Disguised Darling|✓

Episode 7

Mishti is panicking; having just gotten off the phone from her brother, she has finally permitted herself to freak out in earnest.

"Chutki, you've got to do it today. They have decided that you'll be carrying out three tasks out of which the first one will be done today. Are you ready?" her brother had asked her, and even though she wasn't ready, would never be, she had replied in affirmative. Because she was a con artist, a thief. This was what she was here for in the first place.

"Good, now listen to me. They, for some reason, have posed the first task to be extremely simple and dare I say obvious..... They want you to pick up his Hublot."

"Hublot?"

"It's a watch, worth eight lakh rupees mind you. They need you to pick it up from his dresser, first drawer at the right corner. Don't ask me how they know it because I've been wondering that myself, and neither do I understand why they would tell you to rob a watch on the first week of your job when there is a high risk that the blame might come upon you." Mihir had grumbled, with what felt like running a frustrated hand through his hair, talking more to himself than her.

"I had asked them about it. They had said that Samrat wouldn't know, he doesn't care much about these things." 

Mishti had wanted to laugh, because clearly, the first thing she had noticed about the man was his habit of nitpicking, spanning from the ingredients in his food to the pattern of his tie. She had told her brother the same. 

"Ok, I'll think something about it. Till then, do finish this task, ok? Ranvi would be waiting outside the house at 2 at night to take the watch from you. Just relax and take care of yourself. I'll talk to them."

Mishti hasn't been able to accomplish the last two things her brother had asked her to do, not when it's noon, her boss isn't home and she's standing outside the man's door.

"Do it carefully, Chutki. The agency wouldn't tolerate any mistakes."

Agency.

The bane of their existence. 

Mishti till this day can't properly comprehend when and how the place where she grew up, was brought up with her brother and friends – the orphanage – had turned into the agency and had made them into their puppets. 

Everything from the time when they should be inside their assigned house to what they should do is decided by agency. It has been taking decisions for them since years now, be it the robbery that they had made her do four years ago as her first task or the watch that they are making her steal as she twists the doorknob and enters into Samrat's room; the same room that she had entered years ago to help the man, to get him to his bed, to stop his crying, to tell him that he's worth everything - today she is entering the room to steal a memento of his achievements.

It isn't like she is completely innocent, that she's scared of stealing. No, she has done this a hundreds of times without committing a single mistake, knowing fully well that at the end some share of the act would go to them as well, be it the bundle of cash they have only very rarely got to see in their lives till now (yes, being an orphan does affect your financial standing) or the promise of their freedom after every mission they accomplish.

Mishti's not even tensed about getting caught because she knows she'll either find her way out of it or her brother and her friends would handle everything.

It's.... It's this heaviness in her heart, this feeling of guilt that never gets old; the way her chest tightens when she watches people lamenting their loss even though the loss is just one-sixth of their entire wealth, and in this case, one-twelfth. Her mood still dampens, when their whole group celebrates for having one less task to complete – but – one thing that even she knows is the fact that they don't have a choice, they work under someone, they aren't their own people, had it been like that, then maybe she truly would've been working as a chef somewhere, her brother excelling as a technical program manager, Ruhi completing her degree majoring in English, Raghav as the owner of his eatery and Ranvi as his forever loyal customer.

But it's nothing like that. They are the agency's servants, struggling to pay the debts that their little selves had unknowingly taken upon their heads.

True to her brother's words, there is a collection of watches, ranging from Rolex to Chanel to Hublot in the drawer. Mishti doesn't feel even an ounce of greed when she takes in the sight of those precious accessories; they don't seem like gold and silver to her but sheer dirt, one that she's afraid to poke her hand into and stain everything from her body to her soul. It makes her feel like throwing up. 

She still accomplishes her task though. With skilled gloved hands she picks up the designated watch, keeps it in the opaque pouch that she has brought with her and then,  just waits for the clock to hit two. 

*

Surprisingly, the reaction doesn't come until the next forty-eight hours. With all the details that Samrat observed, Mishti had thought that he'd quickly be able to notice the missing watch in his drawer; he didn't seem like the man to have so much money that he didn't care where half of it went, even though the former part of the statement was true.

However, the moment Samrat gets to know about it, he acts upon it immediately, making all his staff stand in a queue, including Vivek, who has been working for him for ten years now, and the newly appointed Preeti Ahuja a.k.a. Mishti.

The man interrogates each person, all the twelve staff members that leave for their own houses in the evening save for the two who live with him, his valet and his personal chef.

Samrat gets to the latter two at the end.

"Vivek." He states, tone stern. The valet nods, "Yes, sir?"

"Did you take it?" He asks.

"No, sir." The suspect answers, his chest puffed out, not losing eye contact with his boss for even a millisecond. Mishti sees as something similar to pride flashes through Samrat's eyes as he acknowledges the answer. "Very well then, you may leave."

And leave he does, the valet, but of course, not without turning around and smirking at Mishti who suppresses the urge to roll her eyes because she can't possibly do that right now, not when it's her turn to answer.

"Preeti Ahuja." Samrat exclaims, the glint vanishing from his eyes, getting replaced by a harshness that she fortunately hasn't been the recipient of until now.

"How are you liking the place?" he asks, gesturing to the exquisite chandelier they are standing under. "Any comments on that masterpiece?" he questions then, and Mishti, with no option left, lifts her gaze to the decoration. 

"It's beautiful, sir."

"It is, isn't it?"

The man then takes a step towards her, the weight of it seeming almost predatory. Mishti's breath hitches in her throat.

"Just remember that you are free to admire all these beautiful things but aren't allowed to take it, yes?" he says, voice low, a threatening undertone to it. Mishti nods immediately.

But just when she thinks he's about to leave, he takes another step towards her, his eyes suddenly gleaming with a totally different kind of look, harsher than before yet completely impassive.

"I don't like liars, Preeti Ahuja. Me lying about your cooking being subpar is one thing, but you lying about not having taken my watch is totally another, keep that in your mind, yeah?"

With that the man strides back to the vicinity of his room, leaving Mishti to take in big gulps of air considering how her breath had been stuck in her throat all the while, and wondering if the man just threatened her through a compliment.

And even if he did, safe to say, she doesn't give herself permission to feel good about it.