CH 1-10

Summary

★Once upon a time a cold ruthless mafia fell in love with his wife.★

Chapter 1

New York, 10:45pm

A girl hurriedly walked through the alley, her footsteps echoing against the concrete walls. She was wearing a long, sky-blue jacket that draped over her body, hiding every inch of her form. Her head was completely covered with a scarf, leaving not a single strand of hair visible. She had a vision of modesty, her brown eyes wide with concern. Her face, while not exposed, still carried the mark of exhaustion and determination. Today had been a long day, filled with too many tasks, and now she was late…late to return home, late for rest.

The alley wasn’t the safest of places. It was a known shortcut, but also a place where people warned you not to linger. The city was full of shadows, but she was running out of time. Her shoes clicked against the pavement as she pushed forward, her heart racing slightly.

Suddenly, a man’s scream echoed through the narrow alley, a cry filled with agony.

She froze in her tracks, her heart pounding in her chest. Fear gripped her, but she shook it off, willing herself to move forward. “Come on, don’t be stupid,” she muttered to herself, trying to gather courage. “It’s just a scream, no big deal.”

But the scream continued, each cry more desperate than the last.

She bit her lip, her instincts pulling her in the direction of the noise. She reached the end of the alley, and what she saw nearly knocked the wind out of her.

Lifeless bodies of men were scattered around the ground, their forms unnaturally still, some in poses of struggle, others twisted in ways that suggested pain had taken them beyond the limits of endurance. But there was one man who wasn’t lifeless, though the blood pooling around him would suggest otherwise. He was still alive, writhing on the ground, his eyes wide with unimaginable pain. His eyes… fiery, burning with an intensity she couldn’t comprehend.

She took a cautious step forward, her heart hammering in her chest. As she approached, he lifted his head slightly, and their gazes locked. His eyes were burning with an unearthly fire, a strange energy radiating from them despite the pain that wracked his body.

Her breath caught in her throat. What in the world…

” help…” he managed to rasp through gritted teeth. His voice was rough, desperate, but there was something about it something… familiar. He was in pain, no doubt, but there was power in him. Dark power.

She snapped out of her trance, her heart racing. She quickly broke the eye contact, fear running through her veins, yet she couldn’t leave him there.

“I’m calling an ambulance,” she said firmly, her voice wavering slightly.

“No.” His voice was a low growl. Despite the blood that stained his face and clothes, there was anger in his words. “Don’t.”

She froze for a moment, eyes wide. “What? You’re… you’re bleeding out here! You need help!” Her voice cracked slightly as she struggled to stay calm.

He glared at her, his eyes flashing. “No ambulance. My phone… it’s in the car. Bring it to me.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Car? The man had a car, but why did he look like a walking corpse then? This didn’t make sense!

She looked around, scanning the area. “Where’s the car?” she asked.

He groaned in pain, not answering her directly, only pointing weakly toward a nearby parked car at the edge of the alley. Her brows furrowed, but she nodded, glancing one more time at the injured man before hurrying toward the car.

A few moments later, she returned with his phone in hand.

But when she got back to him, her blood ran cold.

He was unconscious, his body limping on the cold ground. The blood coming from his head was pooling around him, a gruesome sight that made her stomach twist in knots. His face was pale, his eyes closed. The sight of him like that made her hands tremble.

Think, think! she told herself.

She dropped to her knees beside him, quickly rummaging through her bag. She found a piece of cloth and pressed it to his head, trying to stop the blood from flowing.

Her hands were shaking as she held his head in her lap. “Come on, wake up,” she whispered softly, almost as if talking to herself. “Please don’t die on me, not like this.”

She felt helpless, but she couldn’t just leave him there. He wasn’t a stranger anymore. There was something about him something that pulled at her.

“Wake up… you’re not dying here. Not on my watch,” she muttered, her voice shaky, but determined. Her fingers were covered in his blood as she held his face gently.

His eyes fluttered slightly, and he groaned, barely regaining consciousness. His eyes met hers again

this time, they were duller, but there was a faint recognition there.

“Password,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

“Password?” She frowned. “What do you….”

“Password,” he repeated, his voice getting weaker. “Call… Yousef…”

She blinked in confusion. “Yousef? Who’s that….”

“Just… call him,” he urged weakly.

She looked at the phone in her hand, a wave of urgency hitting her. This was no time for questions.

Her fingers shakily tapped in the number. After a few seconds, a voice on the other end picked up.

“Yousef,” she said breathlessly. “This man is injured… badly. He’s in the alley… please, you need to hurry.”

Yousef’s voice was steady on the other end, though there was a hint of panic. “Stay with him. Don’t leave him. I’ll be there.”

She hung up the phone, her gaze falling back on the man lying in her lap, his breathing shallow. She looked down at him, her heart racing. She couldn’t help but be scared.Who was he? What happened here?

“Stay with me,” she whispered, her voice trembling but resolute. “Please.”

For a moment, it seemed like he wasn’t going to answer her, but then his eyes fluttered open once more. A faint, painful smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I told you… I’m not dying today.”

She let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, a mix of relief and disbelief.

Not dying today. Yeah, right.

“Yeah, well, don’t make me regret saving your life, okay?” She half-laughed, but it was a laugh filled with nervous tension.

His lips twitched, as if he was about to respond, but the sound of a car approaching interrupted them. She looked up, hope flooding her chest.

Yousef’s car screeched to a halt near the alley entrance, tires crunching on the gravel as it came to a sudden stop.

The door swung open, and a man stepped out. His tall figure cut through the dim light, his posture commanding yet visibly tense. He looked like someone who had seen it all, yet tonight, something was different. His sharp eyes scanned the scene

her, the injured man, and the blood-soaked ground.

His gaze landed on her, and she could feel the weight of it, but she didn’t back down. She kept her hand on the man’s head, refusing to let go.

“What happened to him?” Yousef’s voice was calm but edged with an unspoken urgency as he walked toward them.

The girl took a deep breath, still shaken. She didn’t know how to explain it all …how the man was hurt, why he didn’t want help. But she couldn’t ignore the burning question that had been on her mind.

“Who is he?” she asked before she could stop herself, her eyes flicking between the unconscious man in her lap and Yousef.

Yousef hesitated, his jaw tightening. He seemed to weigh her question carefully, then gave a half-shrug.

“He’s someone who doesn’t like to be saved,” Yousef replied, his voice gruff. “But I guess he’s not gonna have much choice this time.”

Her brow furrowed. She didn’t understand. Doesn’t like to be saved? But then, it wasn’t the time for questions. Not now.

Yousef knelt beside her and began to examine the man with quick, practiced movements. His fingers checked the pulse on the man’s neck, then his eyes flicked to the cloth wrapped around the wound.

“You did good,” Yousef said, his tone softening as he looked at her. “But you need to let me take over now. We don’t have much time.”

She nodded, reluctantly removing her hands from the man’s head, but she didn’t stand up. Instead, she stayed seated beside him, her gaze locked on his unconscious face.

Yousef quickly took charge, moving with precision as he lifted the man into his arms with a strength that seemed unnatural. He moved him toward the car with urgency.

The man in his arms was still unconscious, but his lips moved slightly as though trying to speak, though his voice was barely a whisper.

the injured man murmured, his words slurring with pain, but there was an unmistakable gratitude in them. “I’ll return the favor… someday.”

Yousef’s expression softened slightly as he looked down at the injured man, then back at the girl. He nodded, acknowledging the words.

“Just get him in the car. We’ll take care of him from here,” Yousef said, his tone surprisingly gentle.

The girl stood there, her heart still pounding in her chest. “Is he going to be okay?” she called out, her voice trembling despite her attempt to mask it with concern.

Yousef didn’t answer right away. He opened the back door of the car, carefully placing the man inside. “He’ll survive,” he said, then paused, glancing over his shoulder at her. “But you should go. You don’t want to be here when he wakes up.”

She nodded slowly, still processing everything that had just happened. The strange man, the blood, the dark energy that seemed to radiate from him even in unconsciousness. She was shaken, but something kept her rooted in place. She wanted to leave, but… something inside her told her she couldn’t quite walk away yet.

As Yousef slid into the front seat, starting the engine, he turned his head toward her one last time.

“Take care of yourself. And don’t get involved again.”

His words hung in the air, and with a final glance, the car sped off into the night, the headlights illuminating the dark alley as it disappeared into the distance.

The girl stood there, her mind racing, her heart still trapped in the chaos of the night. What had just happened? Her body felt numb, her thoughts disjointed as she replayed the events in her mind

the man’s fiery eyes, the blood, the words she couldn’t quite comprehend. And now Yousef’s cryptic warning about not getting involved again.

Why did he say that? she wondered, gazing at the empty street where the car had vanished.

She swallowed hard, trying to steady her nerves, but all she could feel was the cold night air on her skin, the echo of the man’s words in her ears.

“I’ll return the favor…”

Her feet moved before she could stop them, as if they knew where they were supposed to go. Her apartment was a few blocks away. She needed to get home, to process everything that had just unfolded, but the streets seemed longer than usual tonight. Each step felt heavy, like the weight of the man’s burning eyes was following her.

I don’t even know his name, she thought, her breath catching in her throat as she walked faster. What was that tonight?

Her apartment building finally came into view, and she felt a wave of relief wash over her. She hurried up the stairs, key trembling in her hand.

Inside, her apartment felt too quiet, too still, in stark contrast to the chaos she had just witnessed. She locked the door behind her and leaned against it, her heart still racing.

Chapter 2

حين لقيتك قد تبدل عالمي

وتغيرت في مقلتيَّ المقاييسُ

كنتُ أظن القلبَ ملكي وحدي

حتى أتى عشقكِ فانكسر القُفْلُ والتيسُ

“When I met you, my world changed,

The scales in my eyes shifted.

I thought my heart was mine alone,

Until your love came, breaking its lock and keys.”

_______________________________

The heavy doors of the grand estate swung open as Yousef rushed in, carrying Zamil’s barely conscious body. The place was alive with tension guards stood alert, servants moved quickly, and the air smelled faintly of antiseptic, the doctor having arrived minutes before them.

“Upstairs. Now.”Yousef ordered the men, his voice sharp as steel. They hurriedly took Zamil up the grand staircase and into his room, where there personal doctor Mr.Adam Steve was already setting up his instruments.

Zamil groaned, his head rolling to the side as they placed him on the massive bed. His dark, blood soaked shirt clung to his body, a sharp contrast against the crisp white sheets.

Adam barely spared Yousef a glance before getting to work.“He’s burning up. Bring me the supplies.”

The room was tense, the only sounds being Zamil’s labored breathing and the quiet clink of medical instruments.

“Idiot,”Yousef muttered under his breath as he paced the room.“Told you not to go alone.”Zamil, unconscious, of course, didn’t respond.

Adam worked quickly, his hands steady as he stitched up the deep gash on Zamil’s shoulder. Blood seeped into the gauze as he moved to check the wound on the back of his head.

After what felt like hours, the Adam finally stepped back, exhaling. He wiped his hands with a cloth and turned to Yousef.

“The injuries are bad, but he’ll recover. The wound on his head is deep it’ll take time. And that shoulder? No lifting weights, no throwing punches, no playing demon for at least a few weeks.”

Yousef snorted.“You really think he’ll listen?”

The Adam smirked.“Not my problem. I’m a doctor, not a miracle worker.”

He scribbled something on a notepad and handed it to Yousef.“These are the meds he’ll need. Keep his pain under control, or he’ll be more unbearable than usual.”

“Great.”

The Adam chuckled, packing up his things.“Call me if there’s any change. Try not to get him shot again, yeah?”

“No promises.”

The moment the  Adam left, Yousef turned to one of the guards.

“Stay outside his door. The second he wakes up, let me know.”

The man gave a sharp nod, taking his position just outside the room.

Yousef sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he stepped out, exhaustion settling into his bones. Before he could take another breath, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

With a glance at the caller ID, he exhaled sharply before answering.

“Yeah?”

A rough, aged voice came through the line, firm yet carrying an undertone of concern.

“Is he alive?”

Yousef smirked despite himself.

“You think he’d go that easily? He’s too stubborn to die.”

The man on the other end let out a breath, but his tone remained serious.

“He never listens. I warned him not to go alone. There are too many enemies lurking.”

Yousef leaned against the marble wall, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“And, as always, he ignored you.”

“Did you find out who’s behind this?”Yousef’s smirk faded. His voice turned cold.

“We have people digging. But we think it’s Vector.”

Silence. Then a slow, deep sigh.

“That bastard.”

Yousef nodded, even though the man couldn’t see him.

“Yeah. And now we wait.”

“I’ll come by tomorrow.”

Yousef said to him.“there’s no need of this uncle. He’s stable now.”

The man humm in response and the line clicked off.

He stared at his phone for a second before shaking his head.

A sound from inside the room made him glance toward the closed door. Zamil was still unconscious, but knowing him, it wouldn’t last long.

Yousef sighed, already dreading the conversation that was going to happen once Zamil woke up.

“Can’t wait to hear his great wisdom on how ‘he had it under control’ while bleeding out in a damn alley.”

Muttering under his breath, he made his way down the hall, knowing he’d need a strong cup of coffee or maybe something stronger to deal with whatever came next.

__________________________

Crisp morning air nipped at Ayat’scheeks as she hurried down the sidewalk, clutching her coat tighter around her. The city was already alive cars honking impatiently, vendors setting up their stalls, and pedestrians rushing past, lost in their own worlds.

Her phone call with Mrs. Jenkins still echoed in her mind.

“Ayat, dear, I need you to come in early today. We’re short-staffed, and the morning rush will be a nightmare!”

So here she was, speed walking toward the café, her boots clicking against the pavement.

As she passed an intersection, her eyes flickered toward the familiar dark alley just a few feet away.

Her steps faltered.

For a split second, the memory from last night hit her like a punch to the gut. The dim glow of the streetlight, the lifeless bodies sprawled on the cold ground, the sound of a man groaning in pain and him. The stranger with those burning eyes, bleeding, fierce even in his weakness.

She swallowed and quickly turned away.

It’s none of my business.

With a shake of her head, she hurried forward, pushing the memory to the back of her mind.

The little bell above the door chimed as Ayat stepped inside, instantly met with the comforting warmth of the café and the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. The place was small but cozy, lined with wooden shelves stacked with books and plants, giving it a homey feel.

Behind the counter, Mrs. Jenkins her silver hair neatly pinned back looked up and broke into a warm smile.

“Ah, there you are, dear! You’re a lifesaver.”Ayat smiled back, while adjusting her scarf.

“It’s really not a big deal, Mrs. Jenkins.”The old woman let out a dramatic sigh.

“Oh, don’t be modest. If I had to handle that espresso machine alone, I might’ve just retired today.”Ayat chuckled, slipping behind the counter.

“We can’t let that happen, can we?”Mrs. Jenkins wagged a finger.

“Exactly! Who else would tolerate my terrible jokes and let me steal free cookies?”

Ayat shook her head, amused, and started adjusting the coffee cups on the shelf. The morning rush was about to start, and soon, the place would be filled with caffeine-deprived zombies demanding their lattes.

As she arranged the sugar packets, Mrs. Jenkins leaned in slightly.

“You alright, dear? You look a little… lost in thought.”Ayat hesitated for a second before forcing a smile.“Yeah, just tired.”

Mrs. Jenkins hummed knowingly.“Tired or haunted by something?”

Ayat nearly dropped a cup.“W-What?”

The old woman smirked.“I might be old, but my eyes still work. You had that look like you saw something you shouldn’t have.”

Ayat forced out a laugh.

“I think you’ve been reading too many mystery novels.”Mrs. Jenkins sighed dramatically.

“Maybe, but you can’t blame me. This city is full of secrets.”Ayat quickly changed the subject.

“How about I get started on the prep? We’re about to be swarmed.”Mrs. Jenkins gave her a lingering look before patting her arm.

“Alright, alright. But if you ever need to talk, you know where to find me.”

Ayat nodded, grateful for the distraction as she focused on work.

But deep inside, she knew the truth.

She wasn’t haunted by a memory.

She was haunted by him.

____________________________

Zamil sat on the edge of his bed, his back resting slightly against the headboard, his face unreadable. His shoulder was bandaged, his head still aching from the wound, but his sharp eyes held no sign of weakness.

Yousef stood in front of him, arms crossed, his expression demanding as he studied Zamil. The room was silent, tension thick in the air.

Their eyes locked two men who had fought side by side for years, who had seen too much blood, betrayal, and war.

The silence was broken when Yousef finally spoke.

“It was Vector.”

Zamil scoffed, rolling his injured shoulder slightly.

“That bastard actually had the guts to do it.”

“More than guts,”Yousef said.

“He planned it well. If you weren’t such a stubborn son of a…”he stopped himself, smirking.“Let’s just say anyone else would’ve been dead by now.”

Zamil chuckled darkly.

“That’s the thing, buddy. I’m not anyone else.’His voice was calm, but the promise of revenge lay heavy in his words.

“You’re also not immortal,”Yousef shot back, raising an eyebrow.“Your head is practically cracked open, your shoulder is broken, and you’re talking about revenge?”

Zamil gave him a pointed look.“Get the men ready.”

Yousef let out a long, exaggerated sigh, shaking his head.

“Of course. Why would you, the great Zak, ever listen to logic? Maybe because you’re BLEEDING all over your very expensive bed?”

Zamil smirked.“I have plenty of beds.”

“Yeah? And only one head. Try not to lose it.”

Zamil leaned forward, his expression turning serious.

“Vector made a mistake. And I don’t let mistakes slide.”

Yousef sighed again, rubbing his temples. “You’re impossible.”

Then he muttered,“You should’ve just died and saved me all this stress.”

Zamil raised an eyebrow.“What was that?”

Yousef smiled innocently.“I said, ‘Wow, boss, your survival skills are truly admirable.’”

Zamil shook his head, smirking.“That’s what I thought.

He looked at Yousef, his eyes hardening as he spoke.

“The girl. The one who helped me.”

Yousef raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting the topic to return so soon.“What about her? I thought we agreed she was just a random passerby.”

Zamil’s jaw clenched, but his tone remained calm, almost too calm.“What if she wasn’t just some random girl, Yousef? What if she’s a spy? What if she was put there to help me… or to trap me?”

Yousef snorted, leaning back against the doorframe.“Come on, Zak. You’ve been through worse and you didn’t second guess a single thing. You’re overthinking this.”

But Zamil wasn’t convinced. He shook his head.

“You don’t get it. We’re talking about Vector here. He’s not just any enemy he’s smart. He could’ve planned everything. She was too quick to help. Too calm. She might be part of something bigger.”

Yousef sighed, his patience starting to wear thin.“You’re stressing your brain, boss. You almost died last night, and now you’re worrying about a random girl?”

Zamil’s eyes narrowed, and his voice dropped to a low growl.“She might not be random. I don’t trust it.”

Yousef gave a long exhale, then walked over to the bed, leaning in to look at Zamil.“Alright, alright. Fine. You want to be paranoid? I’ll keep an eye on her. But if she’s just a regular girl, then you owe me a drink for all this unnecessary worry.”

Zamil didn’t smile. He was serious.“I don’t care if she’s just a regular girl. Watch her, Yousef. Keep tabs on her. I want to know where she goes, who she talks to. Everything.”

Yousef raised his hands in mock surrender, giving a half-smile.“Alright, alright. I’ll do it. But you’re the one making this too complicated.”

Zamil leaned back, his mind already racing.“I need to know everything. If she’s a threat, I’ll deal with it.”

Yousef nodded, knowing better than to argue with Zamil when he was like this.“Understood. I’ll make sure nothing slips by.”

With that, Yousef gave him a brief salute and turned to leave the room. As he reached the door, he turned back one last time. “

And hey, boss?”

Zamil glanced up, his face still unreadable.“Next time, let someone else get stabbed, yeah? You’re making me lose sleep over your stubbornness.”

Zamil didn’t respond immediately. But his eyes softened just a bit.“Shut up, Bitch!”

Yousef smirked and left the room, shaking his head.

Zamil sat in silence, his mind still tangled in the last night incident.

Chapter 3

“كلما ابتعدتِ، سمعتُ خُطاكِ،

حتى لو لم تخطِ خطوةً واحدة.”

“كلما صمتِّ، سمعتُ همساتكِ،

حتى لو لم تنطقي بحرفٍ واحد.”

“Every time you walk away, I hear your footsteps,

Even if you haven’t taken a single step.

Every time you fall silent, I hear your whispers,

Even if you haven’t spoken a single word.”

___________________

The morning sun cast a golden hue over the city as Ayat hummed to herself, arranging cups on the café’s shelves. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mixing with the warm chatter of customers.

Mrs. Jenkins peeked from behind the counter, watching Ayat with amusement.

“You’re in an awfully good mood today, dear.”

Ayat grinned, pushing a loose strand of hair under her hijab.

“Why wouldn’t I be? It’s a beautiful day, and I got to start it with my favorite drink!”

She lifted her steaming cup of coffee dramatically, as if it were a priceless treasure.

Mrs. Jenkins chuckled.

“You and your coffee obsession.”

Ayat gasped playfully.

“Obsession? It’s true love, Mrs. Jenkins. If coffee could talk, I’d marry it!”

A regular customer, Mr. Nolan, who was sitting near the counter, laughed.

“If that’s the case, Ayat, I should start worrying about your social life.”

Ayat placed a hand over her chest in fake offense.

“Excuse me, my social life is thriving! Just yesterday, I had a long conversation with my fridge about why it keeps running out of snacks.”

Mrs. Jenkins shook her head, amused.

“Oh, child, you’re impossible.”

Ayat giggled, wiping down the counter as the doorbell chimed. More customers poured in, and she welcomed them with her usual bright smile.

__________________

The dimly lit room carried the weight of despair, the air thick with tension. The old man sat on the floor, his frail hands clutching the hem of the younger man’s coat, his voice trembling.

“Please… I just need more time! I swear, I will return every penny.”

The man standing above him remained silent, his dark eyes cold and unfeeling. He tilted his head slightly, watching the pathetic display before him.

Finally, he spoke, his voice eerily calm.

“I don’t deal with promises, old man. You knew the price when you borrowed the money.”

Tears welled in the old man’s eyes as he bowed his head.

“Please… I beg you, don’t take her. She’s all I have.”

The younger man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a worn photograph, placing it on the table. His fingers drummed lightly against the surface as he looked at the old man expectantly.

“She’s your daughter, isn’t she?”

The old man hesitated before nodding weakly, his hands clenching into fists.

The man picked up the picture, studying it with an unreadable expression.

As he turned to leave, the old man’s panicked voice called out, desperation dripping from every word.

“W-wait! I… I can give you a more beautiful girl than my daughter!”

The man stopped in his tracks. A smirk played on his lips as he slowly turned his head, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.

“Oh?”

His voice was low, intrigued.

With shaking hands, the old man fumbled with his phone, quickly pulling up a picture. He held it out with both hands, his fingers twitching.

The man stepped closer, his sharp gaze scanning the image. His smirk widened ever so slightly, his thumb tracing the edge of the screen.

“Interesting.”

His voice was smooth and satisfied. He slid the phone back toward the old man and straightened his coat.

“You just saved yourself and your daughter. She’s mine now.”

Without another word, he turned and strode out of the house, his boots clicking against the wooden floor.

The old man collapsed onto his chair, his body shaking with both relief and fear.

He had just sold another girl to save his own blood.

_________________

Sitting in his sleek black car, Yousef exhaled sharply, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel as he watched the small café from across the street. His sharp, calculating eyes followed Ayat’s every move.

“For the love of God, Zak…”

he muttered under his breath,

“this girl is as threatening as a kitten.”

Zamil had insisted he keep an eye on her, convinced she could be a spy or somehow involved in his attack. But after days of surveillance, the most dangerous thing Ayat had done was aggressively wave a spatula at a coworker for spilling coffee.

Right on cue, she emerged from the café, cheerfully waving goodbye to her colleagues. A small bounce was in her step as she hummed something probably a song stuck in her head.

Yousef tilted his head.

“Yeah, definitely a criminal mastermind,”

he muttered sarcastically.

He started the engine, keeping a safe distance as she made her way home. Like every other night, there was nothing unusual. No secret rendezvous, no suspicious glances over her shoulder just a girl lost in her own world, occasionally stopping to admire a store display or fix her hijab.

Yousef sighed.

“I swear, if she’s an undercover agent, the world is doomed.”

She reached her apartment building, fished for her keys, and disappeared inside. With that, Yousef turned the car around and started driving back.

And then it came.

The inevitable wave of irritation that made his jaw clench.

“That damn idiot.”

His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“Zamil owes me for this. Babysitting a girl? What’s next? Am I supposed to braid her hair and talk about feelings?”

His expression remained dark and cold, but his mind was a storm of complaints.

“Keep an eye on her, Yousef.What if she’s a spy, Yousef? She saved my life, Yousef.”

He mimicked Zamil’s voice mockingly.

“Yeah, well, she also saved me from dying of boredom because watching her was the most entertainment I’ve had in days.”

He ran a hand down his face.

“I should be planning our retaliation against Vector, not playing detective over a café girl.”

His phone buzzed, and he picked it up without looking.

“What?”

he snapped.

Zamil’s voice came through.

“Any updates on her?”

Yousef rolled his eyes.

“Oh, yeah. Big news. She ordered a caramel latte today instead of regular coffee. I think she’s switching things up. Truly suspicious.”

There was a pause. Then, Zamil sighed.

“Yousef….”

“No, you listen to me,”

Yousef cut him off.

“I have wasted hours of my life following a girl who does nothing but work, drink coffee, and mind her own business. You owe me. In fact, you owe me so much that I expect a new car, a five-star vacation, and maybe even a personal chef to make up for this.”

Zamil chuckled.

“So, she’s clean?”

Yousef huffed.

“As clean as your overpriced suits, boss. Now, can I stop wasting my time?”

Zamil’s voice remained thoughtful.

“Not yet.”

Yousef groaned.

“I hate you.”

“I know,”

Zamil replied smoothly.

Yousef hung up, glaring at the road ahead.

“One day, I’m going to quit and live in peace. But no, he’s my favorite headache.”

A small smile crept on his lips,and with that,he drove back to the mansion,ready to curse Zamil out in person.

Yousef stormed into the mansion, his expression as dark as a thundercloud. His coat billowed behind him as he marched up the grand staircase, his boots echoing through the halls. The moment he reached Zamil’s room, he shoved the door open without knocking.

Zamil, reclining against the massive headboard, barely lifted his gaze from the glass of whiskey in his hand. His injuries still slowed him down, but the smug look on his face was very much intact.

Yousef folded his arms, glaring.

“Do you have any idea how much of my precious time you’re wasting?”

Zamil smirked, swirling the liquid in his glass.

“Oh? And here I thought you enjoyed playing detective.”

Yousef scoffed.

“Detective? No, no. That was babysitting. I followed that girl for days, Zamil. Do you know what she did today?”

Zamil raised an eyebrow.

“Enlighten me.”

Yousef held up a finger.

“She made coffee. Then big twist she drank the coffee. And just when I thought things couldn’t get any crazier, she walked home and wait for it went inside her apartment. Shocking.”

Zamil chuckled, taking a slow sip of his drink.

“That girl appeared out of nowhere and saved me. Either she’s incredibly lucky, or…”

Yousef groaned.

“Or you’re paranoid.”

Zamil tilted his head.

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m still alive because I don’t ignore possibilities.”

Yousef rolled his eyes and dropped into a chair across from him.

“Fine. I get it. You don’t want to take risks. But what exactly do you expect to find? She’s normal. If she’s working for someone, she deserves an Oscar for playing innocent.”

Zamil didn’t answer right away. He simply stared into his drink, deep in thought.

Yousef sighed, rubbing his temples.

“You know, for a mafia boss, you sure have a lot of time to obsess over random women.”

Zamil shot him a dry look.

“Says the man who’s been watching her for days.”

Yousef pointed at him.

“Under your orders. You think I enjoy stalking innocent girls in my free time? Unlike you, I have a life.”

Zamil smirked.

“A life dedicated to serving me.”

Yousef let out a dramatic sigh.

“God, I hate you.”

Zamil’s smirk widened.

“You’ve mentioned that before.”Yousef left the room with tund.

---

Guys that’s really irritating i didn’t put any spaces between the dialogues and paragraph. But whenever i save the chapter it comes out form nowhere and that’s really time consuming and irritates me so much. Tell me do these spaces between the paragraphs and dialogues delivered to you same way as i see ?? Plz let me know.

Chapter 4

“لا تلعبي دور البريئة،

العيون لا تكذب، والقلوب لا تخطئ.”

“أعرفُ متى يكذبُ صوتُكِ،

وأعرفُ متى يخونكِ قلبُكِ.”

“Don’t play the innocent one,

Eyes do not lie, and hearts do not falter.

I know when your voice deceives you,

And I know when your heart betrays you.”

_________________________

The glass walls of Al Mansur Enterprises towered over New York City, reflecting the golden hues of the setting sun. Inside the topmost floor, the air was thick with power. Executives in tailored suits moved like chess pieces, each one careful with their words, knowing that one wrong move could cost them their job or worse, their dignity.

At the center of it all, Zamil Al Mansur sat at his massive black marble desk, flipping through the latest reports with sharp, calculating eyes. The man radiated authority his presence alone was enough to make seasoned businessmen break into a sweat.

Dressed in a sleek black suit, the first two buttons of his shirt undone, Zamil leaned back in his chair, resting his chin on his hand as his assistant, Smith, stood in front of him, listing off the day’s agenda.

“Mr. Al Mansur, your meeting with the investors is scheduled at seven. The Dubai shipment is arriving tomorrow, and the mayor has invited you to his charity gala this weekend. Also…”

Smith hesitated.

“The Russian deal needs your approval by tonight.”

Zamil exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple.

“Push the meeting to tomorrow. I’m not in the mood to sit with old men pretending they’re not afraid of me”

Smith nodded.

“Understood.”

Just as Smith was about to continue, the doors to Zamil’s office burst open.

“Guess who’s back from watching your precious mystery girl?”

Smith left the room in a hurry, to give them privacy.

Yousef strolled in, hands in his pockets, looking completely at ease like he wasn’t talking to one of the most feared men in the city.

Zamil didn’t even glance up.

“If you’re here to tell me she made another cup of coffee, get out.”

Yousef smirked.

“Not just coffee she had a sandwich too. Big development.”

Zamil shot him a look.

“You’re very replaceable, Yousef.”

Yousef grinned, dropping into a chair.

“You say that, but we both know you’d be lost without me

.”

Zamil ignored him, turning back to his reports.

“Anything unusual?”

Yousef sighed dramatically.

“No, Zak. The girl is normal. She goes to work, smiles too much, and doesn’t seem to have a single criminal bone in her body. She’s either a really good actress or…”

Zamil leaned back, steepling his fingers.

“Or?”

Yousef shrugged.

“Or you’re paranoid and need therapy.”

Zamil smirked.

“Probably.”

Just then, the landline on Zamil’s desk rang. He picked it up, his expression unreadable as he listened. After a few seconds, he hung up and stood.

Yousef raised a brow.

“Who was that?”

Zamil adjusted his watch.

“Business.”

Yousef rolled his eyes.

“Is it the ‘legal’ kind or the ‘someone’s-going-to-end-up-dead’ kind?”

Zamil grabbed his coat.

“Both.”

_________________

The VIP lounge of The Pit buzzed with tension. The air was thick with smoke, expensive liquor, and the unmistakable weight of power. The men at the table, seasoned criminals and business sharks, sat with rigid backs, their eyes flickering between each other and the man at the head of the table Zamil Al Mansur.

He leaned back in his seat, his sharp jawline illuminated by the dim, flickering neon lights above. One hand rested on the arm of his chair, while the other lazily swirled the glass of whiskey in front of him. He wasn’t drinking. He never did during business. But he let the golden liquid sit there untouched, intimidating, a silent reminder of his self-control.

Beside him, Yousef sat with an easy grin, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp as ever assessed the room. Unlike Zamil, who carried an air of cold authority.

Yousef was the kind of man who could disarm an enemy with a joke before putting a bullet between their eyes.

The men at the table shifted uncomfortably under Zamil’s gaze. Finally, one of them, Mikhail Petrov, a Russian arms dealer, cleared his throat.

“Mr. Al Mansur, we have heard… unfortunate news about the attack.”

Zamil exhaled slowly, placing his glass down.

“If you’re referring to the ambush, I already know who was behind it.”

Mikhail nodded.

“Vector.”

At the mention of the name, Yousef scoffed, shaking his head.

“That idiot really thought he could take out Zamil with a bunch of street rats? Someone should tell him fairy tales don’t come true.”

The men at the table chuckled nervously, but Zamil didn’t smile. He was too busy watching their reactions, searching for cracks.

“You’re all very interested in my survival,”

Zamil mused, his voice calm but laced with warning.

“Tell me, Petrov, are you concerned… or disappointed?”

Mikhail stiffened.

“Concerned, of course. You are our most powerful ally. If someone can attack you, it means the rest of us are vulnerable too.”

Zamil smirked.

“Good answer.”

Yousef leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“But the real question is, Petrov… why do you sound like you already knew about the attack before it happened?”

Silence.

A muscle in Mikhail’s jaw twitched. He opened his mouth to speak, but Zamil was already a step ahead.

“I don’t like surprises, Mikhail.”

His voice was smooth, but his eyes held fire.

“If you knew something and didn’t tell me… that’s betrayal.”

Mikhail swallowed, sweat forming at his temple.

“I didn’t know for sure! I heard whispers, nothing concrete. If I had been certain, I would have warned you.”

Zamil leaned back, watching him. The room felt colder.

Yousef, however, lightened the moment with a smirk.

“Look at you, Mikhail. Sweating like you owe Zamil money.”

Mikhail forced a laugh.

“I respect Mr. Al Mansur too much to deceive him.”

Zamil let the words hang in the air for a moment before finally nodding.

“Good. Because I don’t tolerate traitors.”

The conversation shifted to business weapon shipments, border security, new alliances. Deals were made. Promises exchanged. But Zamil was only half listening. His mind was already somewhere else.

As the meeting wrapped up, Yousef stretched his arms and sighed dramatically.

“Well, that was fun. A little tense, but fun.”

Zamil didn’t respond, his gaze lost in thought.

Yousef tilted his head.

“What now? Planning Vector’s funeral already?”

Zamil finally looked at him, his expression unreadable.

“Not yet.”

___________________

The dimly lit office of Detective Adrian

“Ray”

Carter smelled of old coffee and cigarette smoke. Papers were scattered across his desk, filled with notes, crime reports, and surveillance photos. On the wall, an evidence board stood tall, its web of red strings connecting names, locations, and crimes all leading to one man.

Zamil Al Mansur.

For three years, Ray had been after him. Three years of watching, waiting, digging for the smallest crack in his empire. Zamil was a ghost, a king of the underworld, operating in the shadows of Karachi. It’s  been a year since he’s back in New York. No proof. No mistakes. No way to pin him down.

Until now.

A fresh lead had landed on Ray’s desk that morning an ambush. Someone had dared to attack Zamil. He survived, but this was the first time in years that the untouchable mafia boss had been vulnerable.

The door to his office swung open, and Detective Michael Cruz, his partner, stepped inside, tossing a file onto the desk.

“We might have something.”

Ray leaned forward, his sharp blue eyes scanning Cruz’s face.

“Talk to me.”

“Intel confirms the attack happened near the docks. But here’s the real kicker an eyewitness.”

Ray’s fingers stopped flipping through the pages.

“Who?”

Cruz sighed.

“Some girl. Works at a local café. Name’s… Ayat Khalil.”

Ray’s brow furrowed. A civilian? Wrong place, wrong time, or something more?

He pushed himself back in his chair, exhaling slowly. Zamil never left trails. But now… now, there was one.

His gaze flickered to Zamil’s photo on the evidence board. Calm. Unreadable. Dangerous.

Ray smirked, his jaw tightening with determination.

“We finally have a crack in the wall, Cruz. And I’m going to tear it down.”

____________________

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee still lingered in the air as Ayat stepped out of the café, a satisfied smile gracing her lips. The evening had gone well a productive meeting with a potential client left her feeling accomplished. The city’s crisp night air brushed against her skin as she adjusted her scarf, enjoying the quiet hum of life around her.

The streetlights cast long, wavering shadows on the pavement, stretching the familiar path home into something unfamiliar. She glanced at her watch almost seven. A little later than usual, but nothing alarming. Quickening her pace, she reassured herself she’d be home soon.

The streets were thinning as people disappeared into their homes, leaving only the distant murmur of passing cars. She barely noticed the sleek black sedan parked along the curb until it pulled out and began rolling slowly beside her. A sliver of unease curled in her stomach.

Then, without warning, the car jerked to a halt a few feet ahead, blocking her path.

Before she could react, the back door swung open, and two men emerged. Shadows cloaked their faces, making it impossible to read their expressions.

One of them seized her wrist in a bruising grip.

“Come with us,”

he ordered, his voice a low, menacing growl.

Panic surged through Ayat. She yanked her arm back, but his hold tightened like a vise.

“What do you want?”

she stammered, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.

The second man remained silent but stepped forward. Without hesitation, he clamped a gloved hand over her mouth, smothering her cry before it could escape.

Terror exploded within her. She struggled, kicking wildly, but the world around her spun as they dragged her towards the open car. The city’s distant noise faded into a muffled hum, and just as her vision blurred with tears, the streetlights disappeared behind her.

Ayat awoke to darkness. Her head throbbed, and a rough sack covered her face, the coarse fabric scratching against her skin. Every inch of her body ached, her wrists sore from the tight grip that had dragged her away. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and something sickeningly sweet, curling in her stomach like poison.

A door creaked open.

“Ah, finally awake,”

a gruff voice remarked, amusement laced in his tone.

A moment later, the sack was yanked off, and Ayat blinked against the dim, flickering light. The room was small and suffocating, its concrete walls damp and bare. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, casting eerie shadows.

A man loomed before her, his face carved with harsh lines, a thick mustache shadowing his upper lip. His cold, assessing gaze sent a chill down her spine.

“You’ve been out since yesterday,”

he continued, his smirk widening.

“Your uncle sold you off to settle his debts. Didn’t even hesitate.”

Ayat’s breath hitched. Her uncle.

No. It couldn’t be.

The weight of his words crashed down on her like a physical blow. Her uncle the man who was supposed to protect her, who should have cared for her had bartered her away like an object.

Her stomach twisted. A sharp, cold rage simmered beneath her horror, but fear kept it at bay.

Before she could process the betrayal, the door creaked again. This time, a woman stepped inside.

Unlike the trembling girl Ayat had imagined, this woman was composed, her expression impassive. She was older, perhaps in her late thirties, with sharp, calculating eyes. Draped in a fitted black dress, she exuded an air of practiced control.

She held a bundle of fabric in her hands.

“Wear this,”

she instructed, her voice devoid of emotion.

Ayat didn’t move.

The woman sighed, stepping closer.

“You don’t have a choice.”

She dropped the dress onto the bed  before her and turned, striding toward the door.

“I’ll be waiting outside. You have five minutes.”

The door slammed shut.

Ayat sat frozen, staring at the dress. The fabric gleamed under the dim light long, yes, but deceptively thin and fitted. A dress meant to highlight, not hide.

Her hands clenched into fists.

I have to get out of here.

Heart pounding, she forced herself to her feet. Ignoring the dress, she moved swiftly to the door, pressing her ear against the wood. The woman was outside. The man was likely nearby.

She scanned the room bare walls, no windows, no vents large enough to squeeze through. A single chair, a rusted table, bed,and a locked door.

Nothing.

Her throat tightened.

The walls seemed to close in, suffocating her with the crushing realization there was no escape.

Anger, humiliation, and helplessness warred inside her. But she knew refusing wouldn’t help. Not here. Not with them.

Her hands trembled as she removed her own clothing and slipped into the dress. The fabric clung to her like a trap, exposing the delicate lines of her frame. A cage disguised as silk.

A knock.

Before she could respond, the door swung open.

The woman re entered, her gaze sweeping over Ayat with a practiced eye. A hint of approval flickered across her face.

Then came the man.

He stepped in and stopped, his eyes slowly raking over her. His lips curled into a smirk.

“Now, that’s more like it,”

he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

“See? You clean up real nice.”

Ayat stiffened, her fists clenching at her sides. A wave of revulsion churned in her gut.

The woman ignored her reaction.

“She’s ready.”

The man chuckled.

“Good.”

Ayat took an instinctive step back, but before she could react further, the woman lunged forward with swift precision, pressing a cloth against her nose and mouth.

A sickly sweet scent filled her lungs.

Her vision swam, her body growing weak.

She barely registered the man’s voice, dark amusement lacing his words.

“Sweet dreams, princess.”

Darkness swallowed her whole.

---

Hey guys hope you’re doing well and enjoying the story this far. Thank you for your support and love.don’t forget to comment on your favorite part or character.

Have a great day!!💙🌸

Chapter 5

“جئتُكِ لا فارساً، بل عاصفةً

أحرقُ الأرضَ تحتَ قدميكِ وأبتسمُ.

“إن هربتِ، طاردتكِ ظلالي،

وإن اختبأتِ، سأكونُ الجحيمَ الذي يحتضنكِ.”

“I came to you not as a knight, but as a storm,

Burning the ground beneath your feet as I smile.

If you run, my shadows will chase you,

And if you hide, I will be the hell that embraces you.”

________________________

The atmosphere in the mansion was heavy, tense. The large windows cast long shadows across the room as night deepened. Zamil sat in his leather chair, his fingers pressed together in a steeple, his expression unreadable.

Yousef stood in front of him, shifting uncomfortably. He had been the one keeping an eye on Ayat. But unfortunately yesterday Yousef left from there for an important work.

“Repeat that,” Zamil’s voice was dangerously low.

Yousef sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She’s missing.”

A muscle in Zamil’s jaw ticked. His grip on his glass tightened before he set it down carefully, deliberately.

“How?”

Yousef exhaled. “She was taken near her apartment. There’s no footage. No witnesses. Whoever did this knew how to cover their tracks.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Zamil leaned back in his chair, his gaze dark. “And you’re telling me this now?”

Yousef rolled his eyes. “Forgive me for not having supernatural powers, Zamil. It took time to find out she wasn’t just out for the day.”

Zamil ignored the sarcasm. His fingers drummed against the armrest. “Who?”

Yousef hesitated. “We don’t know yet.”

Zamil’s expression didn’t change, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop.

“Then find out.”

Yousef scoffed. “Oh sure, let me just pull out my magic detective hat.”

Zamil shot him a glare that shut him up instantly. “If I wanted jokes, Yousef, I’d watch a comedy show. I want answers.”

Yousef sighed. “I already have my men looking. But I’ll tell you this…” He folded his arms. “This wasn’t random.”

Zamil’s eyes darkened.

Of course, it wasn’t.

Someone had taken her. And whoever they were, they had made a mistake.

A very, very big mistake.

____________________

A deep murmur filled the grand hall, a place draped in wealth and corruption. Velvet curtains, golden chandeliers, and men in crisp suits seated in lavish rows.

At the far end of the room, a stage stood under soft, golden lighting.

This was where lives were bought and sold.

The air was thick with cigar smoke, alcohol, and the sickening stench of power. These men weren’t ordinary buyers. They were the kind that owned cities, ruled empires, and crushed anyone who dared to defy them.

A man in a dark suit walked onto the stage, his voice smooth and commanding.

“Gentlemen, welcome. Tonight, we have something special.”

The room quieted as the curtains parted.

Two guards stepped forward, dragging a figure onto the stage.

Ayat.

She was barely conscious, her knees hitting the stage floor as the bright lights blinded her. Her head spun, the drug still heavy in her system.

The announcer smiled.

“Fresh,Untouched, A rare beauty.”

A spotlight fell on her, and Ayat blinked rapidly, realizing where she was.

No. No, no, no.

She tried to move, but her body was too weak.

The murmurs in the crowd grew louder. Eyes scanned her like she was nothing more than merchandise.

“Let’s start the bidding at $500,000.”

A hand shot up.

“$600,000.”

Another.

“$800,000.”

Ayat’s breath hitched.

She was being sold.

A man in the front row leaned forward, studying her like a predator.

“One million.”

Ayat squeezed her eyes shut, praying,begging for a miracle.

A tense silence hung in the air as the final bid echoed across the auction hall.

“Five million.”

The murmurs stopped. The air shifted.

All eyes turned toward the source of the voice.

In the dimly lit section of the hall, a man sat comfortably in his chair, his presence radiating authority. A British accent had laced his words, cool and unwavering.

Ayat blinked, her breath shallow.

Who was he?

The auctioneer hesitated for a moment before regaining his composure. “Five million going once….”

No one dared to challenge him.

“Going twice…..”

Silence.

“Sold.”

A sharp sound of the gavel striking wood sealed her fate.

Ayat felt her stomach drop.

The guards pulled her up roughly, and her knees buckled as they dragged her off the stage. Her mind screamed for her to fight, but her body refused to cooperate.

She was led down a dimly lit corridor, her vision still slightly hazy from the drugs.

When they finally stopped, a tall man stood at the end of the hallway. He was waiting.

The British mafia leader.

His features were sharp, his presence commanding. He was dressed in a tailored black suit, a subtle hint of danger in the way he stood calm, in control, like a man who owned everything in sight.

His icy blue eyes swept over her, assessing.

Ayat felt like a trapped bird.

Then, he smirked. “Well, aren’t you a lovely little thing?”

Her fists clenched, but she stayed silent.

He turned to one of his men. “Take her to the car. We have a long flight ahead of us.”

Flight?

Ayat’s heart slammed against her ribs. Where was he taking her?

As they led her away, she twisted against their grip. “Let me go!”

The British man chuckled. “Oh, darling, we’re just getting started.”

__________________

The city was alive with danger, but inside Zamil Al Mansur’s mansion, it was business as usual. The grand hallways echoed with the low murmurs of men discussing deals worth millions, and outside, black SUVs came and went, carrying orders that kept his empire running.

But Zamil wasn’t in the mood for patience today.

Seated in his office, he leaned back in his chair, flipping through reports while Yousef stood nearby, his arms crossed. The kidnapper’s identity was still a mystery. It had been over a day, and they had nothing.

No leads. No ransom demands. No whispers from the underground.

It was as if Ayat had vanished into thin air.

Yet, despite that, Zamil wasn’t the kind of man to stop everything for one problem. His world moved forward always

“Tell me,” he said, glancing up at the man sitting across from him. “Why should I listen to this nonsense?”

The man a supplier who had been caught trying to cut corners swallowed hard. “Mr. Al Mansur, I….I didn’t mean any disrespect, but the costs of moving the product have increased. We need to renegotiate.”

Zamil let out a slow exhale, his gaze unreadable. He tapped his fingers against the desk, his patience thinning by the second.

“You need to renegotiate?” His tone was calm, almost amused. Dangerously amused.

The supplier nodded quickly.

Zamil’s stare darkened. “Then negotiate with the bottom of the ocean.”

The room went silent. The man’s face drained of color as he realized exactly what Zamil meant.

Yousef, standing beside Zamil, didn’t even flinch. He had seen this too many times.

“Take him,” Zamil ordered, waving a hand dismissively.

Two of his men stepped forward, dragging the supplier out of the room as he stammered protests. The doors shut behind them with a final thund.

Zamil exhaled sharply, rolling his neck before glancing at Yousef.

“Anything?” he asked, his voice returning to its usual coldness.

Yousef shook his head. “No movements. No names. Whoever took her is careful.”

Zamil’s jaw tensed. Careful wasn’t enough to stay hidden forever.

“We keep looking,” Zamil said, turning back to his work. “But I’m not sitting here waiting like a desperate man. I have businesses to run, territories to secure, and enemies to crush.”

Yousef nodded. He knew Zamil wouldn’t stop his empire for anyone.

But even as Zamil continued reading another report, his mind kept circling back to one thing.

Ayat.

And the person who dared to take her.

He doesn’t know if he’s searching for her identity or protecting her from others…..

__________________________

In another part of the city, Detective Ray stood in Ayat’s empty apartment, his fists clenched at his sides.

Gone.

She was gone.

And something about this didn’t sit right with him.

He had been keeping an eye on Ayat not for her safety, but because he suspected she had some kind of connection to Zamil Al Mansur, the man he had been chasing for five damn years.

Yet now, she had disappeared without a trace.

The officer beside him shifted uneasily. “Sir, we checked all surveillance cameras near her usual routes. No sign of her after she left the café last night.”

Ray’s jaw ticked. No cameras? No witnesses?

“That’s impossible,” he muttered under his breath.

A girl like Ayat who kept to herself, who followed a routine didn’t just disappear.

Unless someone made her disappear.

He turned to his team. “Double-check every camera, every street, every abandoned building. Someone saw something. I want answers.”

But deep down, he already knew whatever had happened to Ayat, it was bad.

_______________________

The plane’s tires screeched against the runway as it landed smoothly, but Ayat’s heart was anything but steady.

She had spent the entire flight staring out of the window, gripping her fingers together so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.

She didn’t know where they were.

She didn’t know what awaited her.

And worst of all she didn’t know how to escape.

The man sitting beside her had been calm throughout the flight, his blue eyes sharp, calculating, amused.

The British mafia leader.

She had avoided looking at him, refusing to acknowledge his presence even when he smirked at her occasional attempts to move away.

Now, as the plane came to a halt, he stretched lazily, like a predator waking from a nap.

“Finally,” he murmured, standing up. “Time for your surprise, darling.”

Ayat flinched at his words, her stomach twisting with unease.

She hated his voice. The arrogance in it. The way he acted like he owned her.

She clenched her fists. “I don’t want any surprises. Let me go.”

He chuckled, adjusting the cuffs of his expensive suit. “Let you go? Now, where’s the fun in that?”

Her nails dug into her palm as she stood up. “You can’t keep me here forever.”

His smirk deepened. “Oh, darling, I think you underestimate me.”

The door of the private jet opened, and the fresh air of a foreign land rushed in, but Ayat found no relief.

She had never been more trapped in her life.

Two men in suits stood at the exit, waiting for them.

The British man placed a firm hand on the small of her back, guiding her forward. She stiffened at the contact but had no choice but to move.

As they stepped outside, her breath hitched.

The night sky above them was endless, but the world before her was a prison.

A massive estate stretched out before them tall gates, security cameras, armed guards watching her every move.

No way out.

The British man leaned down slightly, his breath too close to her ear.

“Welcome home, darling.”

Ayat’s blood ran cold.

---

Dear readers.

Chapter 6

“أتعجّبين كيف أعرفُ أين كنتِ؟

أليس العاشقُ أولى بأن يحفظَ أنفاسَ معشوقته؟”

“لا تخافي، أنا لا أراقبكِ…

فقط أعرفُ كيف يهمسُ لكِ الهواءُ حين تمرّين.”

“Do you wonder how I know where you’ve been?

Isn’t a lover the first to memorize the breaths of his beloved?

Don’t be afraid, I’m not watching you…

I just know how the air whispers to you when you pass by.”

_____________________

Zamil leaned back in his leather chair, the dim glow of his office lamp casting shadows over his sharp features. His expression remained unreadable as he listened to Yousef, who stood across from him, arms crossed.

“We found something,” Yousef announced, sliding a file onto Zamil’s desk. “The man who sold the girls at the auction. He’s the same one who took her.”

Zamil’s eyes flickered to the file, but he didn’t rush to open it. Instead, he exhaled slowly, tapping a ringed finger against the desk.

“And?” His tone was neutral, detached.

Yousef frowned. “And he’s still in the city. If we move fast, we can…..”

“Handle it,” Zamil cut him off smoothly, finally picking up the file and flipping through it. “I have other matters to attend to.”

Yousef stared at him in disbelief. “You’re not even curious about where she is?”

Zamil’s lips curled into something resembling a smirk. “Curiosity is a weakness.”

Yousef scoffed, shaking his head. “You really are something else, Zak.”

Zamil ignored him, his gaze skimming over the details of the man they had traced. A small time trafficker, a pawn in a much bigger game. “This man was stupid to take something that wasn’t his to sell.”

He closed the file and set it aside, finally meeting Yousef’s eyes. “Find him. Make him talk. If he has outlived his usefulness… you know what to do.”

Yousef let out a dry chuckle. “Remind me never to be on your bad side.”

Zamil smirked but said nothing, already reaching for another set of documents. His world didn’t stop for a single girl.

As Yousef walked out, he muttered under his breath, “Cold-hearted bastard.”

Zamil heard him but didn’t react.

He had built his empire on control, and no one not Ayat, not Yousef, not even his enemies would change that.

_____________________

The golden rays of the afternoon sun streamed through the enormous glass windows of the mansion, but to Ayat, it felt like a gilded prison. For days, she had been trying to escape, hoping to slip past the guards, to find an unlocked door, to disappear into the unknown. But each time, she was dragged back sometimes by the guards, other times by Sebastian himself.

She sat on the edge of the plush bed, her fingers curling into the fabric of her dress, frustration burning in her chest. How did her life come to this? She had been going about her simple routine, working at the café, dreaming of a quiet future, and now… she was a captive in a world she didn’t belong to.

A knock on the door made her snap her head up, but before she could answer, the door swung open.

Sebastian Cole stood there, dressed in a crisp suit, his sharp blue eyes scanning her with an air of amusement. “You look exhausted, love. Running around like a little mouse, hoping to escape?”

Ayat’s jaw clenched. She refused to entertain his games. “Let me go.”

Sebastian stepped closer, his presence suffocating. “You’re not going anywhere.”

She could no longer contain her anger. “You’re a monster.”

The next second, she regretted her words.

A harsh slap landed across her face, sending her stumbling back onto the bed. Her cheek burned, shock paralyzing her for a moment.

Sebastian leaned down, his voice venomous. “You’ll learn to watch that mouth of yours, darling. Until then, keep dreaming about your little escape plans.”

With that, he turned and walked out, leaving her breathless, humiliated, and more desperate than ever.

She touched her cheek, tears welling in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. If she had any hope left, it was this she would escape, no matter what it took.

____________________

The dimly lit warehouse smelled of rust, sweat, and fear. The man before Yousef was bound to a chair, his face bruised, his breathing uneven. He had been stubborn at first, but Yousef had ways of making people talk.

“I told you,” the man gasped, spitting blood onto the floor. “I don’t know anything.”

Yousef crouched beside him, rolling up his sleeves with unhurried precision. His expression was calm too calm.

“You know,” he said, his voice almost conversational. “I’ve met men who begged me to believe them.” He tilted his head slightly. “And I’ve met men who wasted my time.”

The man stiffened as Yousef pulled out his gun, pressing the cold barrel against his knee.

“Which one are you?” Yousef asked, his tone light, but his finger rested dangerously close to the trigger.

A few seconds of silence passed. Then the man broke.

“I sold her!” he blurted out, panic flashing in his eyes. “I sold the girl, alright?”

Yousef didn’t blink. “To who?”

The man hesitated. Wrong move.

Yousef cocked the gun.

“Sebastian Cole.” the man rasped. “A British guy. Mafia. He paid in cash and left that night.”

Yousef’s jaw clenched slightly.

“And where is Sebastian Cole now?”

The man swallowed hard. “He left the city. Maybe even the country.”

Yousef let the silence stretch, his cold gaze locked on the man. Then, without a word, he stood up and pulled out his phone.

He had a name.

Now, it was time to tell Zamil.

He walked out from the room and behind him the whole floor was now turned red.

Guess what!! He absolutely wiped the man out of this world!

____________

Zamil sat in his study, his fingers idly spinning a silver ring on his finger as he waited. The invitation letter still lay on his desk, untouched, its golden seal reflecting the dim light. He had been preoccupied with real business. The matter of a missing girl was not something that should have distracted him.

Yet here he was, waiting.

A sharp knock on the door.

“Enter.”

Yousef stepped in, his face unreadable as he shut the door behind him. He didn’t waste time. “I found out who bought her.”

Zamil’s gaze lifted slowly, calculating. “Who?”

Yousef crossed his arms, as if preparing for Zamil’s reaction. “Sebastian Cole.”

Silence.

For a moment, the name didn’t register. Zamil’s fingers stilled on the desk, his mind sorting through information. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he picked up the envelope he had been ignoring all night and broke the seal. His sharp eyes scanned the elegant invitation.

Sebastian Cole. Wedding Invitation.

Zamil let out a dark chuckle, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. “Well, that’s… interesting.”

Yousef frowned. “You know him?”

Zamil tossed the card onto the desk and exhaled. “An old business partner. A man who knows the game well. And now, it seems, the owner of something that shouldn’t be his.”

Yousef watched him carefully. “What do you want to do?”

Zamil ran a hand down his jaw, his expression unreadable. “For now? Nothing.”

Yousef raised an eyebrow. “Nothing?”

Zamil’s smirk was slow and calculated. “Sebastian invited me to his wedding. It would be rude not to attend.”

______________

The soft clink of cufflinks echoed in the grand bedroom as Zamil adjusted the sleeves of his black suit. His movements were smooth, calculated just like his mind at the moment. His reflection stared back at him through the mirror, dark eyes sharp and unreadable.

Behind him, Yousef leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “So we’re really doing this?” he asked, watching Zamil fix his tie with practiced ease.

Zamil’s lips curled slightly. “You think I’d ignore an invitation from an old business partner?”

Yousef scoffed. “Yeah, well, I’m still not over the fact that he bought the girl. What are the damn chances?”

Zamil didn’t pause, didn’t let his expression change, but the grip on his watch strap tightened just a fraction. “I don’t believe in chances.” He finally turned, slipping his watch on with precision. “Everything in our world is calculated.”

Yousef pushed himself off the doorway. “Calculated, huh? Then tell me, what’s the calculation behind crashing your partner’s wedding?”

Zamil smirked, buttoning his suit jacket. “I didn’t say I was crashing it.”

Yousef arched a brow. “Oh? Then what would you call it?”

“A courtesy visit.”

Yousef chuckled dryly. “Right. You, showing up all dressed like death itself, with me and your most trusted men armed to the teeth definitely just a social call.”

Zamil walked past him, grabbing the invitation card from the table, flipping it between his fingers. “You worry too much.”

Yousef shook his head, following him down the hallway. “And you don’t worry at all.”

They descended the grand staircase, where four of Zamil’s most trusted men were already waiting. Each one was dressed sharply, but the weight of hidden weapons was unmistakable beneath their tailored suits.

“We’re all set,” one of them reported.

Zamil nodded once. “Let’s move.”

As they stepped outside, the fleet of black SUVs stood ready, engines purring. Zamil slid into the backseat, Yousef beside him, while the others took their positions.

The vehicle pulled out onto the road, the city lights flickering past.

Yousef exhaled, rubbing his temples. “So what’s the real plan here? Because I know you, and you never show up anywhere without a reason.”

Zamil tilted his head slightly, his gaze distant. “Sebastian thinks he won something. I just want to see what he’s celebrating.”

His voice was calm, but there was something dark beneath it.

Something dangerous.

And as the convoy sped toward the grand wedding venue, only one thought lingered in Zamil’s mind.

Sebastian Cole had something that didn’t belong to him.

And Zamil never let anyone keep what was his.

Wait she’s his spy so, indirectly she’s his….

_________________

The night was silent, yet Ayat’s heart thundered in her chest. She sat on the cold marble floor of the luxurious room, her fingers digging into the fabric of her dress as her mind raced. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, she would be forced into a marriage she never agreed to.

It had been days days filled with failed attempts to escape, bruises from being caught, and harsh words from Sebastian that made her feel like she was sinking into darkness. But tonight… tonight, she couldn’t afford to sit still.

She pressed her forehead against the cool surface of the bed, whispering under her breath. “Ya Allah, give me a way out. I know You are watching. You wouldn’t abandon me like this. This is just a test, right? Please… I trust You.”

She exhaled shakily, wiping her tears away. If God had put her in this situation, He would also guide her out.

Her eyes darted to the grand window too high. The door? Always guarded. But the vents… her gaze flickered to the decorative air vents near the ceiling. It wasn’t big, but maybe just maybe she could squeeze through.

Gathering the bedsheets, she twisted them together, creating a makeshift rope. Her fingers trembled, but determination fueled her. Carefully, she climbed onto the dresser, reaching for the vent. She unscrewed the bolts with a nail she had hidden from the vanity table earlier. One by one, they came loose.

Almost there. Just a little more……

The door burst open.

Ayat gasped, her body freezing as she turned sharply. Sebastian stood at the doorway, his blue eyes dark with fury.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, in a terrifyingly calm voice, he said, “I should’ve expected this from you.”

Before she could react, he grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her down. She stumbled, crashing against him, but his grip tightened painfully.

“You really don’t learn, do you?” he hissed.

Ayat struggled, glaring up at him. “I will never accept this! I am a Muslim.”

Sebastian’s jaw clenched. “Then pray to your God to save you. But tomorrow, you’re mine.”

She shoved him away with all her strength. “You disgust me!”

His smirk returned, but there was something colder in his eyes this time. “By this time tomorrow, you’ll be my wife. Whether you like it or not.”

Ayat’s heart pounded. No. This couldn’t be happening.

As he left, slamming the door shut behind him, she collapsed onto the floor, breathless.

“Ya Allah, I trust You… please, don’t leave me alone.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she refused to give up. If tonight wasn’t her escape, then tomorrow…… God would make a way.

Chapter 7

“لم أخترْكِ كما يختارُ الرجالُ نساءَهم،

ولم أطلبْ إذنَكِ كما يطلبُ العاشقون.

جئتُكِ كالعاصفةِ، اقتلعتُ اسمَكِ مِن بينِ ماضيكِ،

وزرعتُني في مستقبلكِ بلا رجوع.

أنتِ لي… لا قَسمٌ يُلغيها، ولا هروبٌ يُنجيها.”

“I did not choose you as men choose their women,

Nor did I seek your permission like lovers do.

I came to you like a storm, ripping your name from your past,

And planting myself in your future without return.

You are mine… no oath can undo it, no escape can save you.”

___________________

The hall was grand, but there was no warmth in its beauty. Towering chandeliers bathed the room in an artificial golden glow, casting long shadows against the polished marble floor. The scent of expensive cologne mixed with cigar smoke, lingering in the thick air. Men in tailored suits lined the space, their eyes sharp, their whispers filled with amusement. This wasn’t a wedding; it was a business transaction.

Zamil Al Mansur leaned back in his chair, legs crossed, his fingers absentmindedly tapping against the armrest. He had been focused on his own matters discussing shipments, settling accounts, and maintaining order in his empire. But then, he saw her.

Ayat

His gaze sharpened, dark eyes narrowing as she walked into the room.

A woman he had only ever known to be covered, modest, restrained, hidden from the world was now dressed in a gown that hugged every curve, her long hair cascading down her back like dark silk.

She wasn’t just beautiful. She was devastating.

And that bothered him.

Not because of her beauty, but because of what it meant. This was not her choice. The girl who had once been shielded from even a stranger’s gaze was now on display for men who saw her as nothing more than a prize.

His fingers stilled. His jaw clenched.

Ayat’s steps were hesitant, but her eyes held fire. She walked up to Sebastian, the man who had bought her, and stood before him.

The priest, a man as cold as the criminals in the room, began the ceremony. “We are gathered here today to……”

“I can’t do this.”

Her voice rang through the hall, clear and firm.

The room fell silent.

Zamil straightened. Interesting.

Sebastian’s smirk faltered. “What?”

Ayat lifted her chin, defiance burning in her dark eyes. “I’m a Muslim. I can’t marry a non-Muslim. It’s haram.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some men chuckled, others simply watched with entertained curiosity. A bride refusing the ceremony now that was unexpected.

Zamil didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He just observed.

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, his patience slipping. “This is not up for debate, darling. You will marry me.”

“No.”

His amusement vanished.

Sebastian’s hand slid into his jacket, and in the next second, the cold gleam of a gun pressed against Ayat’s temple.

Gasps echoed. Some men leaned forward, entertained. Others sat back, waiting to see how this would unfold.

Yousef tensed beside Zamil, his fingers twitching toward his own weapon. But Zamil? He remained still.

Ayat didn’t flinch. She didn’t beg. She didn’t break.

“Marry me, or I pull the trigger,” Sebastian said flatly. “Your choice.”

Ayat’s breath was unsteady, but she didn’t waver. “No.”

Zamil almost smiled.

Almost.

Sebastian clicked the safety off, pressing the barrel harder against her skull. “Last chance.”

And then

A voice cut through the tension like a blade.

“She can’t marry you.”

Sebastian froze.

Ayat’s eyes widened.

The room turned toward the source of the voice.

Zamil Al Mansur.

He didn’t raise his voice, yet it carried through the hall with a weight that silenced everything. He uncrossed his legs, standing with an ease that was almost lazy, but the air shifted.

The danger rolled off him in waves, slow and suffocating.

Sebastian’s grip on the gun tightened, but Zamil was already walking toward him, his steps measured, controlled. The kind of control that came from knowing he owned the room.

“She’s not yours to take,” Zamil said, his voice a quiet storm.

Sebastian scoffed but didn’t lower the gun. “And who are you to say that?”

Zamil’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“The only man in this room who decides whether she walks out alive.”

The temperature seemed to drop.

Sebastian laughed, but it was uneasy. “You must be joking.”

Zamil stepped closer, his gaze cold, unyielding. “I don’t joke. I deal.”

Silence.

Sebastian’s amusement faded. He knew exactly what kind of man stood before him. And in the underworld, there was one rule never test a man whose face holds no expression.

“I’ll pay you,” Zamil said simply. “Triple what you bought her for.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Even Sebastian looked momentarily stunned. “Triple?”

Zamil gave a slow nod. “She’s a deal for me now.”

Sebastian considered it, then exhaled sharply. “Fine. But don’t think you own me. I’m letting her go because I’m smart, not because I fear you.”

Zamil didn’t acknowledge the remark. It was beneath him.

Sebastian lowered the gun and turned away, signaling to his men. “Take the money from Yousef.”

Zamil didn’t even look at him anymore. His focus was on her.

Ayat stood frozen, her breath ragged, her body still trembling from having a gun to her head.

Zamil removed his coat and, in one swift motion, draped it over her shoulders.

Ayat stiffened at the unexpected warmth.

She looked up at him dark eyes meeting an even darker abyss.

Recognition flickered across her face.

She knew this man.

Her wide eyes stared at Zamil as memories crashed into her……

The wounded man in the alley.

The blood.

The way she had helped him.

The way he had disappeared into the night.

It was him.

The powerful man standing in front of her the man who had just bargained for her like she was nothing more than a deal was the same man she had saved.

“Call the scholar,” Zamil ordered Yousef without looking away from her. “Now.”

Ayat could barely breathe. The weight of Zamil’s coat felt heavier now, like a silent claim she wasn’t prepared for. Her heart pounded as she tried to make sense of what was happening.

She was supposed to be forced into a haram marriage with Sebastian. Instead, Zamil had stepped in. Bought her. And now, standing in the very same hall, in front of the very same audience, he was about to marry her.

Her hands trembled as she clutched the coat tighter.

Sebastian, still standing nearby, scoffed. “A wedding? Here? Now?” His lips twisted into a smirk. “How romantic.”

Zamil ignored him, his gaze fixed on the man Yousef had called the Muslim scholar who had just arrived, looking hesitant yet composed.

“This is the girl?” the scholar asked cautiously, glancing between Ayat and Zamil. His eyes lingered on Ayat’s distressed form, noting the way she looked ready to collapse.

“She is.” Zamil’s voice was unreadable, his aura sharp and suffocating.

The scholar nodded, though uncertainty flickered in his gaze. “And she consents?”

The question hung in the air like a blade.

Ayat’s breath hitched. Consent? She had no choices left. Whether it was Sebastian or Zamil, she was a deal, a price paid. But Zamil was a Muslim at least she knew she wouldn’t be walking into haram.

Her gaze lifted to Zamil’s, searching for something but his face was stone.

“Speak….” His voice was low, commanding.

Sebastian chuckled darkly. “Seems like she doesn’t want this either.”

Zamil didn’t even glance at him. Instead, he took a slow step closer to Ayat, his presence overwhelming. His voice dropped lower, meant only for her.

“Do you want to leave here with him?”

Her body stiffened.

“I….” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

She wanted to run. But where? Back to Sebastian? To the unknown?

Zamil was still dangerous. But he wasn’t Sebastian.

Her throat tightened. “No.”

Zamil nodded once. Then, louder this time, he spoke again. “Do you accept this marriage?”

The hall was silent.

Sebastian was watching with amusement, the gathered men observing with thinly veiled interest.

Ayat swallowed hard. There was no escape.

“Yes….” she whispered.

The scholar exhaled as if relieved, then turned to Zamil. “And do you, Zamil Al Mansur son of Fahad Al Mansur, accept this marriage?”

Zamil’s answer came without hesitation. “Yes.”

The words were spoken, the vows exchanged. The scholar recited the final prayers, sealing the union in the eyes of witnesses and Allah.

It was done.

Ayat was no longer just a captive. She was now Zamil Al Mansur’s wife.

A strange silence followed. Then, Sebastian let out a slow, mocking laugh. “Well, well. Didn’t expect you to be the sentimental type, Mansur.” He smirked at Ayat. “But I suppose it’s fitting. You were meant to be someone’s prize anyway.”

Zamil moved in a flash.

Before Sebastian could react, Zamil grabbed him by the collar, his gun pressing against the side of his head. The entire room tensed.

“I let you walk away once,” Zamil murmured, his tone colder than death. “Test me again, and I will send you back to Canada in a body bag.”

Sebastian’s smirk faltered. He raised his hands in surrender. “Relax, mate. It’s just business.”

Zamil shoved him back, his eyes promising consequences if Sebastian ever crossed him again. Then, without another word, he turned to Ayat.

“Let’s go.”

Ayat’s heart pounded as he led her toward the exit. Every step she took felt surreal. She had come here as a prisoner. Now, she was leaving as Zamil’s wife.

_______________

The private jet hummed softly, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside Ayat. She sat in silence, staring out of the window, her fingers gripping Zamil’s coat tightly around her. The fabric still carried his warmth, but she felt none of it.

Her mind was elsewhere. Lost in the past.

No of family.

But as the days passed, his true nature emerged.

One day, he brought her a stack of documents and insisted she sign them. Ayat, still fragile and unaware of his intentions, complied without question.

From that moment, everything changed.

His demeanor grew cold, and his temper flared. He lashed out at her for the smallest mistakes, his verbal abuse escalating into physical violence. Her aunt tried to defend her but often stayed silent, fearing her husband’s wrath.

The house that had briefly felt like a refuge turned into a prison.

Then, one night, he threw her out into the streets.

Ayat clenched her jaw, blinking away the moisture in her eyes. No!She refused to be weak. Not anymore.

She wasn’t back there. She wasn’t that helpless girl anymore.

But….was she truly free now…..

Her gaze flickered toward Zamil, standing at the far end of the jet, his back turned to her.

__________________

In the other section of the jet, far from where Ayat sat, Zamil and Yousef stood, their voices low.

Yousef folded his arms, watching Zamil carefully. “So…” He smirked. “Should I congratulate you on your wedding or ask when you’re planning to kill your new wife?”

Zamil shot him a cold glare. “Shut up, Yousef.”

Yousef chuckled. “I mean, let’s be real. Of all the things I thought would happen tonight, you getting married was not one of them.”

He tilted his head.“Are we sure this isn’t some hidden romantic side of you?”

Zamil exhaled slowly, his patience wearing thin. “Say one more word and you’ll be spending the rest of this flight unconscious.”

Yousef raised his hands in surrender but couldn’t stop himself from grinning. “yeahhh!!!! I’m just saying!!….it’s not every day Zamil Al Mansur walks into a place, pays triple the price for a girl, and then marries her on the spot.”

Zamil didn’t react, his expression unreadable.

Yousef leaned closer. “I have to ask, though… Why did you do it?” His tone was more serious now. “You could’ve just taken her and left. Why the marriage?”

Zamil’s jaw tightened. He glanced briefly in Ayat’s direction, then back at Yousef. His voice was quiet but firm.

“Because I don’t leave unfinished business.”

Yousef raised an eyebrow. “So, she’s just another deal to you?”

Zamil’s silence was his only answer.

Yousef sighed dramatically. “You know, for someone who has spent his life being untouchable, you sure have a way of making things unnecessarily complicated.”

Zamil shot him another look. “And you have a way of making me regret keeping you alive.”

Yousef smirked. “Ahhh!! but without me, who would annoy you with such dedication?”

Zamil didn’t answer. Instead, he glanced at his watch. “We land in four hours. Get some rest lil brat.”

Yousef chuckled. “Sure thing, habibi.”

Zamil sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had faced warlords, assassins, and entire crime syndicates… but somehow, dealing with Yousef was the real challenge.

Chapter 8

“حاولتُ أن أتجاهلَكِ، أن أمرَّ بجانبكِ دون أن يفضحَني قلبي،

من أنتِ؟ ولماذا أخشى أن تكوني أجملَ خطيئةٍ سأرتكبها؟

“I tried to ignore you, to walk past you without my heart betraying me,

Who are you? And why do I fear that you may be the most beautiful sin I will ever commit?”

_____________________________

The grand mansion stood like a fortress against the midnight sky, its towering walls casting long, eerie shadows. The air carried a heavy silence, thick with an unspoken warning this was not a place for the weak. The massive iron gates had sealed behind them, and now Ayat stood frozen at the entrance, dwarfed by the sheer scale of wealth and power surrounding her.

The marble beneath her feet gleamed under the dim glow of chandeliers, their golden light flickering against the dark, towering pillars that lined the hall. The atmosphere reeked of something ancient something ruthless.

Her heart pounded against her ribs as reality set in.

She wasn’t just standing in a house.

She was standing in his domain.

Zamil stepped forward, his presence effortless yet suffocating. His suit, crisp and dark, blended seamlessly with the night, making him look like a shadow himself. There was no warmth in his posture, no trace of hesitation in his movements. He had done this a hundred times before claimed, taken, owned.

Yousef sighed, rubbing his temple. “You didn’t even tell her before dragging her here, did you?”

Zamil didn’t spare him a glance. “She would have wasted time arguing.”

Ayat snapped her head toward him, disbelief etched across her face. “I am right here, you know.”

Zamil turned his cold, unreadable gaze onto her, and she immediately regretted speaking. His eyes dark, bottomless, indifferent were worse than any words he could have said.

“This is my house,” he stated.

His tone was final. Undisputable. Like she should’ve already known she had no say in this.

Ayat took a shaky step back. “Why am I here?”

Zamil raised an unimpressed brow. “Where else would you go?”

Her breath caught. That was a good question. She had nowhere. No family. No home.

But that didn’t mean she belonged here.

“I….I don’t know,” she stammered, her voice trembling with frustration. “Maybe somewhere that doesn’t belong to a man I just met?”

Yousef muttered, “Oh, you met him before. You just didn’t know you’d be married to him.”

Zamil flicked him a warning glance, and Yousef immediately took a step back.

Ayat clenched her fists. “You can’t just……just bring me here without asking me!”

Zamil exhaled as if she were exhausting him. “I just did.”

Ayat’s eyes burned with anger. “That’s kidnapping!”

Zamil’s lips curled slightly, a ghost of something cruel. “That’s marriage.”

Yousef choked.

Ayat glared at him in pure disbelief. “That is not how marriage works!”

Zamil stepped forward, closing the space between them. His presence was suffocating, a slow burning threat that made her body lock up in place. His voice was low, smooth, and devoid of emotion.

“You were going to be sold to a man who would have treated you like property,” he murmured. “Now, you belong to me.”

Ayat’s breath hitched.

Not because of the words.

Because he meant them.

Zamil’s gaze swept over her not in a way that made her feel small, but in a way that made her feel watched. Observed. Studied. Like he was waiting to see if she would break.

“Don’t look so horrified,” he continued, his voice laced with boredom. “I have no interest in playing house.”

Somehow, that made her even angrier.

“So you married me just to dump me here?!”

Zamil’s lips twitched slightly……so slightly that if Ayat hadn’t been staring, she wouldn’t have noticed at all.

Yousef, on the other hand, looked like he had just seen a ghost.

“I don’t dump people,” Zamil said, his tone smooth and effortless. “I just don’t like unnecessary complications.”

Ayat’s nostrils flared. “I am an unnecessary complication?”

Zamil gave her a long, slow stare.

“Yes.”

Yousef bit his lip so hard to stop his laughter that he nearly passed out.

Ayat was fuming. “Then why did you marry me?!”

Zamil, without a second of hesitation: “Because you wouldn’t shut up about not marrying a non-Muslim.”

Yousef lost it. He burst out laughing.

Ayat looked ready to commit murder.

“I can’t stand you!” she snapped.

Zamil looked completely unbothered. “You’ll get used to it.”

Ayat let out an angry huff, spinning on her heel. “I want a separate room!”

Zamil waved a lazy hand at one of his men. “Take her to the guest suite.”

Halfway up the stairs, Ayat whirled back around. “And another thing…..”

Zamil held up a hand, his voice sharp.

“You’ve already said too many things.”

Ayat opened her mouth then shut it.

Because he wasn’t even listening anymore.

Yousef, still chuckling, patted her shoulder as she stormed up the stairs. “Welcome to the Mansion of Doom. You’ll fit right in.”

Ayat glared daggers at him before disappearing down the hallway.

The moment she was gone, Zamil turned back to Yousef, his expression empty again.

“She talks too much.”

Yousef smirked, crossing his arms. “Yeah. And you let her.”

Zamil’s jaw ticked slightly, but he said nothing.

Because deep down, he knew……

He had never let anyone talk to him like that.

______________

Zamil remained in the grand hall for a moment, staring at the staircase where Ayat had disappeared. His jaw clenched. She was a disturbance, a storm that had entered his life uninvited, and he hated disruptions.

Yousef stretched his arms, glancing at Zamil with an amused smirk. “Well, I think I’ve seen enough drama for one night.”

Zamil gave him a blank stare.

Yousef chuckled. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m leaving, alright? Unlike you, I actually sleep at night.”

Zamil didn’t respond.

With one last glance toward the stairs, Yousef shook his head. “Good luck with your ‘unnecessary complication.’”

Zamil ignored him as Yousef walked toward the entrance, his laughter echoing slightly before the heavy doors shut behind him.

Now, silence.

Zamil exhaled sharply before heading upstairs to his own room. His footsteps were slow, controlled, but his mind was anything but calm. Everything about tonight had been irritating. The fight, the sudden marriage Ayat’s presence.

And yet, despite the exhaustion pressing against his skull, his mind wouldn’t rest.

As soon as he entered his room, he shrugged off his vest, tossing it aside before stepping into the bathroom.

The cold water hit his skin like a shock, but he didn’t flinch. He let it run down his back, trying to rid himself of the tension knotting in his shoulders. The memory of Ayat’s wide, startled eyes flashed in his mind, her endless talking still ringing in his ears.

He shut his eyes. Why did she talk so much?

The water dripped from his hair as he finally turned off the shower and stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist. The steam clouded the mirror, distorting his own reflection as he ran a hand through his wet hair.

He needed sleep.

Or a gun.

Maybe both.

As he walked into his closet, his fingers automatically reached for his usual black shirt until something annoying struck him.

Ayat didn’t have any spare clothes.

He froze. His hand lingered over his clothes as frustration settled in his chest.

Why again… this woman?

Why was it always her making him think about these unnecessary things?

Zamil sighed sharply, his patience running dangerously low. Without another thought, he grabbed one of his own shirts and sweatpants, irritation flickering in his eyes as he left the room.

____________________

Ayat reached the guest room, her steps slow and unsteady. As soon as she stepped inside, she hesitated.

It was big. Too big.

The bed was massive, the furniture expensive, the golden and dark tones of the room making it feel both elegant and suffocating. She swallowed hard.

Slowly, she sat at the edge of the bed, her fingers gripping the fabric of Zamil’s coat that was still wrapped around her.

Everything that had happened the horror of the auction , the helplessness, the terror had led her here.

To him.

She exhaled shakily, lowering her gaze to her hands.

“Allah saved me,” she whispered to herself, her voice almost trembling. “He saved me from that other man… and gave me to him.”

Her eyes flickered toward the ceiling as she pressed a hand over her heart.

Zamil was cold. He was ruthless. He was dangerous.

But he was her husband now.

Her brows furrowed in thought. What kind of wife should she be? She had no expectations, no delusions that he would ever be soft toward her. But at the very least…….

She could be a good wife.

She sighed deeply, whispering, “What if… what if his mind goes to the things I fear? What if he starts thinking about how many men I was nearly sold to?”

Her chest tightened. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want his mind to go to dark places.

She clutched Zamil’s coat tighter around herself, her voice barely audible as she prayed,

“Allah, please… don’t let my husband think about it.”

She closed her eyes.

“And I… I won’t talk too much. I won’t disturb him.”

Just as she was trying to calm herself, a sudden knock on the door made her eyes snap open.

She stiffened.

Her heart pounded against her ribs as she slowly stood up, hesitating for only a moment before walking toward the door.

Taking a breath, she reached for the handle and pulled it open……

Zamil stood there.

And he looked frustrated.

Ayat blinked up at him, her fingers tightening around the door handle.

Zamil stood there, his damp hair slightly tousled, his sharp features cold and unreadable. He was holding clothes in one hand, his other resting in his pocket as he leaned slightly against the doorframe.

His presence alone was suffocating.

Her earlier prayer echoed in her head I won’t talk too much. I won’t disturb him.

For a moment, she actually managed to stay silent.

Then, unfortunately, she opened her mouth.

“You… knocked?” she blurted, as if that were the strangest thing in the world.

Zamil’s jaw ticked slightly. “Obviously.”

She cleared her throat, shifting awkwardly. “I…..I just wasn’t expecting you to…..”

Her words faded when he extended the clothes toward her.

She stared at them. “What’s this?”

Zamil exhaled sharply. “Clothes.”

Ayat blinked. “Yours?”

Zamil gave her a long look. “Who else’s would they be?”

She swallowed, reaching out hesitantly. His shirt and sweatpants felt absurdly large in her hands.

“Um… thank you.”

She should’ve stopped there. She really should have.

But her brain didn’t work that way.

“I was actually thinking about clothes just now!” she said, shifting the fabric in her hands. “Well, not clothes specifically, but how I don’t have any ……oh!!.. but don’t worry! I wasn’t going to ask you for any! I was thinking maybe tomorrow I could…..”

Zamil suddenly tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as he observed her.

She paused, her breath catching.

That look…

It wasn’t warm. It wasn’t kind. It was sharp,like he was assessing every inch of her, reading something in her that she didn’t even know existed.

She felt bare under his scrutiny, exposed in a way she couldn’t explain.

His gaze swept over her slightly swollen eyes, the tension in her posture, the way her fingers gripped his coat too tightly.

His silence made her fidget.

“W….what?” she stammered.

Zamil didn’t answer. His eyes lingered on her for just a second longer before he exhaled through his nose and turned around.

Without another word, he walked away.

Ayat stood frozen in the doorway, clutching his clothes, feeling completely dismissed.

She should’ve felt relieved.

But instead

Her lips parted slightly.

Her heart drummed against her ribs.

Why did she feel like he had just looked right through her?

___________________________________________

Chapter 9

في أول العشقِ كنتَ حلماً جميلاً

يمرُّ بذهني كطيفٍ خجولِ

ثم استقرَّ الهوى في فؤادي

وصارَ يقيني وأجملَ قولي

“At the start of love, you were a beautiful dream,

Passing through my mind like a shy shadow.

Then love settled deep in my heart,

Becoming my certainty and my sweetest words.”

__________________________________

The soft golden hues of dawn filtered through the massive windows, casting a warm glow over the marble floors. Ayat had been up before sunrise, offering her prayers in the quiet solitude of her new room.

After tying her hair into a loose bun,and wrapping a piece of cloth around her head,she made her way downstairs, her bare feet barely making a sound against the cold floor. The mansion was eerily silent, save for the faint clinking of utensils coming from the kitchen.

Curious, she followed the sound and stepped inside.

The kitchen was vast, almost too extravagant for a home. Stainless steel counters gleamed under the soft light, and the aroma of freshly baked bread lingered in the air.

At the center of it all stood a woman who looked to be in her late thirties. She had a motherly warmth about her…kind eyes, a gentle smile, and an apron tied neatly around her waist.

The woman turned and, upon seeing Ayat, her face lit up with a welcoming expression.

“Oh, you’re up early, ” she said, her voice carrying a soft familiarity.

Ayat smiled back hesitantly. “Yes… I….uh, just came to see if I could make something for myself.”

The woman chuckled, shaking her head. “You don’t have to do that here, dear. Tell me what you’d like, and I’ll prepare it for you.”

The Lady spoke again introducing herself “My name is Nova Scotia,but everyone here call me lady Nova. Then the lady point finger towards the mid age man who was standing near counter. She said “he’s Lorenzo our kitchen chief. You can call him Enzo.”

Ayat blinked, taken aback by her warmth. After everything she had been through, kindness felt foreign.

Ayat gave her a warm smile and replied.”Nice to meet you Lady Nova and chief Enzo. I’m Ayat.”

They both give her a warm nod.

She hesitated before quietly naming a dish “Ful Medames”she used to have at home, with a cup of coffee.

Lady Nova nodded approvingly. “A good choice. I’ll have it ready in no time.”

As she moved about the kitchen to tell the Enzo, Ayat finally worked up the courage to ask what had been lingering in her mind.

“Um… lady Nova what about him?” she asked cautiously. “When does he wake up?”

Lady Nova turned to her with a small smile.

“Oh, he’s already gone.”

Ayat blinked. “Gone?”

Lady Nova nodded. “He always leaves early. By now, he’s probably already handling his business.”

Ayat stared at her for a moment, something unexplainable settling in her chest.

So he was gone. Just like that.

Not a word. Not a glance. Not even an acknowledgment that she existed.

She should’ve expected it.

After all, she was just an unnecessary complication to him.

Still, for reasons she couldn’t explain.

Ayat sat quietly at the kitchen table, when the distant sound of hushed whispers caught her attention.

Her brows furrowed as she turned her head toward the hall, the sound growing clearer. The voices were low, almost urgent. Before she could investigate, a guard stepped into the kitchen and approached her with a stiff posture.

“Ma’am, someone has come to meet you.”

Ayat blinked, setting her spoon down. “Me?”

The guard nodded, gesturing for her to follow.

Curious, she wiped her hands and trailed behind him through the grand hall. As she neared the entrance, her gaze landed on a woman standing gracefully near the doorway.

She was breathtakingly beautiful. Tall and elegant, with sharp features and an air of sophistication that immediately set her apart. Her dress was luxurious but modest, and over her arm hung a carefully arranged set of garments.

The woman smiled warmly when she saw Ayat and greeted her with polite respect.

“Good morning, Mrs. Al Mansur.”

Ayat felt a slight jolt at the formal address, still not used to being called that.

The woman continued, “I was sent by Mr. Al Mansur to bring you these.”

Ayat’s eyes flickered to the clothing. “He… sent you?”

The woman nodded and stepped forward, carefully unfolding the dresses before her.

Each piece was exquisite, elegant, modest, and made of the finest fabric. Some had intricate embroidery, others were simple but refined. The hijabs matched perfectly, and at the bottom of the collection sat delicate sandals, just her size.

Her size.

Ayat’s fingers froze as she reached for a dress.

How did he know her exact measurements?

And then it hit her.

Last night.

Her mind replayed the moment in her bedroom when his cold, unreadable eyes had scanned her from head to toe.

Oh.

So that was why.

A slow, amused smile crept onto her lips before she could stop it.

He had been assessing her size, not for any other reason….just to make sure she had properly fitted clothes.

It was the kind of thoughtfulness he’d never admit to.

She shook her head slightly, biting back a chuckle, and carefully chose the dresses, hijabs, and sandals that suited her best.

Once she was done, the woman bowed her head slightly before leaving.

Ayat stood in the hall for a moment, watching her disappear beyond the doors.

Then another thought hit her.

She still didn’t have her personal necessities. Her own toiletries, perfumes, or anything else.

Just as she was about to figure out what to do next, Lady Nova called her back to the kitchen.

“Come, dear, have some breakfast while it’s still warm.”

Ayat hesitated for a second but then followed.

As she sat down again, something nagged at her, and she found herself asking, “Did he have his breakfast before he left?”

Lady Nova smiled knowingly. “Oh no, dear. He never eats at home.”

Ayat frowned. “Never?”

She shook her head. “He leaves early, always in a rush.”

Ayat fell into thought, her fingers tapping against the edge of her plate.

So he barely slept, barely ate, and spent all his time in business or whatever he did…..

She glanced toward the doorway, as if looking in the direction he had gone hours ago.

An idea formed in her mind.

She straightened her back and looked at one of the guards.

“Can you take me to where Mr. Al Mansur is?”

The guard stiffened slightly, uncertain. “Do you have permission, ma’am?”

She lifted her chin, determination flashing in her eyes.

“I will get his permission in person.”

The guard hesitated, but seeing the look on her face, he simply nodded.

Ayat smiled to herself.

If Zamil never had breakfast at home.

Then she would take breakfast to him.

And, while she was at it, she would ask for permission to go out and buy her personal things.

It wasn’t much,just a small way to thank him.

Even if he acted like he didn’t care, even if he was cold and ruthless….

He was still her husband.

And whether he liked it or not, she wasn’t going to be an invisible presence in his life.

Ayat smoothed out the soft fabric of her new hijab and adjusted her sleeves. She glanced down at the neatly packed breakfast box in her hands.

It wasn’t much…just a few dishes lady Nova had mentioned Zamil liked. It was the least she could do after everything.

She inhaled deeply, bracing herself.

The guard had already been instructed to take her to Zamil’s office, and within minutes, she found herself stepping out of the car in front of a massive, glass structured skyscraper.

It was sleek, towering, and screamed power.

Ayat hesitated at the entrance. She had expected something big, but this was overwhelming.

The security barely spared her a glance as she walked in. She approached the front desk, where a woman with perfectly styled hair and an expensive blazer sat, typing away at a computer.

Ayat cleared her throat. “Excuse me.”

The receptionist looked up with a polite but distant smile. “Yes?”

“I’m looking for Mr. Al Mansur. Is he in?”

The woman gave her a quick once-over, clearly not recognizing her. “Do you have an appointment?”

Ayat frowned slightly. “I’m his wife.”

The woman blinked. Then her expression shifted into one of barely concealed amusement.

“Oh?” She leaned forward slightly. “His wife?”

Ayat didn’t like her tone.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “Can you tell me where his office is?”

The receptionist’s smile didn’t fade, but there was something sharp in her eyes now. “It’s on the top floor.”

Ayat nodded, turning toward the elevators.

She had taken no more than three steps when the woman called after her.

“You’ll need an appointment, you know.”

Ayat turned back, gripping the breakfast box a little tighter. “I just told you…..I’m his wife.”

The woman leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Sure you are.”

Ayat’s jaw clenched. “What is that supposed to mean?”

The woman let out a small, mocking laugh. “Oh, nothing. Just that Mr. Al Mansur is a very private man. And we’ve never heard of a wife before.”

Ayat felt her blood boil.

Of course. Zamil probably hadn’t told anyone about her. And now, here she was, standing in front of his condescending receptionist like some impostor.

Ayat lifted her chin. “Whether you’ve heard of me or not doesn’t change the fact that I am his wife.”

The woman smirked. “Well, then, Mrs. Al Mansur, if that’s really who you are…..!why don’t you wait until he actually invites you?”

Ayat’s fingers curled into a fist. “Why don’t you just do your job and inform him that I’m here?”

The woman’s smirk widened. “And why don’t you make an appointment like everyone else?”

Ayat took a sharp step forward, about to give this woman a piece of her mind.

“Ayat?”

A familiar voice cut through the tension.

She turned to see Yousef walking toward them, his expression shifting from surprise to delight.

“Sister-in-law!” He grinned, glancing between her and the receptionist. “What are you doing here?”

Ayat opened her mouth,then closed it.

What was she doing here?

The embarrassment of the whole situation hit her all at once.

She had come all the way here with a breakfast box like a fool, only to be interrogated by Zamil’s arrogant staff.

Heat crept up her neck.

She shoved the box into Yousef’s hands without thinking. “Here. Give this to Zamil.”

Yousef blinked. “Uh…” He looked down at the box, then back at her. “Okay, but….”

“I have to go.” Ayat turned on her heel before she could crumble completely.

“Sister-in-law…..wait…”

But she was already rushing toward the exit door, her heart pounding.

Yousef watched her disappear, then turned toward the receptionist, who was now looking rather pleased with herself.

His expression darkened.

“What the hell did you say to her?”

The woman’s smirk faded slightly. “I just followed protocol…”

Yousef leaned in, his voice dropping. “You followed what?”

The woman swallowed, lowering her gaze.

That was all he needed to see.

Shaking his head, Yousef made his way to Zamil’s office, pushing open the heavy doors without knocking.

Zamil sat behind his massive black desk, signing a document, his expression as cold as ever.

He didn’t even look up. “What?”

Yousef tossed the breakfast box onto the desk.

Zamil’s pen stilled.

“Your wife came here.”

Zamil finally lifted his gaze. “She did?”

Yousef smirked slightly. “Yeah.and she left before even stepping inside.”

Zamil’s brows furrowed slightly. “Why?”

Yousef dropped into the chair across from him. “Your receptionist treated her like some random woman off the street.”

Zamil’s fingers drummed against the desk, his expression unreadable.

“She looked upset,” Yousef added. “Almost like she was gonna cry.”

Zamil’s jaw tightened.

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything.

Then, with slow movements, he leaned back in his chair, exhaling sharply.

“She brought that?” He gestured to the breakfast box.

Yousef nodded. “Yeah!”

Zamil glanced at the box. He didn’t move to open it.

Instead, he ran a hand down his face and muttered under his breath.

“…Why the hell is this woman always a problem?”

Yousef bit back a laugh. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you married her?”

Zamil shot him a look.

Yousef just grinned.

Chapter 10

“حاولتُ أن أكرهكِ، لكن قلبي قال: لا تكن غبيًّا.

حاولتُ أن أنساكِ، لكن ذاكرتي ضحكتْ عليَّ.

أنا لا أفهمُ… هل أنتِ معجزةٌ أُرسِلتْ لتعذيبِي،

أم كارثةٌ قررتِ أن تبدوَ جميلةً؟”

“I tried to hate you, but my heart said, ‘Don’t be stupid.’

I tried to forget you, but my memory laughed at me.

I don’t understand… are you a miracle sent to torture me,

Or a disaster that decided to look beautiful?”

________________________________________

Meanwhile

Ayat stepped inside the mansion, her legs feeling heavier with each step she took toward her room. The grand halls, the polished floors, the suffocating silence….it all felt unfamiliar. Cold. Just like him.

The moment she shut the door behind her, her composure shattered. She pressed her back against the wooden surface, her breath uneven as frustration and hurt swirled inside her like a storm.

He hadn’t told anyone.

Not a single soul.

She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. Why?

Did he think of her as nothing? As someone not even worth acknowledging?

She swallowed hard, her chest tightening.

Or worse… did he think she was just another girl in thatauction? A girl who had been sold from one man to another?

Ayat’s eyes stung as she whispered bitterly, Is that why he won’t accept me as his wife?

She let out a shaky breath and slowly slid down to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. Her heart felt heavy, weighed down by an unbearable ache she couldn’t shake off.

Why would he care?

She was just a deal to him.

A signature on paper. A complication he hadn’t wanted.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, hot and silent, as she buried her face into her arms.

She had told herself she wouldn’t talk much. That she wouldn’t expect anything from him.

But how could she ignore it? How could she pretend it didn’t hurt?

She wiped her face roughly and let out a bitter laugh. “Maybe I really am a fool.”

A fool for expecting anything from a man who didn’t even see her as his.

____________________

Yousef leaned back in the chair, tapping the breakfast box with his fingers.

“So… if you’re not eating this,” he said casually, “I guess I will.”

Zamil didn’t respond. He just sat there, arms crossed, staring at the box like it had personally offended him.

Yousef took that as permission.

With a satisfied grin, he opened the box, and the aroma of freshly made food filled the cold, minimalist office.

“Ohhh, this smells amazing.” He picked up a bite and popped it into his mouth, letting out a dramatic groan. “Damn. This is good.”

Zamil glanced at him, unimpressed. “You sound like you haven’t eaten in weeks.”

“I haven’t eaten homemade food in weeks,” Yousef corrected, taking another bite. “And this….this is made with love.” He pressed a hand over his chest, feigning emotion. “Your wife really put her heart into this.”

Zamil scoffed. “She probably did it out of obligation.”

Yousef shrugged. “Obligation or not, she cooks better than half the five-star restaurants you waste money on.”

Zamil still didn’t move.

Yousef gave him a knowing look. “You sure you don’t want to try?”

Silence.

Yousef smirked.

He knew that look.

Zamil wasn’t interested. But he was irritated.

And knowing Zamil, the only way to get rid of irritation… was to confront it.

With an annoyed sigh, Zamil reached over and grabbed a piece of food from the box. He popped it into his mouth without a word.

Then.

He stilled.

Yousef waited, watching.

Zamil chewed slowly, his expression betraying nothing. Then, finally..

“…Damn.”

Yousef burst out laughing. “I knew it!”

Zamil shot him a cold glare. “Shut up.”

“No, no, you loved it,” Yousef teased. “Our big bad mafia boss, taken down by…..”

“I said shut up.”

Yousef grinned, but Zamil ignored him, taking another bite.

Much to his dismay, it was even better the second time.

Soft, flavorful, perfectly spiced.

How the hell did she even…?

Zamil’s jaw ticked.

She was already an unnecessary complication.

Now she had the audacity to cook like this?

This was getting annoying.

Zamil leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the desk. His gaze lingered on the half-empty breakfast box, his thoughts elsewhere.

Ayat wasn’t the type of girl to go out of her way just to bring him food. No. There was something else.

Something more.

She had come all the way here. Stepped into his building. Asked for him.

Why?

Zamil’s jaw tightened slightly. He didn’t like loose ends. And Ayat,she was the loosest end of them all.

Across the desk, Yousef wiped his mouth dramatically. “Alright, I take back every bad thing I ever said about your marriage. If this is the kind of food you’re gonna get daily, I fully support it.”

Zamil shot him a blank stare. “I don’t remember asking for your approval.”

Yousef smirked. “Yeah, but you do seem concerned.” He wiggled his brows. “Your little wife ran out of here looking upset. Wanna talk about it?”

Zamil exhaled, annoyed. “No.”

Yousef stretched his arms over his head, clearly enjoying this. “Sooo… club tonight? That deal with the Russians?”

“yeah.”

Yousef laughed, standing up. ” ok! I’ll be in my office….boss!” He strolled out, still grinning to himself.

As the door shut behind him, Zamil glanced at the breakfast box again, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

Something about this girl…..this wife of his…..was getting under his skin.

And he hated it.

Zamil strode into his office, his presence commanding the attention of everyone in the building. His sharp gaze swept across the floor as he made his way to his receptionist desk. She stood up quickly, a nervous smile forming on her lips.

“Sir….”

“You’re fired,” Zamil said coldly, cutting her off before she could even attempt to speak.

The woman’s smile dropped instantly. “W-What?”

He didn’t repeat himself. He never did.

“For what reason, sir?” she stammered, panic creeping into her voice.

Zamil’s jaw ticked. He wasn’t even sure why he was doing this…why he cared. But the second he had learned that Ayat had left his office looking as if she had been humiliated, something inside him had snapped.

“She’s my wife.” His tone was clipped, his eyes unreadable. “I don’t tolerate anyone disrespecting her.”

And with that, he walked away, leaving the receptionist standing there in stunned silence.

_______________________

At club

The interior of Club Noire oozed luxury and danger in equal measure. Velvet drapes lined the walls, the air perfumed with expensive cigars and silent threats. In a world where words were weapons and alliances were inked with blood, this was the battlefield of kings without crowns.

Zamil Al Mansur walked in with the grace of a storm ….silent, and devastating. Clad in a jet-black suit, no tie, just power stitched into every thread, he moved like the world already belonged to him. And in places like this,it nearly did.

Yousef followed closely, offering polite nods to familiar faces,brokers, arms dealers, corrupt senators. The usual crowd.

They were guided to a private booth swathed in shadows, lit only by the soft, golden glow of a chandelier. The Russians were already waiting. Three men in tailored suits. And one woman.

Elena Petrov.

Her beauty was engineered to impress. Hair like silk, dress hugging every curve, and a gaze that danced between ambition and obedience.

The Russian boss smiled, gesturing to her.

“She’s well-educated, loyal, and bred for diplomacy. A wife worthy of the name Al Mansur.”

Zamil didn’t blink. His gaze lingered on the girl for half a second before moving to the man across from him.

“I’m already married.”

Silence hit the room like a gunshot.

Elena’s confident smile faltered. The Russian’s brows furrowed.

“Married?” he echoed, incredulous. “But we were told it was a temporary arrangement.”

Zamil’s voice turned ice cold. “Nothing about me is temporary.”

The Russian cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Then perhaps… there’s room for negotiation.”

“There isn’t,” Zamil said simply, leaning back. “My wife is untouchable.”

The business discussion resumed, but the atmosphere never quite recovered. The message had been sent.

Once the Russians departed, Yousef exhaled loudly, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Okay… wow. That got awkward fast.” He turned to Zamil with a half-smirk. “So that’s it? That’s why you married her?”

Zamil didn’t respond immediately. He poured himself a drink, the ice clinking like a ticking clock in the silence.

“I never let anyone into my life without a reason,” he said finally.

Yousef raised an eyebrow. “She’s the reason?”

Zamil’s gaze sharpened. “She’s the shield.”

“From what?”

Zamil looked out the tinted glass at the crowd below-the dancers, the shadows, the danger disguised in beauty.

“From expectations. From political alliances. From fools who think offering me a woman means they have a place beside me.” He paused. “With a wife, they stop trying.”

Yousef leaned back, impressed. “So she’s protection.”

“She’s silence,” Zamil corrected. “And I value silence more than gold.”

He downed the rest of his drink, the burn matching the tension in his chest.

“But she’s smart,” he added under his breath. “Too smart.”

Yousef tilted his head. “You’re worried?”

Zamil’s jaw clenched. “I’m aware.”

He stood, buttoning his coat with precision.

“If she ever becomes more than just a shield… then I’ll have to deal with her accordingly.”

And with that, Zamil Al Mansur walked out of Club Noire, and headed towards his mansion.

_______________________

Back at the Mansion 12:26Am

Zamil Al Mansur stepped inside the mansion, the black of his tailored coat dripping rain onto the floor. His face was blank. Unreadable. Eyes sharp as ever, shoulders squared, jaw clenched with the same quiet rage he wore like a second skin.

He tossed the coat to a guard near the entrance without looking. “Where is she?”

The butler straightened immediately. “She hasn’t left her room, sir. Not since she arrived.”

Zamil didn’t respond,he just turned away.

Up the grand staircase. Down the left-wing corridor. Into his private chambers.

Once inside, he shed the suit with silence. The cufflinks. The wristwatch. The gun holster. All placed down with the kind of precision that made people uneasy.

He changed into a black half-sleeve shirt, pushed up at the forearms, veins trailing down tensed muscles. He sat behind the massive oak desk in his study, opened his laptop, and stared at the glowing screen of numbers, files, codes.

His mind? Blank.

His eyes moved over graphs, invoices, contacts.

But nothing sank in.

A beat passed. Two.

Then he was on his feet.

Without realizing it, without giving the thought permission, he walked out of his study.Each step was heavy.

And when he stopped, it was in front of her door.

Ayat’s room.

Zamil stood there like a shadow that didn’t belong to the wall. His jaw was tight. His brow furrowed.

What the hell am I doing here?

His fingers flexed.

He didn’t knock. Didn’t speak.

Just stared at the door like it was mocking him.

Pathetic, he muttered to himself under his breath. You’re standing outside a girl’s room like some lost husband.

No. This wasn’t him.

He didn’t check on people. He didn’t worry about their silence. He didn’t-

Suddenly the door creaked.

He froze.

It wasn’t open. Just… unlocked.

She hadn’t even locked it.

His eyes narrowed.Was it carelessness?

Zamil’s hand hovered over the door handle, but he didn’t touch it.

Instead, he took a cold breath and stepped back.

He wouldn’t enter.He turned and walked away.

But the sound of her soft cough from inside, muffled and faint, followed him down the corridor like a damn ghost.

_______________________

1:10am

Ayat walked slowly, her robe wrapped tightly around her small frame.head covered with scarf.Her lips were dry. Her eyes were puffy. But the tears had long since dried, leaving behind only silence and aching.

She had cried in her pillow until her soul quieted.

She had promised herself not to speak much to him anymore,not to let her nature make her look foolish.

But as she padded down the hallway toward the kitchen,something caught her eye.

A warm glow spilled from the half-open drying room door.

A light.At this hour?

She hesitated… then slowly walked toward it, curiosity drawing her in like a thread.

And there he was…Zamil.The storm in a suit.

He stood by the narrow window, jacket off, sleeves rolled to his forearms, a cigarette resting between his fingers. The smoke curled upward like ghosts dancing around him, as if the air around him bent to his control.

Ayat’s breath caught for a second.

He wasn’t looking at her at first.

Just standing there, still, powerful, lost in thought like the world outside the window annoyed him.

Then his eyes shifted.Sharp. Cold. Unblinking.

“You came to the office today.”

His voice was low. Measured. Like steel wrapped in velvet.

Ayat nodded, unsure. “Yes…”

He took a slow drag from the cigarette and turned slightly to face her, shadows dancing across the sharp lines of his face.

She clenched her fingers into the robe, trying to stay calm. “I… I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re not allowed to go out without my permission.” His tone didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. “Next time, you don’t move an inch unless I say so.”

She blinked…shocked by the quiet fury in his voice.

“You’re making things worse,” he continued, “for me. And for yourself.”

But she didn’t shrink back. Not this time.

She clenched her jaw, lifting her chin slightly.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone about the marriage?”

His gaze hardened.

She gave a small, broken laugh laced with pain. “Are you ashamed of me?”

Zamil froze.That word.Ashamed.

It hit like poison.

She looked down, her voice soft but shaking. “Is it because I was sold? Because someone-because they-“

“Stop.” His voice came down like thunder-low but merciless.

She flinched.

Zamil’s eyes were blazing now, fury hidden under his surface.

He crushed the cigarette into the ashtray without looking, the ember dying instantly.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” he said coldly,”because I don’t owe the world an explanation for what’s mine.”

She looked up, startled.

“You think I married you out of pity?” he demanded.

“I don’t know why you did anything,” she whispered.

He stepped forward, and she stiffened. But he didn’t stop. He moved until the space between them disappeared, his tall frame towering over her, the scent of his cologne and smoke cloaking her like a stormcloud.

“I didn’t hide you because I’m ashamed. I hid you because I protect what’s mine.” For a second, the silence trembled between them.

Ayat’s lips parted, her heart hammering.

But then-he turned.

Took one step away.

Two.

And just as she began to back away, gathering the edge of her robe, his voice came again.

“Ayat” her name coming from his lips sounds more beautiful than it is.

She stopped in her tracks.

His back still to her.

“Don’t expect affection. Or love. Or anything I can’t give you that.” he paused for a second like he was remembering something.

She slowly looks down.

“I will protect you,” he said. “And I’ll give you respect-as a husband. You deserve.”

Her throat tightened.

And still-he didn’t turn.

Only stood there in silence, like the world had ended somewhere behind his ribcage and he never bothered to rebuild it.

Ayat said nothing.

She walked away, footsteps light, robe trailing behind her.

And long after she left, the room still smelled of smoke andJasmine.

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Guys 10 chapters of this story completed thanks for reading and supporting this book so far.

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