”
“She has good taste.”
Selvam settled three seats back, near the portside window. He opened his tablet and began scrolling. The tablet light reflected off the dark glass.
Vanitha’s gaze never crossed his section of the cabin.
The engines spooled. A low rumble moved through the frame. The attendant closed the main door. Hydraulics hissed. The cabin pressurized with a soft, settling sigh.
Summer pulled her knees up. “Did you see the studio head’s face when it blew up?”
“Like he’d just found his next movie.”
“The F1 guy was already asking for the telemetry.”
“Because he’s building something that goes three hundred kilometers an hour and he just watched a building fall out of the sky.”
The jet began to taxi. Gentle forward momentum. The interior lights dimmed automatically as the morning sun filled the windows.
Selvam looked up from his tablet.
“Vanitha.”
She turned her head without meeting his eyes. “Yes?”
“You wanted me to remind me about…”
“Ashok handled it. He texted this morning.”
“Good.”
She turned back to Summer without another word.
The runway stretched ahead through the cockpit glass. The engines rose to a higher pitch. Acceleration pressed them gently into the leather. The nose lifted. Ground fell away.
Summer pressed her face to the window. “Holy shit. That’s fast.”
“First time on a private?” Vanitha asked.
“First time on one that’s ours.” Summer grinned.
Vanitha’s mouth curved again. The left corner higher than the right.
The jet climbed through scattered cloud. Sunlight strobed through the windows. The attendant appeared with a tray of sparkling water and fresh orange juice. Summer took the juice. Vanitha took water. Selvam declined with a small gesture.
“So,” Summer said, lowering her voice. “Jennie.”
Vanitha’s fingers tightened on the water glass. One beat.
“What about her?”
“She spent ninety minutes in the private suite with him.”
“I’m aware.”
“And?”
Vanitha took a slow sip. “And nothing.”
“You don’t think... ”
“I think she’s a professional performer who asked technical questions and got technical answers.”
Summer studied her face. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. Your jaw gets tight right there.” Summer tapped her own cheekbone. “I’ve seen it three times now.”
Vanitha set the glass down. Hard enough to click.
“I don’t want to talk about Jennie.”
“Okay.” Summer backed off. “We’ll talk about the F1 guy instead. Did you see his watch?”
“Patek Philippe. Sky Moon Tourbillon.”
“Seven figures?”
“At least.”
The jet leveled at cruising altitude. The cabin settled into quiet hum. Clouds moved beneath them in broad white fields.
Selvam watched Vanitha from three seats back.
She had not looked at him once since boarding. Her answers were polite, clipped, delivered over her shoulder. The particular warmth she carried... the effortless charisma that filled rooms... had cooled to something formal. Professional. The voice she used for strangers.
He tried to place it. The rocket failure had been public. Embarrassing. But Voss had framed it as progress, not defeat. The market reaction had been positive. The technical team was already rebuilding.
Something else, then.
He set the tablet down and stood. The cabin floor felt solid under his shoes. He moved to the galley, poured himself water, and stood at the portside window.
Texas unspooled beneath them. Flat. Brown. The morning sun caught the occasional river and turned it silver.
Behind him, Summer and Vanitha’s voices continued... lower now, intimate, the particular rhythm of two women sharing a joke they had no intention of explaining. Vanitha laughed. The sound was real. Warm. Directed entirely at Summer.
Selvam drank his water and watched the landscape turn.
The jet banked west. The sun moved from the portside windows to the starboard. Light shifted across the cabin in a slow gold sweep.
Oakland lay ahead. Two hours. Smooth air. Nothing but sky between here and there.
Vanitha’s laughter cut through the cabin one more time. Bright. Unrestrained. Directed at nothing he could see.
He did not turn around.
# Scene 2
Summer’s driveway curved under oak trees. The red Porsche sat in the shade, clean, recent wax. The house rose behind it... white stucco, wide windows, the kind of California modern that cost more than it looked.
Ashok pulled the Rivian in behind Selvam’s Aston. Both engines cut. Doors opened.
Vanitha emerged from the Rivian’s passenger seat.
Latha stepped out next.
“Summer!” She waved. “Your house is so pretty!”
Summer came down the front steps.
“You made it.” She hugged Latha first, then Ashok. “Food’s ready. Wine’s open.”
Selvam closed his door. Dark jeans, black t-shirt, the particular stillness that followed him everywhere.
They moved inside.
Summer’s kitchen opened to a patio. Glass doors stood wide. The table was set outside... white plates, blue napkins, a pitcher of sangria sweating in the heat. The pool beyond caught sky and threw it back in bright pieces.
Latha touched everything. The marble counters. The glass cabinet of summer dishes.
“This is like a magazine,” she said.
“You should see my lingerie studio.” Summer grinned. “Upstairs. Whole room.”
“Lingerie studio?”
“For work. I model.”
Latha’s eyes widened. “Yes, I knew that, my hot lingerie model.”
“You are too kind.”
They settled around the table. Ashok poured wine. Summer brought out plates... grilled salmon, herbed potatoes, a salad with peaches and burrata. The food steamed. Conversation filled the space.
Selvam sat at one end. Vanitha took the chair farthest from him, beside Summer. Ashok and Latha filled the middle.
“So the rocket just... fell over?” Ashok cut into his salmon. “On live television?”
“Not television,” Selvam said. “Private viewing. No cameras.”
“Still. In front of Blackpink.”
The name landed.
Latha’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth. She set it down.
“Wait.” Her voice lifted. “Blackpink was actually there? In person?”
Summer laughed. “All four of them. Quiet, polite, very put-together.”
Latha leaned forward.
“Tell me everything. What did they look like up close?”
Summer wiped her mouth. Settled in.
“Lisa first. Tall. Sharp features. The kind of face that makes you look twice. She asked real questions about the autonomy stack... like, technical ones. The engineers stopped talking when she spoke.”
Latha’s eyes were wide. “I love her, OMG the way she dances.”
“She’s the everything. Then Rosé... softer. Warm smile. Kept asking about the self-driving trucks. Wanted to know if they really drive all night without stopping.”
“Did they?”
“Yes.”
“Jisoo was elegant. Reserved. Almost classical. She and Vanitha spent twenty minutes talking about fabric and cut.”
Vanitha nodded. “She knows her lines.”
“And Jennie?” Latha’s voice had dropped to a whisper.
Summer paused. One beat.
“Jennie was the quietest. Very still. Perfect posture the whole time. Didn’t talk much, but when she did it was precise. Every word.”
“Was she wearing the silver ring? The one from the ‘Pink Venom’ video?”
“Yes.”
Latha gasped. “It’s real?”
“It’s very real. Heavy. Catches light.”
“What were they wearing? All black?”
“All black. Structured. Expensive in the quiet way.”
“Did they seem starstruck? By the rocket? By Selvam?”
Summer glanced at Selvam. His expression didn’t change.
“Not starstruck. Respectful. Professional. They came to watch something historic and they watched it.”
“Did any of them smile easily? Like, real smiles, not performance smiles?”
“Rosé. Definitely Rosé. Lisa too, but differently. Jisoo’s smiles are smaller. Jennie’s...” Summer trailed off. “Jennie’s are rare. But when they happen, you notice.”
Latha sat back. Her face was flushed. “I can’t believe you met them. All four. In one room.”
“The room also had a four-star general and two studio heads.”
“I don’t care about generals. Blackpink was there.”
Ashok laughed. He refilled Latha’s wine. “Easy. You’ll hyperventilate.”
“I’m allowed to hyperventilate. It’s Blackpink.”
The table stayed lively. Food moved. Wine poured. Ashok described the rocket tipping in slow motion, arms waving, making a whistling noise for the descent. Everyone laughed. Even Vanitha.
She participated fully. Laughed at Ashok’s impression. Answered questions about the charcoal dress. Described the studio head’s reaction to the explosion with perfect timing. Her warmth filled her corner of the table.
But she never quite turned toward Selvam’s end.
He watched her. Once, across the shifting plates and glasses, he tried to catch her eye. Held his gaze steady. Waited.
She looked back. Polite. Neutral. The particular expression she reserved for business associates she neither liked nor disliked. Then she turned to Summer and asked about the burrata.
The neutrality landed. He felt it settle.
Summer noticed. Her eyes moved between them once, quick, then away.
The lunch stretched. Second helpings. More wine. Latha kept circling back to Blackpink... their height, their skin, whether they wore makeup in person (“Yes, but subtle”), whether they seemed tired (“No, alert”), whether any of them glanced at their phones during the countdown (“No, they watched the whole thing”).
Summer answered every question. Clearly enjoying it. The retelling gave her pleasure.
Vanitha listened. Smiled at the right moments. Drank her wine.
Selvam ate. Spoke when spoken to. Watched the pool surface shift in the afternoon breeze.
The jealousy had traveled with her. Two thousand miles. Through private terminals and coastal drives and a lunch table set with blue napkins. It sat in the space between Vanitha’s chair and his. Quiet. Patient. Not going anywhere.
# Scene 3
Downstairs noise filled the house. Summer laughed at something Ashok said. Glasses clinked. Latha’s voice carried up the stairs... excited, melodic, still talking about Blackpink.
Selvam found Vanitha in the hallway. She was putting her plate in the sink, running water.
“Come upstairs with me.”
She didn’t look up. “Why?”
“Summer’s studio. I want to talk.”
Her hands paused under the faucet. Water ran.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
She shut the water off. Dried her hands on a towel. Didn’t speak.
They climbed the stairs together. Not touching. Her mini skirt whispered against her thighs.
Summer’s lingerie studio took up the entire second guest room. One wall was floor-to-ceiling mirror. A long padded bench ran along the opposite wall. Racks of delicate things hung from chrome bars... lace, silk, straps, things Selvam recognized and things he didn’t. The air smelled faintly of vanilla and clean fabric.
Vanitha closed the door. The latch clicked.
Selvam turned.
“What’s wrong?”
She stood with her back to the door. Arms loose at her sides. The white t-shirt caught the afternoon light from the window.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“You haven’t looked at me since yesterday.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
She was quiet. Her jaw worked once. The gold at her throat caught light.
“Jennie,” she said.
The name hung.
“What about her?”
“I think you fucked her.”
Selvam’s expression didn’t change. His breathing stayed even. But something shifted behind his eyes... surprise, genuine and immediate.
“No.”
“You were alone with her for ninety minutes.”
“I showed her rocket footage. She asked questions. I answered them. We walked back to the deck. That’s all.”
Vanitha’s eyes held his. Searching.
“Nothing happened?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re sure.”
“Completely.”
She studied his face. The particular stillness she knew so well... the calm, measured presence that never performed, never exaggerated, never lied because lying required effort he didn’t waste.
Her shoulders dropped half an inch.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay, I believe you.”
He stepped closer. Not touching. Close enough that he could smell the wine on her breath, the faint citrus of whatever she put in her hair.
“You’ve never been jealous before.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“You are. I can see it.”
She looked away. At the mirror wall. At their reflections... him standing, her against the door, the space between them precise and charged.
“Emilia,” he said. Quiet. “You handed her to me. You told me to demonstrate on her so her boyfriend would learn. You watched me fuck her and you smiled.”
Vanitha’s throat worked. “That’s different.”
“How?”
“Emilia needed something.”
“What did she need?”
“To feel what a real man feels like. To have a standard. So she’d stop letting that soft boy control her.”
Selvam waited.
“Yazhini needed the same thing. A cock that would reset her expectations. So she’d stop chasing college boys with weak hands.”
He was quiet. The studio held its breath. Downstairs, Summer laughed again. A door opened and closed.
“Jennie doesn’t need anything,” Vanitha said. Her voice had dropped. Lower. Rougher. “She’s already at the top. She’s built what she built. She has the world. She doesn’t need you to teach her anything.”
The sentence sat between them.
“That’s why this feels different.” Vanitha’s eyes found his again. “Emilia was a gift. Jennie is a threat.”
The word landed. Threat. Heavy in the warm studio air.
Selvam didn’t move. His hands stayed at his sides. His breathing remained steady.
“You think I’d choose her.”
“I think she’s the first woman you’ve met who’s your equal.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“How does it work, then?”
The question hung. Honest. Raw. The mask was fully gone now. What remained was the particular heat of a woman who had built everything alongside him and was suddenly, violently afraid of losing it.
Selvam reached for her. One hand. Cupped the side of her face. His thumb traced the line of her jaw.
“You are not replaceable.”
She held still. His palm was warm against her skin.
“Jennie is remarkable. So are you. They are not the same category.”
Vanitha’s eyes closed. Briefly. His thumb kept moving along her jaw.
“I have never once looked at another woman and thought what I have with you was negotiable.”
She leaned into his hand. One small movement. Almost involuntary.
“Say it again.”
“You are not replaceable.”
Her breath caught. A small sound. Behind it, something gave way... a wall she had been holding since the observation deck, since the private corridor, since the morning on the jet when she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.
She stepped forward. Into his space. Her forehead pressed against his chest. His arms came around her. Warm. Solid. The particular embrace of a man who built rockets and held them steady through failure.
Downstairs, the noise continued. Summer’s voice. Ashok’s laugh. Latha asking another question about Blackpink.
Upstairs, the studio was quiet. Just their breathing. Just the gold chain settling against Vanitha’s skin when she moved. Just Selvam’s hand in her hair, fingers working through the dark strands with a patience that matched the way he built everything.
Vanitha looked up. Her eyes were dry. Clear.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I was... small.”
“You were human.”
She smiled. The left corner higher than the right. The particular expression that had filled rooms for years.
“I still think she wanted you.”
“Probably.”
“And?”
“And nothing changes.”
She held his gaze. The studio light caught the gold at her throat, the particular warmth of her skin, the clean lines of a face that had won pageants and built companies and carried itself with the grace of someone who knew exactly what she was worth.
Downstairs, a door opened. Summer called something up the stairs. Words lost in the distance.
Neither of them moved.
The jealousy had nowhere to go. So it stayed, acknowledged, contained, not gone but managed. The way they managed everything... with clear eyes and steady hands and the particular courage of people who built impossible things and watched them almost land and built them again anyway.
Vanitha’s hand found his. Fingers laced through his. Warm. Present.
“Come downstairs,” she said. “They’ll wonder.”
“They can wonder.”
She laughed. The sound filled the studio. Bright. Real. Directed entirely at him.
They went down together.
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