Chapter 12

In a quiet corner of an Al-Fajr City café, Layla Al-Mansour sat across from Karim Al-Farsi, her brow furrowed as she stared into the depths of her coffee. The steam rose in thin, vanishing curls, much like the clarity she sought. "Karim, about the proposal," Layla started, her voice thoughtful. "I appreciate everything you're doing, but I'm still not divorced from Tariq. We've been married for three years. Even if it was a marriage in name only, he was the one who loaned the company five million when things were at their worst. I can't just ignore that history overnight." Karim reached across the table, his hand hovering near hers with an affectionate, confident smile. "Layla, you're too kind-hearted. That loser Tariq was just a live-in son-in-law who did the bare minimum. He didn't save the company; your hard work did. Don't let guilt chain you to a sinking ship." He leaned back, his eyes gleaming with a calculated brilliance. "I have a plan to make everything official. For Grandma Hana's birthday, I'm preparing a grand gift that will leave no doubt in her mind. Once she gives us her blessing, the Mansour family will handle the divorce. You deserve a man who can provide, not a leech who drags you down." Layla looked up, her gaze sharpening. "Speaking of gifts, Karim... there's something I need to know. The Emerald's Embrace shoes. Did you actually give me the real ones?" Karim's expression shifted instantly. He let out a long, weary sigh, his shoulders sagging with feigned hurt. "I knew Tariq would try to poison your mind. He saw those shoes and threw them like they were trash, calling them imitations. Those 300,000-buck imitations he mentioned? Pure lies born of jealousy." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The truth is, Layla, there are only 99 pairs of the genuine Emerald's Embrace in the entire world. They cost 30 million. I didn't want to brag about the price because I wanted you to love the gift, not the tag. But yes, those shoes were the real thing." Layla's breath hitched. "Thirty million? But Karim, where would you get that kind of liquid capital?" Karim pulled out his phone, his thumb swiping through his files before turning the screen toward her. It showed a legal document—a contract for the transfer of equity. "I sold my company, Layla. All of my assets, everything I've built, was worth exactly thirty million. I liquidated it all to buy those shoes for you." He looked at her with an earnest, sacrificial gaze. "Business can be rebuilt. But there is only one Layla Al-Mansour. I wanted you to walk into that birthday banquet as the queen you are. If losing my company is the price for your happiness, I'd pay it a thousand times over." Layla bit her lip, her eyes shimmering with sudden emotion. "You're so stupid, Karim! How could you sell your whole life's work for a pair of shoes? You didn't have to do that." "For you, I did," Karim replied softly. Deeply moved, Layla lowered her head, unable to meet his gaze. The weight of his supposed sacrifice pressed down on her, overshadowing the lingering doubts she held about Tariq. After a few more moments of quiet conversation, she stood up and left the café, her mind a whirlwind of gratitude and guilt. Karim watched her walk away, a slow, triumphant smirk spreading across his face. He tapped his phone screen, closing the fake contract image. It was only a matter of time now. *** Inside the Desert Oasis Lounge, the air was thick with the scent of expensive liquor and the low thrum of bass. It had been ages since Tariq Al-Khoury had allowed himself to get drunk, but tonight, the glass in his hand felt like the only thing grounded in reality. Fadi Nasser, the boss of the lounge, stood nearby with a look of profound concern, flanked by Adnan Bakri and Jad Saleh. They stood stiffly, like soldiers awaiting orders from a general. "Second Young Master, let me pour you another," Fadi said, reaching for the bottle of premium scotch. Tariq looked around the dim room, his eyes slightly glazed as he downed the amber liquid in one go. He slammed the glass onto the mahogany bar. "Don't call me that, Fadi. I told you. I'm not the 'Second Young Master' anymore. I hate that title." Fadi froze, his hand trembling slightly. "But sir..." "Three years ago, the Khoury family kicked me out," Tariq muttered, his voice thick with a mix of bitterness and exhaustion. "I was stripped of everything. If it wasn't for the eight million I used to buy those Al-Nujoom Petroleum shares back then, I'd be nothing. The Khoury name is a cage. I'm done with it." Adnan Bakri stepped forward, bowing his head respectfully. "Then, if the title offends you... is 'Mister Al-Khoury' an acceptable address? We cannot simply treat you as an ordinary man, not after everything you've done for us." Tariq leaned his head back against the leather stool, staring at the ceiling. "Mister Al-Khoury. Fine. Whatever keeps the ghosts away." His mind drifted back to the cold halls of the Khoury estate. He could almost see his sister-in-law's face—Florian, a woman whose ambition was as sharp as a razor. She was the one who had orchestrated his downfall, whispering in the elders' ears, ensuring he was cast out so her own path to power was clear. She had always played the long game, and he had been her first casualty. A soft shadow fell over him. Maya Al-Hale, the owner of Layali Fashions, approached the bar. She didn't have the boisterous energy of Fadi or Adnan; she moved with a quiet, respectful grace. "Mister Al-Khoury," she said, her voice barely a whisper above the music. "I have something to tell you. Something about your sister-in-law." Tariq's eyes snapped open, the haze of alcohol momentarily piercing through. "Florian? What about her?" Maya leaned against the bar, her expression grave. "I discovered something through a recent high-end cosmetics purchase at my boutique. She's been making moves far beyond the Khoury family's usual circles. Her ambition is growing, Tariq. She's looking to expand her influence into Al-Fajr City, and she's using the Sultan's Crest line as a way to curry favor with the elite here. She isn't just content with having kicked you out; she wants to ensure you have nowhere left to hide." Tariq's grip tightened on his empty glass. "She's coming here? Slowly, explain exactly what you saw." Maya began to detail the transactions and the names involved, her voice steady as she laid out the web Florian was spinning. *** Across town, the streets of Al-Fajr City remained bustling. Layla, having left Karim, was walking side-by-side with her friend Hala. The cool night air helped clear some of the emotional fog, but she still felt distant. "Layla? Earth to Layla!" Hala nudged her shoulder. "Why do you look so distracted? Did Karim say something to upset you?" Layla shook her head quickly. "No, it's nothing like that. Just a lot on my mind with the divorce and Grandma's birthday coming up." Hala didn't seem convinced but decided not to push. Instead, her eyes lit up as they passed a high-end storefront. "Anyway, have you heard the news? The new cosmetics brand everyone is dying for?" "You mean Layali Fashions?" Layla asked, a flicker of interest returning to her eyes. "The Sultan's Crest?" "Yes!" Hala squealed, grabbing Layla's arm. "It's the ultimate status symbol right now! There are only 520 sets available worldwide, and they cost 520,000 bucks each! Can you imagine? It's the dream Valentine's Day gift. Every socialite in the city is scrambling to get their hands on one." Layla gave a small, weary smile. "520,000 for a makeup set? That's more than some people make in a decade, Hala. Dreaming about it is one thing, but actually getting it... that's a fantasy. Only the top one percent of the top one percent can even get on the waiting list." Hala sighed dramatically. "I know, I know. But a girl can dream! Valentine's Day is coming soon, after all. Maybe a secret admirer will drop one at my door." Layla laughed, the sound light but brief. "Keep dreaming, then. In the meantime, we need to focus on reality. We're here to buy clothes for Granny's birthday celebration. If we don't find something perfect, she'll never let us hear the end of it." "True," Hala agreed, pulling Layla toward a boutique. "And it has to be something that outshines everyone else. If Karim is bringing a grand gift, you need to look like the woman who deserves it." Layla allowed herself to be led, but her mind drifted back to Tariq. She wondered where he was, and if he even remembered that the world was moving on without him. At the same time, the image of the Emerald's Embrace shoes flashed in her mind—a thirty-million-dollar sacrifice. The gap between the two men in her life was becoming an abyss she wasn't sure she could cross. As they entered the shop, the bright lights reflected off the glass displays, mirroring the cold, calculated world of the Al-Fajr elite—a world where every gift had a price and every secret had a witness. ════════════════════════════════════════