Page 25 of Dream On, Liar

Because Vikram Patel had always known exactly how to frame things to get what he wanted. Never directly selfish. Never openly manipulative. Just enough concern woven into his words to make you question whether you were the unreasonable one for being upset in the first place.

A slow heaviness settled in my stomach.

Maybe that was why this whole thing felt so impossible to talk about out loud. Because every direction my thoughts turned in led back to the same ugly conclusion.

This hadn’t just happened to us.

Our strings had been pulled like we were in a goddamn play.

And somehow that hurt more than the affair itself ever could.

And now that I knew, every memory from that age suddenly felt suspicious. Like there were pieces missing from all of them.

I remembered random details instead. The smell of chlorine from the leisure centre pool. The cheap plastic bats they used during drills. The way Dad had actually seemed patient there, which should’ve stood out more considering how rarely patience existed in our house.

Maybe it had stood out. Maybe that was why the memory lingered at all.

Just not the part that mattered most.

I rolled onto my side with a quiet groan, pressing the heels of my palms briefly against my eyes.

It would’ve been easier if I could just hate the guy outright. The secret love child. Half-brother. Whatever term that felt least bizarre.

But I couldn’t even manage that properly because none of this was his fault.

While the four of us had been the obligation he felt bound to fulfil and repay; all because our Nanu had been a ruthless tycoon in his day—who in his own way was convinced he was securing the best future for his daughter, when he cornered a young cricketer into marriage and unknowingly created the domino effect that became the story of our lives—Ishaan had been the child our father actually wanted.

Somehow that settled in my chest even more painfully than any lie my father had ever told us.

And now, Dev my oldest brother was already working with him. Which meant Vedant—Dev’s twin—also knew. The two had been two peas in a pod their whole lives, so it wouldn’t exactly be a stretch. And if the last couple days were to go by, Raina and Oliver were clearly hiding something. Dad was clearly spiralling after losing control of the family narrative he’d spent years carefully curating. And me?

I was stuck somewhere in the middle of all of it, angry at everyone and somehow still mostly angry at myself for holding this grudge.

The sigh that escaped me was short and hollow.

Typical.

Even in family betrayal, apparently I still found a way to make myself the problem.

A knock against my door cut through the static in my head.

Three quick taps.

I blinked hard and sat up a little straighter, rubbing a hand over my face once before answering. “Yeah.”

The door creaked open just enough for my sister to slip through first, followed by the soft thump of paws against hardwood. Lilli lingered near the doorway like a tiny, furry bodyguard deciding whether Raina would need emotional support around me or not. My guess was Milo was around Oliver, just like he always was.

“You look like shit,” she said flatly. Her eyes flicked toward the TV screen, and her lips pursed as she stepped farther into the room.

“Maybe I’m dying,” I replied, sinking further against the headboard.

She raised a brow. “From what exactly? Acting like a toddler who didn’t get what he wanted?”

“Sure, let’s go with that.” I shrugged. “You really gonna deny a dying man his final wish?”

My sister ignored that entirely. She carried a tiny plate balanced carefully in one hand, and the second I saw it, my stomach betrayed me with interest.

Majas.