Codename lotus, p.1
Codename Lotus, page 1
CODENAME LOTUS
YILIANA FERRAN
YILLOW HOUSE
Copyright © 2026 by Yiliana Ferran
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the author, except for brief quotations used in reviews or critical works.
No part of this work may be used, copied, reproduced, or included in any dataset for the training, development, or operation of artificial intelligence systems, machine learning models, large language models, or similar technologies, whether commercial or non-commercial, without the express written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Illustration by Ashbee_.art
TRIGGER WARNINGS
Emotional and psychological abuse and coercive control
Mention of rape
Mild homophobia/lesbophobia
There is no graphic on-page sexual assault and no graphic gore, but the emotional impact of abuse and trauma is taken seriously on the page.
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
PROLOGUE
1. CRISIS OF LOYALTY
2. MORNING COFFEE WITH A SIDE OF GRUMPY
3. OH BABY!
4. BALLS OF LINT AND REVELATIONS
5. LITTLE SAAHI
6. PERIMETER
7. A CULINARY SIN
8. MRS. SMITH-CHOPRA
9. THE STORM
10. REASSESSING PRIORITIES
11. SECRETS
12. THE FEELS
13. GREENHOUSE PURGE AND GHOSTS
14. SHIFTING TIDES
15. FRIENDS ZONE?
16. SALUTATIONS FROM BOLLYWOOD AND SWISS DELIGHTS
17. DIWALI
18. THE WIDOW CLUB
19. AFTERMATH
20. NEW DISCOVERIES
21. THE FALLOUT
22. GALA D’ARTE
23. BACK TO REALITY
24. ANSWERS
25. LOSS AND HOPE
26. NEVER HAVE I EVER
27. EGGS KEJRIWAL AND A PERFECT DATE
28. A NEW LOVE
29. HOME
EPILOGUE
HIDDEN TRACK
About the Author
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my readers for your trust and your time. Both are precious, and I don’t take either for granted. It is the pleasure of my life to share my stories with you.
Thank you to my editor, beta readers, sensitivity reader, cover artist, and to everyone who had a hand in shaping this book at any stage. Your insight, honesty, and care made the story stronger.
To my friends: thank you for listening to me talk about fictional people like they’re real.
To my family: thank you for your love, in all the forms it took while I made this.
For She Who Holds Time.
Lotus (noun)
A flowering plant that takes root in mud and stagnant water, pushing upward through darkness to bloom above the surface.
PROLOGUE
Cornwall, 2002
It was the sky I remembered most.
Not the cliffs or the sea or the damp scent of rain-soaked earth. Not even the low murmur of the teachers gathered by the inn, speaking in voices that never quite reached me.
Just the sky. That rolling, endless gray.
It stretched over us like a lid—heavy, stirring, the kind of English morning that made the whole world feel hushed. The drizzle was soft, clinging to my lashes, my cheeks. Cold enough to make me shiver.
Or maybe that was something else.
She was leaving.
Naomi stood by the black car, perfectly still, as her aunt held an umbrella above her. Her uncle murmured something to the driver, then climbed into the front seat. Naomi’s suitcase had already been loaded into the back, everything packed away in a matter of hours.
They’d flown all the way from America.
She was still wearing her uniform: the navy-blue skirt, white blouse beneath her blazer, her tie neat at the collar. As usual, her expression gave nothing away—only this time, something was different.
She hadn’t spoken since getting the news yesterday.
I wanted to scream her name. I wanted her to hear me, across the gravel driveway, across the space that had always existed between us.
And now she was leaving. Forever, maybe.
The thought made my chest tighten, but I couldn’t move. I stood there coatless, my fingers stiff at my sides. I should have gone inside, but I couldn’t. Not yet.
Naomi glanced up.
For a second, just a second, our eyes met through the mist.
Or was there someone behind me?
Then she turned away, ducking into the car. Her aunt followed, shaking the umbrella once before closing the door.
God, I wanted to scream.
Don’t go.
Please don’t go away.
1
CRISIS OF LOYALTY
Twenty-four years later—Present day.
NAOMI
The private lounge smelled faintly of jet fuel and leather. Technicians moved like shadows across the tarmac, performing pre-flight checks beneath England’s overcast sky.
I stood by the window, arms crossed, waiting.
I read Sid’s latest message for perhaps the hundredth time:
Sidharth AUG 14, 12:14 PM
She’s almost there. Don’t leave without her.
Like I would.
I glanced at the time. Ten minutes late.
This wasn’t how today was supposed to go. My meticulously planned week was thrown off balance. I should be closing a deal in Austria, not waiting here for someone I hadn’t seen in years. A guiltless admission, if only to myself.
My mind drifted back home to New York. Meetings stacked back-to-back, deals hanging in the balance…and Ethan. I could already picture the impatient string of text messages bombarding me from every direction.
A text from my PA appeared:
ALLISON AUG 14, 12:16 PM
All settled, boss.
Allison was efficient to a fault. A tall redhead who had molded herself into everything I needed, exactly when I needed it.
I typed back quickly:
NAOMI AUG 14, 12:17 PM
Good. Not a word to anyone. Especially Ethan.
I hadn’t even told him I was leaving for Geneva instead of Vienna. How could I explain my sudden change of plans without admitting that, yet again, I was rearranging everything for someone else? For Sidharth, of all people.
I brushed aside the discomfort. This was temporary.
Sid needs me.
Two days ago, his urgency in that London café had startled me.
We’d sat opposite each other, and he’d practically begged me to get his sister out of the U.K. It wasn’t just his request. It was the raw desperation in his eyes. Gone was my impeccably groomed best friend, replaced by a man in a baseball cap, looking lost and anxious, insisting his sister might be in danger.
“Might be?” I’d asked skeptically.
“Someone tampered with the locks on Saanya’s London home. It’s the second time this month.”
I remembered Saanya as the scrawny girl three years younger than Sid and me, always quiet, somewhere in the background of our friendship. I recalled missing her wedding a few years ago due to business. Apparently, she had married a man with shady ties who’d recently turned up murdered.
“What would they want with a dead man?” I asked.
“Exactly. Which means they’re after something. I don’t know if it’s an object, information, or my sister. Please, Naomi. You’re always accompanied by private security—not that I can’t offer the same, but I don’t think that would be enough. I need her hidden. I know you’ll keep her safe. Your holiday home in Geneva is secluded. Maybe if she goes there with you, she’ll have company and finally decompress. All I’m asking for is a month while the police sort this out.”
“A month? Sid, that’s a big ask. My business, my life—they’re back in the U.S. The house is hers for as long as she needs, but I can’t possibly keep her company.”
Desperation filled his eyes.
“Naomi, I haven’t seen Saanya this worn down before. She’s always been resilient, always found a ray of hope even in dark times. But this is different. It’s killing me, knowing I couldn’t protect her, and all because of that reckless bastard.” He’d sighed heavily. “But I can give her you. My best friend, and a woman. Saanya could use a friend right now. And you’re family.”
A technician’s vest flashed orange across the tarmac.
“Miss Smith-Chopra?” the pilot said.
“Yes?”
Just then, the doors of the lounge slid open, revealing Saanya: dark glasses, head down, the dupatta of her dhoti saree wrapped protectively around her shoulders.
She stepped forward as the bodyguards cleared a path for her, like royalty.
The moment she spotted me, something shifted inside, familiar but undeniably strained. We were about to do more than just share space. We were stepping into each other’s lives again.
I only hoped I wasn’t making a mistake.
SAANYA
Aircraft engines rumbled outside.
Just as I reached for the car door, I caught myself—my thumb worrying the hem of my dupatta.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” I muttered under my breath, and dropped it.
It wasn’t nerves. Not really. It was a nasty little habit. Another shadow from my private hell. From him.
That emotionally unstable bastard.
Barely a month ago, I’d naively thought myself free. But even in death, Manish still found ways to haunt me.
I sighed, bracing myself. This was it. My last stop, if Sid’s plan held.
I exited the town car, escorted by my brother’s bodyguards into the VIP lounge. Hakim, my assigned bulletproof shadow in a suit and tie, was murmuring the last set of instructions when my breath caught.
Sid had convinced me to come here, reminding me how “a friend could help me find peace,” but he had no idea. No one did.
My gaze lingered, caught between admiration and something deeper, something I hadn’t dared revisit in years. In truth, I wasn’t even sure why I’d agreed to this.
Yet there she was, speaking effortlessly to the pilot. Like it was nothing. Still gorgeous.
The last time I’d seen her, Naomi had been seventeen and heartbroken after the sudden loss of her parents. Even then, she’d had a presence: a girl with eternally green eyes that saw everything, always observing.
Now, at forty-one, she was something else entirely.
Her short hair brushed just below her cheekbones and the nape of her neck, emphasizing the sharp angles of her face. Each dark strand was impeccably styled, falling perfectly into place as if guided by an unseen hand. Her figure traced a stark line from shoulder to waist, all designer allure. Naomi carried the presence of someone who moved through life as if every door opened effortlessly for her.
I had stopped looking her up years ago. It was embarrassing that I still thought about her and felt the need to know how she was. That habit had ended abruptly the day I’d come across an article on her engagement to the son of an American magnate.
Part of me knew it was finally time to let her go. If my own marriage to Manish hadn’t accomplished that, this certainly had.
“All set, Miss,” Hakim said, and the sight of Naomi’s bodyguards pulled me back to reality.
From outside, it must have looked like a hostage rescue—me being handed over. These weren’t my family’s people. They were Naomi’s, a clear sign that I was no longer under Sid’s direct protection.
Her gaze swept over me, cold and clinical, lasting barely a heartbeat. It wasn’t a look of hatred; it was worse. It was the way one looks at a smudge on a windowpane before deciding it isn’t worth the effort to clean.
Still, I felt the tug of a smile, my heart beating far too fast for my liking. I waited for some form of acknowledgment after all these years, but Naomi’s attention returned to the pilot.
I understood her irritation. After all, she’d uprooted her life, left her fiancé behind, and come to be my nanny at Sidharth’s request.
I didn’t look away. Not even when she left me hanging, feeling this… hint of an old flame that had never quite died.
You haven’t changed one bit, have you?
Later, Naomi greeted me with the same polite disinterest, as if we hadn’t spent years orbiting one another.
During the flight, I tried again to make conversation, to bridge the gap. Like it or not, we’d be living together for the foreseeable future, but she lifted a single finger and took a call instead.
I settled into my seat a couple of rows away, resigning myself to the awkward journey ahead.
“Well,” I murmured, buckling up, “this should be fun.”
2
MORNING COFFEE WITH A SIDE OF GRUMPY
SAANYA
The first morning was a rude awakening—literally.
I hesitated, staring at Naomi’s intimidating espresso machine. Everything in her kitchen gleamed with flawless precision, silently judging my intrusion. After more than two decades apart, I had no idea what to expect from her. We’d barely exchanged two words yesterday. She’d seemed utterly spent by the time we arrived—jet lag, perhaps?
I glanced at the coffee beans in my hand. Did I need to grind them first, or was that the machine’s job?
“I see we’re experimenting with new arrangements this morning.”
I jumped.
“Unrequested ones.”
There was a terrifying transparency in her eyes, a depth of moss and gold that seemed to swallow the light—and my resolve—whole.
Naomi’s voice carried that brand of passive-aggressive that somehow stings more than a shout. She moved to the counter, retrieved a white ceramic cup, slotted a pod into the Nespresso, and pressed Brew. The fluidity in her movements was impossible to miss. Even in leggings and a fitted top, she radiated a quiet, intimidating elegance. My gaze caught on the stark curve of her shoulder—a blade of bone and toned skin that moved with predatory ease every time she reached for something.
In profile, she was still the same confident girl from her teens, only now she was a woman. Same cheeky mouth. Perhaps it’s true—some things never change.
“I was just about to brew some coffee...”
“Oh, by all means,” Naomi cut in, bringing the steaming coffee cup to her lips, eyes cool and assessing. “Just remember, there’s an order to things here. A system.”
“I’m not looking to upset your system. Just finding my way around.”
My first instinct told me to pick up my things and leave, but if I’d survived my husband’s cruel little jabs, I could survive her. This obviously stern, grown-up version of Naomi was a declawed kitten compared to Manish.
She gestured pointedly. “Coffee pods, second drawer. Milk’s in the fridge, top shelf. And the coffee beans…well…”
Her eyes dipped to my hand. “You found those already. Trash can’s there—just in case you need it.”
Trash can?
Ah, the bin.
Right. Her accent was American now, not the familiar British cadence of our youth—whether by choice or not.
“Thanks,” I said softly, unsure if it was gratitude or resentment.
As Naomi leaned on the counter, something eased in her demeanor.
“You’re not much like Sidharth,” she said, almost conversationally.
I managed a small smile. “He blends in quickly. I prefer to observe first.”
Naomi seemed to consider this. “Observation can be valuable.”
She glanced at her watch. “I have a call soon. Kitchen’s yours until then.”
Walking away, she called back casually, “Machine’s loaded. Just turn the dial to espresso.”
Even out of sight, her smirk was loud.
In my room, I scrambled for the phone Sidharth had given me before leaving. His name flashed on the screen.
“Hey, Sid.” I tried to keep my voice even.
“Sis. How are you settling in?”
I walked to the window, looking out at the sprawling garden. “It’s beautiful here. The house, the scenery...”
“But?”
Sidharth’s intuition dismantled my attempt at small talk.
“Sid, please, you have to get me out of here.”
“Saanya—”
“I don’t think Naomi wants me here, Sid. It’s like I’m intruding on her life.”
Sidharth and Naomi shared something rare—the kind of friendship most people only dream of. I’d always hovered at the edges of it. Sid assumed I’d admired her once, but he didn’t know how complicated it was for me to be here.
“Leaving is not an option, not right now.”
“I’m obviously a burden to her. She’s made that abundantly clear. If you don’t help me leave, I will find a way.”
“And where will you go, Saanya?”
His question was gentle, but anchored in reality. My reality.
“Anywhere—I don’t know. There are plenty of places out there. India, bhai. Home! Besides, those thugs wouldn’t bother looking for me outside of London—if they are even looking for me at all.”
