Revenge Formula

seven

🎈👠 chapter seven . . .

ayan just looked at simran in surprise (bordering on shock) as she took his arm and dragged him across the dining hall. he barely saw the guests gathering there. hell, he barely even knew what they were doing here in the first place. if the saying 'go with the flow' had a form, it would most definitely be him.

but he knew that simran would sabotage this dinner party, had been planning for that since she saw the pamphlet that they'd been giving at the reception unsuspectingly.  most of the guests had only started arriving this morning—and in one moment ayan was wondering if simone didn't find it suspicious that one of her barely-even-talked-to college acquaintances had checked into his room before most of her distant relatives, and in the next moment, simran was hurrying him to go down to the dining hall. he really was living on the wild side, huh?

whatever her plan was, it was making him really anxious.

simran took him to the far corner, next to a long serving cart, and knelt down there. here, they were hidden from the view of those well-dressed gentlemen seated at the long table in the center of the dining hall. but their table was near enough that he could hear the polite conversations they were exchanging amongst themselves if he really strained his ears—something about the stock market, ayan guessed from what he could hear.

"okay, simran, you've got to tell me—" ayan began, lowering his voice so that only she could hear him, craning his neck to see if anyone had seen them.

"hold this." simran cut him off, handing him a disposable cigarette lighter and a piece of paper.

huh?  he remembered simran ask him for a lighter last night, but why . . .

"simran, i don't understand—" ayan frowned.

"i'll tell you. don't worry." simran assured him, whispering as well, because it's necessary that nobody should hear them.

ohhkay . . . he still wasn't okay with this, and simran needed to start explaining asap.

"who are they?" ayan decided to direct his attention to something else instead, at the men sitting on the table to be precise.

"you see that guy?" simran gestured at the one sitting on the head of the table in a well-pressed suit, his greying hair slicked back neatly with hair gel. he had the look of a dignified person. but ayan wouldn't jump into conclusions without knowing him first-hand. "that's simone's dad." simran said.

again, okay . . . why were they hiding behind a wall and watching simone's dad with his colleagues?

"he's hosting this dinner to introduce simone and rishabh to his colleagues. i'm pretty sure rishabh's now a shareholder in his business. he's dating 'papa ki pari' after all." simran offered, as if she'd read the question on his mind.

ayan nodded, musing to himself that if simran sangha could read minds, it was over for all of them. and maybe he should marry rich as well, because this middle-class life was getting to him. why not just be a shareholder of a well-reputed firm by marrying someone from a rich family? way to chose the most easy path.

"and we're here to ruin whatever fucking impression that they're gonna make." simran smiled to herself. and by seeing her smile, ayan had to stop himself from thinking that simran could sabotage relationships and parties for a living.

"uh-huh," ayan nodded, barely surprised at what she'd said, "and how're we gonna do that?"

simran smiled again, "you'll know in a minute."