Mag-log inThe fourth Zoom meeting ended at eleven forty-seven.
Raiyan didn't close the laptop. He opened a new tab. TransCom's Singapore acquisition had a licensing clause that three lawyers had looked at and not one of them had solved. He found it in four minutes, sent the correction, moved to the next agenda item. Frankfurt budget. Tokyo acquisition decision. London infrastructure review. One after another, clean and efficient, no pausing, no breathing room, no space betHe wanted to shake her. He wanted to demand why she had ignored him for eighteen hours while he stared at a blank chat screen like a fool. She looked like an angel and talked like a blade, and the contradiction was making his blood burn. "Why didn't you reply, Zoya?" She turned back to face the room, seemingly deciding that looking at him was a tactical error. "I was busy." "You weren't busy." "I was asleep." "You weren't asleep." She took a slow, unhurried sip of her rosé. "Are you surveilling my sleeping habits now, Mr. Mansoor? Should I be concerned?" "Why didn't you reply, Zoya?" She finally looked at him again. The full look — unfiltered and dangerous. "Why did you text me?" she countered. "I thought you were going to ruin my life if I didn't drop the case. Isn't that how the threat went?" He opened his mouth to argue. "Because if that's still the plan," she continued, perfectly pleasant, "I do have a full day tomorrow and I would appreciate knowing in advance." "That
Elena had been right about one thing. He needed to get out of the house. He had been sitting in his study since morning, the surveillance report open on his desk and Liyana's voice from the night before echoing in his head — "Daddy, u always look sad now." He got dressed. He drove. Michael’s report had come through at nine seventeen. She was at a venue on Sunset. He had been planning to go to Harris’s dinner on the west side. He picked up his phone. He changed the reservation. He told himself it was because he needed air. He did not examine the rest of it. The lounge was the kind of place his circle had frequented for years. Familiar. Loud enough to make thinking difficult. Harris was already there when he arrived, along with Daniel, Sam, and Isaac at the corner table. Eliza stood up and hugged him, saying nothing about the trial, which meant everyone had been briefed to remain silent. The booth went quiet for exactly half a second when Raiyan sat down. Not respectful, quiet.
Faiyaz stepped back inside after she went to bed. The terrace was quiet. The coffee cups still on the railing. The lemon cake on the counter with one slice missing — Riyana had negotiated a second piece at some point during the evening and nobody had been able to explain how. He stood in the kitchen for a moment. Then he picked up his phone and called Amer. It rang four times. “You’re still up,” Amer said. “How are you feeling?” “Like someone hit me with a car.” A pause. “Literally.” “You look better than you did this afternoon.” “Low bar, Faiyaz.” “You were conscious. I was relieved.” Amer laughed. Short. Then stopped because it hurt. “She seemed okay. When she left.” “She was.” “She always seems okay.” “I know.” A beat. “Did she cry?” Amer asked. “No.” “Did she almost cry?” Faiyaz looked at the cake. “Even if she did, we would never know.” “Okay.” The word of a man filing something he had been waiting to hear. “Good. That means something went
"It is not birthday etiquette." "Is it not." He reached for the cake. She ran. He caught her in three steps and she was laughing — actually laughing, the real one, the one that had been absent from her face for weeks — and Riyana was chasing both of them in circles shouting "MOMMY RUN" without any clear allegiance to either party. When it was over — cake on both of them, Riyana thoroughly satisfied, Farisa already photographing everything — Faiyaz looked at her. "Bake me my cake," he said. "The lemon one. Properly. Tonight." "You just had cake." "That was an assault. I want the real one." "That is incredibly entitled." "It is my birthday." She looked at him. "Fine," she said. Riyana tugged her sleeve. Hard. "Mommy Can I help?" she said. Looking up with the full force of everything she had. "Yes, You can help," Zoya pinched her cheek. Riyana pumped her small fist. ⸻ The kitchen smelled like butter and warm sugar. Riyana had positioned herself on th
She looked up from her napkin. "I'm not walking away." "I know you aren't. But what happens if you did?" She looked back out at the dark water. "The people who were targeted lose their recourse." "Besides that." "The framework Loujain built stays perfectly intact." "Besides that, Zoya." She didn't answer. "You go home," Faiyaz said. "You go back to LA. To Riyana. To Joseph. To a regular life that doesn't involve seeing him across a corridor every single morning." He tilted his head slightly, studying her face. "That is not the worst outcome in the world." "Faiyaz." "I am completely serious." "I know you are." She looked back at him, her hazel eyes heavy. "That is exactly why I am not engaging with the question." He leaned back against the cushion of his chair. "You are the most stubborn person I have ever met in my life. And I went to school with Amer." "Amer is not stubborn," she countered quietly. "Amer is simply wrong about everything he says and refuses to
He slid the page back. "Finish your lunch," he said. She picked up the page. Turned it face down again. Picked up her fork. He went back to his food. They did not speak again. When she left — five minutes before him, she put on her coat, picked up her bag — she said "Mr. Fayez" without stopping and walked through the door. He looked at the table beside him. At the eighteen inches of space. At the document she had left behind. One page. The second one. He picked it up. He left a larger tip than necessary and walked back to the office four minutes ahead of schedule. Nyla looked up when he came in. Four minutes early. He didn't explain. He never explained. But he had also never come back early before. She looked back at her screen. She entered a number into the transfer schedule. Got it right this time. It didn't help. ⸻ Adam told Nyla on a Thursday. "The Paris office needs someone on the restructuring team. Send Mona's file to HR." Nyl
Zoya finally turned, her glare locked and loaded. But the retort died in her throat. He looked exhausted. There were shadows under his eyes that hadn’t been there before, and his frame looked leaner under his suit. But the way he was looking at the dinner—and then at her—was so raw it made her ch
Joseph answered on the second ring. He didn’t say hello. In their world, a greeting was a wasted breath, especially between two men bound by the same ghost.“Omar.”Omar’s voice was steady, but it wasn’t calm. It was the kind of stillness that happens right before a storm levels a ci
Mei locked the door again like it would fix everything.Chain. Bolt. Handle checked twice.Zoya watched her do it and hated the part of her that wanted to believe it. Like metal and wood could negotiate with men who didn't respect "no."Kenji stood near the window, peeking through the curtain like
By noon, the Airbnb smelled like coffee that had been rewarmed one too many times. Zoya sat curled into the corner of the couch, one leg tucked under her, sweater sleeves pulled past her wrists. Her phone lay face down beside her thigh—close enough to feel, far enough to pretend it wasn’t there. S







