LOGIN"I know." "Let me—" "Elena." He stopped. He looked at her. "Go back inside." She looked at his hand. At his face. "She's not worth this," Elena said quietly. Not cruel. Just — certain, the way she had always been certain about the wrong things. "She was never worth this." Something moved through his jaw. "Goodnight, Elena." He walked out. He was already in the car when his phone lit up. Amirah. Missed call. Then another. He looked at the screen. Then — Liyana. A voice note. He pressed it. Daddy. Small voice. Sleep-thick. She had woken up and found his room empty. *Where are you. Come back.* He stood in the parking lot with the napkin still wrapped around his bleeding hand and his daughter’s voice in his ear asking where he was. He called Amirah back. She answered on the first ring. *She woke up looking for you. She’s fine. I’m with her.* “I’ll be back before morning, “ he said. “Raiyan—” Before morning, he said again. He got in the car. He d
Faiyaz leaned against the bar with effortless ease. "Just Faiyaz is fine. We've shared enough history for first names." The corner of Raiyan's mouth moved. It wasn't a smile. "You came tonight," Faiyaz said. "I'll admit, I didn't expect that." "It's a small city." "It is." Faiyaz nodded. "Funny how often we end up in the same room." Raiyan said nothing. Faiyaz looked toward the ballroom. "She looks well." His voice stayed light. "Considering everything you've put her through since you came back." "I don't remember asking for your opinion." "You didn't." He rolled the empty glass once beneath his fingertips. "It's hers." A faint smile. "I just happen to carry some of it." Raiyan looked at him. "Interesting." He finally picked up the drink without tasting it. "You're remarkably confident for a man who's spent years waiting for another man's wife." Faiyaz smiled. "So you still call her that." "My wife?" "No." His smile widened almost imperceptibly. "Another man's.
He 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
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







