Ties That Kill: An Addictive Psychological Suspense Novel with Shocking Family Secrets

By A.M. Saint

The Guest List meets Crazy Rich Asians in this sharply-observed suspense novel with murder, glamor, and a diverse cast.

Successful entrepreneur Sonia Patel returns to London to attend her sister’s wedding with a secret agenda. Jia Mehta, a family friend, and an Indian heiress who committed suicide at her wedding sent Sonia a strange text that could lead her to a potential murderer. Thrown into the glamorous world she left behind, Sonia comes face-to-face with her estranged mother— the proud Mrs. Patel who will do anything to keep face. And right now, her greatest preoccupation is making her daughter Alia’s wedding the grandest event London has ever seen. Coupled with Alia, Alia’s fiancé Veer, her friend Rebecca, and the wedding planners, Sonia begins to reacclimatize herself with London high-society.

As she delves deeper into the mystery of Jia’s death, lies begin to unravel and complicated family dynamics emerge, layered with toxic friendships and secret relationships. They’re all hiding something. But who was desperate enough to kill Jia?

Told from multiple POVs, this witty slow-burn suspense novel with will take you on twisty paths.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JS Publishing
• Release date: Oct 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005159672

Book preview

Prologue

Jia

It was the night of Jia Mehta’s wedding. A happy occasion. She was supposed to focus on her new life with Arjun, her fiancé. Instead, she was saturated with fear. The threat pulsing on her phone hung over her head like a sword suspended by a thread. A battalion of trained security guards were keeping an eye on her room, but she felt unsafe. Jia inhaled and exhaled shakily.

Gazing at the plastered ceiling from which a two-tier glass chandelier cascaded down, she wondered how to quell the fear pulsing in her heart. The drawn-over velvet curtains reminded her where she was. Jia sat up, feeling the weight of her thick Kundan necklace and long uncut diamond and emerald earrings. Reflected in the mirror was a thirty-three-year-old on the cusp of the greatest event of her life— marriage. A red veil covered her hair, her face painted to look like a happy bride. Gold glittered on her ornate wedding dress, the sound of shehnais echoing in the distance. The walls of the 100-year-old French castle echoed with her breaths. Jia’s heart was still thrumming loudly when she stood up. 

A startled breath echoed in the princess suite. Jia looked at the phone clutched in her hand, recalling a string of incidents from the last few months. Her phone vibrated with messages that she didn’t answer. Instead, she swallowed and calmly took stock of the room. The makeup artist had left two hours ago to help her mother. She’d sent the hairstylist away, needing time to think. She visualized the threat that she’d received a month ago. 

Unknown: Your time is up.

She was going to get married in less than three hours but all she could feel was dread. She recalled her groom Arjun’s face, wondering how he’d react if she told him what was happening to her. They’d met through a matchmaker a year ago, gone on a few dates, and decided to get married. Everything was just the way it was supposed to be— their horoscopes matched, their family backgrounds were compatible, and they were both set to inherit a lot of money. Yet did he really know who she was? 

Jia grabbed the bottle of water sitting on the dresser. The official wedding logo was printed on it— an ornate J&A embossed in gold on the custom label. It looked simple but elegant, just the way she liked it. Her friend Alia had just been in to see her, but she felt shaky. Unsafe. Perhaps it was because of that message.

Your time is up.

A shudder passed through her body. Unscrewing the lid, she took a sip of water. A faint scent of almonds wafted through the air, making her wonder if one of the makeup artists had been eating them. The phone the blackmailer had sent was tucked away in her bedroom drawer. It had been delivered to her apartment six months ago. Her phone stared back, filled with contact lists. She hadn’t told anyone except her best friend Alia that she was being blackmailed. And Alia didn’t know the details.

Jia moved to the window, looking at the glittering scenery from a distance. She felt like a ghost looking down at her wedding. It was distant and transient, like something she’d never touch. Happiness was an illusion, an untouchable fantasy. Nobody knew that behind her glamorous exterior was a frightened girl. Amidst it all, she saw her friends— Alia, Rebecca, and Veer. Next to them sat a face she hadn’t seen in a long time— Sonia Patel. 

She stared at Sonia’s distant form, remembering her love for puzzles. Sonia lived in America and rarely visited because she was busy with her startup. Sonia loved reading mystery novels. What a strange hobby. Yet, she would be the perfect ally.

Jia glanced at her phone and picked through her contact list to find Sonia’s number. Should she text her? Should she burden her with the truth? Drinking more water, she wondered if jumping into marriage with such a huge secret was a risk. She wasn’t sure she trusted Arjun yet. 

Her fingers moved over the virtual keypad, putting her mental state into words.

Jia: 120488. 

Would Sonia understand? 

Phone in one hand, Jia drank more and more water, feeling light-headed. The grand wedding set up outside her window made her hesitate. Sonia was morose, seated a few tables from her mother. Mrs. Patel was animatedly chatting with her husband. Alia, her fiancé Veer and their friend Rebecca clustered around the American returnee. Her friends laughing down below and taking selfies made her feel even more alone. 

She had been numb for years, unable to feel any pleasure or pain. Would her marriage change that? Was love really redeeming? Jia’s eyes burned circles into the window as the minutes ticked by. She backed off when a weakness seized her body. Thanks to her makeup session, she hadn’t eaten in hours. It must be the hunger getting to her.

She reached for the low-calorie snacks her mother had left her but before she could open a packet, her gut twisted like a knife had been plunged through it. Only, there was no knife. Jia breathed, believing it to be the effect of hunger, but the pain worsened, degenerating to nausea within minutes. She choked and gasped, her windpipe closing. Her entire body felt sick like clothes being wrung through a washing machine. Her head was dizzy, throbbing painfully. She looked around, wondering what had suddenly happened. Seconds ago, she had been fine. 

Jia distanced the water bottle, looking down at the colorless liquid that smelled of almonds. 

No, it couldn’t be.

Her blackmailer’s final words condensed before her watering eyes.

Your time is up.

She threw the bottle away. It landed in the dustbin just as her knees gave out. Consciousness was slipping away from her grasp, and she desperately wanted to hold on to it. 

Not now. Not when everybody was waiting out there. This was the biggest day of her life. Today was the day she was supposed to escape this living hell. She reached for the door, but her body refused to cooperate, pulling her down. 

In her final moment, she grabbed her phone, determined to do whatever she could to survive. Jia tried calling the emergency number, but she didn’t know what it was in France. The phone felt like cotton in her hands, letters blurring as her mind blanked out. The message that she was about to send flashed on the screen. Through blurry eyes, she pressed the green ‘send’ arrow. She didn’t know whether the message went or not because she lost control of her body right then. 

A knock registered in the distant shores of her mind, relief flooding whatever was left of her consciousness. Shuffling. Jingling noises. A card key inserted into the lock. 

It opened seconds later. A shadow materialized. Dread mixed with blurriness, knowing the end was near. The shadow took a step toward Jia. 

She never got to see who it was.

1

Mrs. Patel

Present

Mrs. Patel felt a strange sensation in her stomach. Her husband would call it acidity, but she knew what it was—jealousy. Though she’d never admit that aloud. 

It was a gray morning in London and Mrs. Patel was sipping tea in her drawing-room in Kensington, unwinding from her busy week. A video of Jia Mehta’s extravagant wedding played on the TV screen, making her fingers tighten on the delicate golden handle of her porcelain teacup. Details of the event disturbed her. Perhaps it was because Mrs. Mehta, Jia’s mother, was one of her least favorite people in the world. As she watched pictures of the glittering wedding venue flash on the screen, Mrs. Patel decided that she needed something better than a French castle and Manish Malhotra outfits for her daughter’s wedding. The woman had gone on and on about Jia’s wedding during their weekly get-together six months ago. It was supposedly the most expensive wedding of the year— a feat she aspired for. Unfortunately, it hadn’t ended well. 

British-Indian Heiress Commits Suicide

Subtitles covered the bottom of the screen. There were pictures of Jia from the day before her wedding. The channels said she’d poisoned herself because she was against the wedding. Though Mrs. Patel knew that wasn’t the case, she felt secretly thrilled at the sight of Vaani Mehta’s name being dragged through the mud. Though it was sad her daughter had to die for that to happen. Mrs. Patel didn’t have anything against Jia. She pitied the poor girl for having such a self-absorbed mother.

Thank god Mrs. Mehta had vanished to New York following her daughter’s death. Mrs. Patel hated making small talk with her. Vaani Mehta only cared about herself. She loved to show off, sometimes at the cost of other people’s comfort. Look what that had led to.  

A shadow next to her leaned in to grab the remote. She saw her daughter Alia looking down at her, frowning. I don’t know why you insist on watching the news in the morning. It’s always depressing. There was a frown of disapproval on Alia’s face. Alia and Jia had been best friends and Jia’s death hit her daughter hard. Though Alia had returned to her usual self, Mrs. Patel knew that she still mourned the death of her friend. A maid was angrily summoned. She quickly located the remote and switched off the TV, returning the drawing room to its natural serene state. With neutral-toned walls and a designer honeycomb chandelier spilling from the plastered ceiling, the drawing-room looked like it had been plucked out of the Architectural Digest magazine. The white sofas and contrasting gray and black cushions completed the clean, modern look. A maid stood behind her wearing a black dress with a white apron and neatly arranged a row of pastries on the table. 

I’m going to work, Alia said, dressed in a beige suit with a black coat pulled over it. Alia had an oval face with almond-shaped eyes. Her mahogany skin was smooth, her full dark pink lips curving down in a frown. Thanks to the herbal oil Mrs. Patel had bought in India, Alia’s raven hair shone like a shampoo model’s. She was proud of her daughter and soon, the whole world would see how special she was. She’d made sure to organize the grandest wedding, selecting only the best clothes, jewelry, decoration, and venue to present Alia in the best light. 

It’s Saturday, Mrs. Patel said. You’re supposed to be getting ready for your wedding. What about your hair and skin appointments? I booked a full body massage and 24-karat gold facial session for you. We don’t want you looking anything less than perfect at your engagement. All your cousins will be there, you know. I’ll never hear the end of it from your aunts if you look dowdy.

I won’t look dowdy. We have a professional stylist, makeup artist, and image team to make sure I look like a million bucks. Alia glanced at her phone which continuously pinged. All she thought about was work. Just like her husband. Besides, it’s just my engagement, not the real wedding. Shouldn’t you be watching your blood pressure instead of stressing about my spa appointments? 

If only, Mrs. Patel said. After that dreadful event in Paris, she paused. I have to make sure everything goes well. Her daughter’s forehead creased. Her phone rang and she was torn between moving toward the door and drowning in the dreadful memory of her friend’s death. Don’t you worry. Leave everything to mummy. Mallika and I will work our magic. 

Mrs. Patel beamed, leaning into the plush sofa. Her daughter Alia was getting married in three months and they were having a little engagement leading up to the event. A little engagement with five hundred people. She leaned back on the sofa; glad everything was under control. Giving Alia a grand wedding had always been her dream, especially after she’d spent the last year hearing Mrs. Mehta talk about Jia’s wedding. They had decided to have Alia’s engagement in London since almost everybody they knew lived there. Mallika, the wedding planner, had been working her magic, as usual. Mrs. Madan, Veer’s mother, had come to like her as well.

Alia left, abandoning her to the silent room. Mrs. Patel watched the light filtering through the glass window, relieved to be alone. 

Her phone rang and she immediately identified the caller as ‘Aditi Singh-Jones’. Aditi was one of her friends and the heiress to a textile empire. Her daughter Rebecca and Alia were childhood friends, which is how Mrs. Patel knew her. Rebecca was a shy, quiet girl whom Mrs. Patel didn’t find objectionable. Unlike Jia Mehta who was gregarious, troublesome, and opinionated, just like her mother. 

Hello? 

Geeta, is that you? Aditi said. They spoke about what they did all week before arriving at the uncomfortable topic of Jia’s mother’s whereabouts. 

Have you heard from Vaani Mehta? Aditi asked as if reading her thoughts. I heard she’s visiting family in New York after…after what happened in France. By visiting I mean she’s staying there. It must be devastating. I can’t even imagine losing my daughter so young. I couldn’t believe it when they announced the bride was dead. It must be a joke, I thought.

Mrs. Patel muttered agreements though she was relieved Mrs. Mehta was gone. Vaani Mehta’s father owned a famous hotel next to the sweet shop Mrs. Patel’s parents had owned back in Mumbai. They’d been rivals since elementary school, competing to get the top grades. Thankfully, Mrs. Mehta’s family moved away after they entered university school. Mrs. Patel thought the worst of her life was over until she met Vaani Mehta again in London. It was then that she knew there would be no escaping the past. Alia’s wedding would be the nail in the coffin of their rivalry. She would succeed where the other woman had failed. 

Poor thing, Aditi went on. Jia must’ve been really unhappy with the marriage if she decided to commit suicide at thirty-three. Didn’t they say she was stressed or something? She should’ve spoken to one of us. There’s nothing a good heart-to-heart cannot fix.

Mrs. Patel seriously doubted a heart-to-heart could’ve fixed Jia Mehta’s Bipolar Disorder. The French detectives later found out that she’d been seeing a therapist. Her visits had stopped a few years before the wedding. But she had started seeing another therapist four months before the wedding, possibly due to a relapse. In her generation, nobody ever got depressed or anxious. It was the illness of the idle. These young kids with their unrealistic standards couldn’t handle the slightest amount of pressure. 

Yes, how tragic, she said. The police said she took her own life using a military suicide pill. Never heard of such a thing. Is it even legal to buy that stuff?

It isn’t. The detectives suspect she ordered it from the dark web. Aditi chimed in, trying to show off her knowledge. Mrs. Patel had no idea what a ‘dark web’ was, but she didn’t ask. As if reading her thoughts, Aditi explained. It’s a segment of the internet. A secret segment. You can access it without anybody figuring out your identity. People use it to exchange secret information.

And buy banned substances, apparently, she finished. 

Mrs. Patel recalled the front-page image that Alia showed her. Some news channels had managed to get hold of a picture of Jia’s death. She remembered the picture of an extra cyanide pill lying next to Jia, her back facing the ceiling as she lay on the floor with her stomach on the ground. No suicide note was found but the circumstances led the police to believe that she had taken her own life due to depression. Jia had visited a therapist shortly before her wedding and though she hadn’t been receiving any medication for her condition, reports of her PTSD and Bipolar diagnosis from several years ago were published. It had relapsed a few weeks before the wedding. Really, the media managed to get hold of everything these days. 

I tried calling Vaani, but she hasn’t answered any of my calls, She heard the sound of a piano in the background. Mrs. Patel knew Rebecca was an accomplished pianist. It must be her practicing. What about you? Oh, I hugged my daughter after I learned of Jia’s death. I guess I should be thankful that she’s still here. That’s her playing the piano. 

She sounds great. Alia wasn't in the arts, unfortunately, so she had nothing to counter Aditi.

That reminds me, Aditi said. Isn’t Sonia arriving in London soon? I haven’t seen her in ages.

Ten years, to be precise. Seven since they fought. 

Mrs. Patel’s voice was lodged in her throat. She recalled sitting next to her younger daughter at Jia’s wedding ceremony. Seeing Sonia after several years of silence made her react in abnormal ways. She felt exposed and untethered. Her mind always reeled back to the argument they had when Sonia was at university. 

I don’t feel safe with you, Sonia said, her twenty-four-year-old self staring intently at Mrs. Patel. She stood in a dirty dorm room, feeling the ground dissolve under her feet. I know what you did to dadi.

What!? Mrs. Patel spluttered, wondering why her daughter was suddenly bringing up her mother-in-law. What are you talking about? 

I… Sonia breathed heavily. I saw you coming out of her room on the night she died. You had blood on the edge of your dress. 

Sonia… Mrs. Patel felt her throat dry up. Dadi died due to a heart attack. 

Then why were you wearing that blood-stained gown? I saw blood on her when I went in. she said. It was you, wasn’t it? 

It’s not blood…it’s… Lost for words, she felt tears heat her eyeballs. Sonia had seen her. She wondered who else knew that she’d been up to something that night. Who else knows?

Sonia was dumbstruck for a moment. Did you… she wiped her tears away. I haven’t told anyone. You know, I haven’t been able to sleep properly since…dadi’s death. I know you hated her but…I never thought you’d kill her. Your blood flows through my veins…a killer’s blood flows through my veins. I feel scared I might do something horrible.

That’s ridiculous— 

Her husband burst in before she could quell her daughter’s fears. She’d been forced to abandon the conversation. She thought she’d explain next time but there was no next time. Sonia stopped coming home after that day. She took up internships in America and stayed there to start her own business. One day became seven years. They never called each other, knowing one of them would have to explain and clear the air. Mrs. Patel wasn’t ready to tell her daughter the truth, knowing the consequences of her actions. 

She inhaled sharply, feeling a headache come on. This is how she felt every time she thought of reconciling with Sonia. Guilty, drained, and anxious. But it had to be done. Even if it was the last thing she ever did. She looked up at her friends and wondered if anyone knew what she’d done. Did any of them guess? 

Geeta?

Hmmm? Mrs. Patel forgot what Prema had been talking about. Vaani, oh yes. It might be best to give some space for now. She’ll call when she’s ready to return.

You’re right. That’s so thoughtful of you. Aditi said. Mrs. Patel offered a tepid smile. 

As Aditi continued chatting, she found her mind drifting back to Sonia’s image. She missed hearing her daughter’s voice. Of Alia and Sonia, Sonia had always been the smarter one; the daughter that gave her no trouble while growing up. She should’ve known that Sonia would explode like a volcano someday. The quiet ones always did. 

Geeta, are you listening? 

Mrs. Patel looked up, realizing that tears formed in her eyes. Y-yes. Something went into my eye, she said, rubbing her strained eyes. The older you got, the harder it became to face your past. Still, she hoped to be in better control of her emotions by the time Sonia arrived. 

If she arrived.

2

Sonia

Three months ago

Lace curtains beat against the window as Sonia looked down at the Harrods gift hamper lying on her freshly made bed. She’d arrived at the sangeet straight from the airport, chauffeured to the castle in a Rolls Royce that the Mehtas had arranged. Looking down at the iPad wedding invite with an ivory card glued on it, she wondered what had induced her to attend Jia’s wedding. Ever since her fallout with her mother, Sonia had stayed away from London, sending her business partner James to attend conferences on this side of the globe. For the last seven years, her life had been confined to San Francisco. All she knew was work until her universe shrank to algorithms and funding rounds. 

Sonia picked up the Rubik's cube that she carried everywhere and began solving it. She liked puzzles. They helped keep her mind off the unpleasantness of life. Her eyes remained on the cube, twisting and turning until three green squares aligned in a row. Yet, her mind wasn’t here. She kept remembering her mother’s face from that night’s event— still as proud and unbending. 

Looking back, Sonia wondered how things had gotten this far. She had been her mother’s favorite. Mrs. Patel had given her everything she wanted. That was before she knew what her mother had done to her grandmother. Sonia was afraid of her now. Her mother had always been controlling and overbearing but she had no idea her mother could kill to fulfill her ends. As a child, the incident had shaken her to the core. Even now, she didn’t trust her mother. Her dadi had been so innocent and fragile. Her grandmother had loved her and always took her side in arguments. Sure, she loved to nag Mrs. Patel, but she never meant any harm. But her mother had hated the fact that the old woman lived with them and constantly judged her daughter-in-law’s actions. Sonia knew anger could make people snap. Still, didn’t murder make one a monster? How could a human being resort to such violence? More importantly, how could her mother? For she was made of the same blood and bones, the same DNA, the same deviant tendencies. 

She looked down at the cube and found that it had been solved. All the colors were aligned perfectly, inviting a sigh from her. This was too easy. She needed something more challenging to distract her mind. Restless, Sonia stood and picked up her phone. Shoving it into her pocket, she glanced at the clock on the wall. The sangeet function had gone on till the wee hours of the morning. It was a very Bollywood-inspired event that helped set the tone for the upcoming wedding. The bride and groom’s families were split into teams. They participated in a dance-off. There was also a concert to get the mood going. The guests partied, sang, and danced until 2 am. 

Outside the window, the columns of the French castle rose against the starry night sky. It was magnificent, though a little intimidating. Memories of her brief meeting with her mother that evening invaded her mind, making her terribly uneasy. Mrs. Patel had mostly ignored her, stubbornly sticking to her toxic parenting principles. Sonia had been equally stubborn, Yet, she couldn’t help but wonder if things would be different if her mother apologized. Would she forgive her? Did she want to? 

After learning the truth about her grandmother’s death, Sonia had become wary and suspicious. She often stayed awake at night, afraid of the silent shadows. She wanted to tell someone the truth but knew that it would ruin her mother’s life. That’s why she wanted to get away from her family; to get away from the difficult decisions that she’d have to face if she lived close to them. 

She ran her own business now, a fintech startup in Silicon Valley that was growing exponentially. Things were better. Things were okay. But nothing could fill that hole in her heart. She thought she’d be able to go on like this forever until Jia called her last month and told her that she was getting married. 

You have to come. I know you’re busy but I need you there, Jia had said. Mummy would love to have you. She’s obsessed with that article about your startup in Forbes. If I tell her I invested in it, she’ll faint.

Jia and her sister Alia were best friends, so she’d seen a lot of Jia. Alia had stayed in touch after Sonia’s quarrel with her mother and helped her when the business was struggling. Alia and Jia had invested in her startup and still owned shares. So, she couldn’t deny Jia’s request when it came. She was tired of hiding and perhaps, it was time to face the past. So, she agreed to attend the wedding of the century in France, knowing fully well that it’d bring her into contact with her estranged mother. 

At 3 am, Sonia pulled a jacket over her t-shirt and walked out of her room. The dark hallway lit up, sensors catching her presence. Only a few lights came on as part of the hotel’s eco-friendliness policy. Alternate chandeliers filled with light, guiding her way down a maze of doors. Names tags were pasted on those wooden doors, and she was surprised to find that she was on the same floor as the priest and Veer, Alia’s fiance. They were going to get married in six months and her mother had already begun planning for the wedding if Alia’s words were to be believed. She wouldn’t be able to get out of that one either. So, she had three months to process her emotions and learn to breathe the same air as her mother. 

When Sonia reached the staircase, she saw someone coming down. Three paths split from the staircase, one to her hallway and two others to two other sets of rooms. The silhouette turned his face, letting light cover his long nose. She recognized the male figure’s cropped hair, tall frame, and broad shoulders. She’d seen him several times over the last few years. 

Veer.

Sonia wondered what he was doing in the hallway in the middle of the night. She knew his room was on the same floor as her. Had he been meeting Alia upstairs? Veer looked both ways before moving in the direction of his room. She moved left and right, hoping he wouldn’t see her. What was she to say to him? Sonia was no good at making small talk and she was in no mood to carry out an entire conversation with him. Not in the middle of the night. 

Luckily, he turned before he got to her, disappearing into his room. Once he was gone, Sonia lost courage, wondering what she was doing. She should be sleeping, not bumping into people from her past. When she turned, however, she caught another figure detaching himself from the staircase. This time, he saw her.

Ajay? Her voice overcame the short distance. Ajay, Jia’s brother, stared back at her, dressed in a black hoodie, and sweatpants, and armed with a phone camera. He turned the camera off and lowered it into his pocket. 

Sonia, Ajay blinked. Long time no see.

Ajay, Jia’s younger brother, was a student at Cambridge University. He was all grown up, his curly black hair now straight and orderly. 

Did you come down with Veer? she asked, turning her head in Veer’s direction.

I was taking pics of the hotel…you know, for Instagram. Sonia felt like she’d interrupted his photo session but couldn’t back out since that would look awkward. 

I see. Did you enjoy the concert?

 It was lit.

Sonia shook her head, lacking the capacity to communicate with a teenager without a good night’s sleep. Good night, then.

Night. Ajay began moving up the stairs, humming a song. The hotel staff wasn’t around but you could use the intercom to call them. Sonia wondered if she should order something to eat. She’d been too busy to eat at the buffet because everyone suddenly wanted to catch up with her.

Oh, I saw your article on Forbes. Congratulations. 

Where have you been?

You just disappeared.

By the time the fourth person introduced themselves, Sonia had given up on eating. As she walked back to her room, she heard a voice in the distance. Knowing she should keep going, she took a step forward only to hear the voice turned down to a whisper. Curiosity got the best of her and Sonia tiptoed to the adjacent hallway. It was dark, unlike her own with most rooms empty. Sonia saw someone moving, hand resting on the door handle. Jia. 

Sonia stepped forward, making out the hissing sounds Jia was making. She was on the phone, one hand holding her head. 

I can’t go through with this wedding, she said, inserting a card key into a closed door. You know why—

Before Jia went in, she raised her head and spotted Sonia. Sonia froze where she was, not knowing how to run away. Who was Jia talking to? And was she serious about not going