What does a lifestyle guru do when her life starts to fall apart?

Alia Dubey is being stalked. The problem is no one believes her. Not the cops, not her family…and well, she doesn’t really have any friends.
Until the day her sister calls in a favour and asks her friend from the Intelligence Bureau to check on Alia and the gifts she’s been receiving.
Officer Avinash Rathore has better things to do than babysit a spoilt socialite with delusions of danger. Until he walks in to find her home broken into and an innocuous bouquet of red roses placed there. While everything points to an obsessed lover, Avinash’s instincts are screaming that there is more at play.
The gifts keep arriving, escalating from roses to far more sinister things…each with an intimate note hinting at a personal agenda. But whose?
The police have a primary suspect – Alia herself. They’re convinced she’s mentally ill and the one planting the evidence that points to a stalker.
But Avinash knows there is more. Far from mentally ill, the ditzy socialite he’d expected to meet is incisively intelligent, staggeringly attractive and devastatingly dangerous to his otherwise sensible mind.
They find themselves in a race against an unknown opponent who has only one thing in their mind – to destroy Alia’s life and leave her standing in the ruins.
And then Alia goes missing. And Avinash realizes that he stands to lose not just the race but, everything. For the ditzy socialite, the one who is All Kinds of Wrong for him is suddenly the only one who can make his world Right again.

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Read an Excerpt from All Kinds of Wrong

“Why?” she asked her big sister, bewildered. “Why is this happening? I’m really not the sort to inspire grand passion.”

“Oh you inspire tons of passion, sweetheart,” Avinash said, humorously. “Just not the sort that you’d normally expect.”

She glared at him. He smiled back, blandly.

“I’m going to go meet the cops I know in the evening, but it would help if I had a little more to give them to go on.”

“Like what?” she asked, numbly.

“Why don’t you give me a little information on the neighbours you’ve interacted with?”

She stared at him, blankly.

“Right,” he muttered. “I forgot. You don’t do relationships.”

“She does acquaintances though,” Aria butted in. “Don’t you, Als?”

Alia stared at her. “What does that even mean?”

“What do you know about your neighbours, Als?” Aria sighed.

“Well, there is dog guy on the second floor. He walks all four of his dogs every morning when I’m going for a jog,” Alia said. “Two Labradors, one Poodle and a mongrel.”

“Great,” Avinash sat down in front of her, nodding encouragingly. “What else did you notice?”

“He looks a lot like his mongrel.”

Avinash blinked. “Jeez, you’re a piece of work,” he said with a soft laugh.

“He does,” Alia insisted. “I’ll show you.”

“Okay.” He held his hands up in a gesture of peace. “Who else did you notice?”

“The old lady who lives two doors down always smells of cheese.” Alia muttered. “Stinks up the lift every time. I think she lives alone because I’ve never seen anyone else come out of that flat.”

Avinash was scribbling on a little notepad he’d produced out of thin air.

“Oh and then there is the serial killer,” she said, snapping her fingers in the air.

Avinash froze. “Excuse me?”

“Gotcha,” Alia giggled. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

“There is a big, burly man with tattoos and dreadlocks who lives on the third floor. He uses the gym sometimes at the same time as I do. He’s very sweet and considerate. Always wipes his sweat off any equipment he uses.”

“A real gem,” Avinash agreed drily.

“Then there is the girl who always wants to be my friend, no matter how many times I tell her I’m not interested. She lives on this floor too. Oh and the couple on the first floor who invited me for dinner but I didn’t go because I think they’re swingers and I wasn’t looking forward to being proven right that night.”

Aria stifled a smile when Avinash shot her a look.

“Then, of course, there is the couple on the floor below us. They have a toddler who sounds like he’s being murdered most of the time. But, of course, that isn’t true. He’s clearly alive because I see him eating sand in the playground when I go for my jog.”

“A very good clue,” Avinash said.

“And then there is the eighty-year-old man in the wheelchair who forced himself on me in the elevator.”

“What?” Avinash snapped to attention.

“Well,” Alia said, frowning. “He said he wanted to tell me something and when I leaned down to hear him more clearly, he kissed me on my lips. The dirty, old goat.”

“And what did you do?” Aria asked, aghast.

“Well, I pressed the button to stop the elevator and then I deflated the tyres of his wheelchair while he squawked at me. Once I got the elevator moving, I got off and left without helping him. From what I heard on the building whatsapp group, he was stuck there for the better part of an hour before someone found him.”

Aria and Avinash just stared at her.

“What?” she demanded.

“Nothing,” Avinash said, faintly. “I just finally understand why you don’t do relationships.”

About the Author:

Shilpa Suraj wears many hats - corporate drone, homemaker, mother to a fabulous toddler and author.

An avid reader with an overactive imagination, Shilpa has weaved stories in her head since she was a child. Her previous stints at Google, in an ad agency and as an entrepreneur provide colour to her present day stories, both fiction and non-fiction.

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