Page 7 of Born in Sin (Phoenix #3)

Chapter Four

CARA

Cara sat on the terrace of her lavish penthouse, staring out at the ocean crashing into the rocks. Her golden retriever, Amigo, sat at her feet, his big head resting on her toes a warm, furry, weight that kept her grounded.

The maid brought her a cup of green tea. She nodded her thanks, taking it from her and sipping slowly, her mind spinning in a million different directions. The core of it, as always with her, was him.

Amigo huffed, his paws wiggling, clearly having lovely running or chasing rabbit dreams. Cara smiled, her toes wiggling in his fur in response, a gentle pet to reassure him that she was still here.

Even in his dreams, Amigo didn’t like being far from her.

Outstation shoots were always hell on both of them, neither sleeping well unless they were under the same roof as each other.

Cara closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and trying for calm. Smoky grey eyes watched her from behind her closed lids. He was always there, like she carried a piece of his soul within her own. Always, always there. She opened her eyes, calm eluding her again.

Years. Years of burying her feelings, her sense of self, her very identity, and none of it had been of any use. She’d buried Celina Fernandez, along with all her hopes and dreams, to allow Cara Ferns to exist. And it had all been for nothing.

Here she was, back at the very beginning.

“I think it all started that night. With you.”

His quiet words lanced through her. She didn’t know what had started that night, but everything had ended, for her. She had lost the boy she’d loved, the life she’d hoped for, and the innocence she hadn’t known she’d valued, not until it was taken from her.

The front door opened, and a loud, strident voice reverberated down the corridor leading to the living room.

Her mother was home. A retired teacher, Maria Fernandez, had never lost her discipline and control over everyone who hovered in her sphere.

The staff in residence had learned to breathe easy only when she wasn’t at home.

Now, she walked in, her floral, lavender co-ord set flapping around her, her brisk movements making it impossible to just drape around her.

Was that an M-zire, Cara mused? She’d known her old schoolmate, Mayukhi, designed exquisite clothes, but Cara didn’t wear any of them.

An innate desire not to cross paths with anyone from Crestwood had ensured she’d worn every brand but an M-zire.

Her mother, on the other hand, had no such qualms.

“Cara.” Maria stepped out on to the balcony. “Have you adhered to your calorie count, so far?”

Cara held up the cup of green tea in answer. At her feet, Amigo came awake with a disgruntled sigh. Like the staff, he knew better than to snooze while Maria was on the premises.

“Why did you come home early from the shoot?” she asked now, fussing with something in her handbag.

Cara leaned back in her armchair, Amigo’s snout finding its way into her hand for a nuzzle.

She petted the dog absentmindedly, her mind going a million miles a minute.

What should she tell her mother? That Virat Jha had walked on to her set and told her that her past might be coming back to haunt her?

That Celina Fernandez might be resurrected in all her tainted glory?

“No, Celina, please! I am begging you! You can’t tell anyone! Especially your mother!”

Virat’s desperate pleas still held sway over her, even decades later, she thought dispassionately. Even today, a promise made to him, even one made in the past, kept her silent.

“I had a headache,” she told her mother, looking away from her frowning face and back towards the ocean.

Her mother tsked. “Don’t make a habit of it,” she advised. “You don’t want them thinking you’re difficult and unprofessional.”

Cara nodded, a thin smile on her lips. It was idiotic advice.

She was Cara Ferns. She could set fire to the movie sets, and they would still tell her she was the greatest thing to grace this earth.

Coming home early one day, when she was normally professional to the core, meant nothing to anyone but her mother who worried that her meal ticket might be compromised.

It didn’t escape her notice that her mother hadn’t asked after her fictional headache.

Sorrow swept through her as she stared at the face of the woman who’d given birth to her. Her mother had loved her once, hadn’t she? Cara remembered her hugs, her laughter, her gentle kisses… she’d had her mother. She’d always had her mother.

Until that night. Everything had ended that night.

And now, her mother had turned into a hard, cold stranger, who only lived for the luxuries Cara afforded her. She wondered if her mother even remembered the Celina she’d once loved.

Amigo put his paw on her lap, his worried eyes scanning her face.

“I’m okay, sweetheart,” she told him, kissing his sweet head.

“Ugh, please Cara. Stop kissing that animal. Go wash your face.”

Cara winked at Amigo and kissed him again, on his snout this time. Amigo licked her back enthusiastically, making her laugh.

“I will wash my face,” she told her mother. “I’m going out.”

“Where?” Her mother was immediately suspicious.

“I have a story narration for a new project,” Cara improvised, heading to her room to dress, Amigo padding after her.

She was ready minutes later, the skinny jeans and oversized cashmere sweater the most comfortable outfit she could find. She ran a brush through her hair, and decided to forgo makeup, allowing her skin to breathe.

She gave a forlorn Amigo one last kiss, whispered that she’d be back soon and left before her mother could waylay her again.

Her bodyguard, Shiva, fell into step the minute she emerged from the house.

He radioed her driver who had the car waiting, the air conditioning running.

She slid into the car and gave Shiva the address and leaned back in the seat, closing her eyes and using every breathing technique under the sun to find her center.

She still hadn’t found it an hour later, when the car pulled up to the apartment building, she’d directed it to.

She watched Shiva check the area, before opening the door for her to get out. She kept her head down as they walked quickly through the empty foyer, ignoring the shocked security guard who’d pocketed the hundred rupees Shiva had slipped him. They took the elevator up to the tenth floor in silence.

She’d always known where he lived, just like she also knew he was rarely home.

Virat was as elusive as he was wanted by the world.

She’d traced his incredible career with a sense of pride, misplaced though it was.

Virat wasn’t successful because of her. He was successful despite her.

She got off on the tenth floor, her courage momentarily failing her.

Shiva walked behind her, a silent presence.

“I want some privacy,” she told him now.

He nodded. “I’ll wait by the elevator,” he replied. He could see both the stairwell and the elevator bank from that vantage point. She watched him take up position, her heart rioting in her chest.

Cara took another deep breath and stepped forward to press the doorbell.

She heard the chimes echo in the space behind the door, her own heart thundering in unison with it.

Steady footsteps approached on the other side of the door, and it was swung open.

Storm grey eyes met her wary, chocolate brown ones.

They stared at each other for a long second before Virat stepped aside and she entered his home for the first time.