Chapter 13

Tariq Al-Khoury stood from the plush sofa in the general manager's office of Al-Khoury Corporation, the leather creaking under his weight. He pulled his phone from his pocket as it vibrated with a sharp, insistent tone. A message from Salma flashed across the screen: "Tariq, you useless brat, why aren't you home yet? Do you think because you found some odd job you can ignore this family? If you aren't back by tonight, don't bother coming back at all. We have things to discuss regarding your future—or lack thereof—in this house!" The screen blurred for a second before a second notification popped up, this one from Layla. Her tone was more measured, yet it carried the weight of a final warning. "Tariq, don't forget Grandma Hana Al-Mansour's birthday is tomorrow. You need to have the gift ready. I'm warning you, do not embarrass me in front of the entire family. This is your last chance to show a shred of competence." Tariq stared at the messages, his face devoid of the submissive mask he usually wore around the Mansour family. He tossed the phone onto the desk. A soft knock sounded at the door. Zahra Murad entered, holding a tablet to her chest. Her expression was hesitant, almost apologetic. "President, I have an update regarding the image consultancy project for Rana Saab. The Mansour family has sent a representative to finalize the handover. It's Omar Al-Mansour. He's downstairs now, demanding to see the project lead." Tariq's eyes narrowed. He remembered the smug look on Omar's face when he had stolen the credit for Layla's hard work earlier that week. "Omar? So they decided to push Layla aside and let that arrogant fool take the glory?" "It appears so, sir," Zahra replied. "He is currently in the lobby, acting as if he already owns the contract." Tariq waved his hand dismissively, a cold smile touching his lips. "Go down there. Tell Omar to scram. Tell him the Al-Khoury Corporation has no interest in working with him. As of this moment, the partnership contract with the Mansour family regarding Rana's consultancy is canceled." Zahra blinked, surprised by the sudden decisiveness. "Cancel it entirely, sir? There might be legal repercussions." "Cancel it," Tariq repeated. "And make sure he knows exactly why." Downstairs in the grand marble lobby of the Al-Khoury Corporation, Omar Al-Mansour adjusted his designer tie, leaning against the reception desk with a practiced air of importance. He looked up as Zahra Murad approached, a group of stern-faced security guards trailing behind her. "Ah, you must be the secretary," Omar said, flashing a bright, condescending grin. "I'm Omar Al-Mansour. I'm here to sign the final papers for the Rana Saab project. Let's get this moving; I have a celebratory lunch to attend." Zahra stopped a few feet away, her expression professionally polite but firm. "Mr. Mansour, I have a message from the President." "The President? Finally, some recognition," Omar chuckled. "The President says for you to scram," Zahra said, her voice clear enough to echo off the high ceilings. "He has also instructed me to inform you that the Al-Khoury Corporation is officially canceling the partnership contract with the Mansour family." Omar's grin froze. He blinked, his jaw slowly dropping. "What? Scram? Canceled? You must be joking. Do you have any idea who I am? We have a verbal agreement! We've already made preparations!" "It is no joke," Zahra said, maintaining her composure. "The contract is terminated effectively immediately." "Why?" Omar bellowed, his face turning a blotchy red as the security guards stepped forward, closing the circle around him. "On what grounds? You can't just throw away a multi-million dollar deal because of a whim!" Zahra leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a gentle, explanatory tone that stung worse than a slap. "Mr. Mansour, the only reason the Al-Khoury Corporation even considered this cooperation was out of respect for Layla Al-Mansour. Since the Mansour family has seen fit to replace her with you, the President sees no further value in the deal. For any future discussions, we will only entertain Miss Layla. No one else from your family is welcome here." The security guards moved in, their presence an unspoken command. Omar stumbled back, his bravado vanishing as he realized he was being physically ousted from the most powerful building in the Al-Gharb Region. An hour later, at the Al-Mansour Manor, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Hana Al-Mansour sat in her high-backed rosewood chair, her hand trembling as she massaged her chest. She took a large, desperate gulp of tea, trying to steady her breathing. Omar stood before her, the picture of misery. His eyes were red, and a stray thread of mucus hung from his nose as he spoke through choked sobs. "Grandma, it was a disaster! I didn't even get past the lobby. That secretary... she told me to scram! She said the President didn't want to see my face. They canceled everything, Grandma. Every single deal!" "Canceled?" Hana slammed her teacup onto the side table, the porcelain rattling. A dozen Mansour family members stood in the shadows of the room, whispering in hushed, terrified tones. "How can they cancel? We had terms! We'll sue them! We'll take them for twenty million in breach of contract compensation!" "We can't sue them, Mother," one of the elders whispered from the side. Hana turned her glare toward him. "Why not?" "Because it's the Khoury family," the man replied, his voice shaking. "They own the Al-Khoury Corporation. They own half the Al-Gharb Region. If we try to take them to court, they'll bury us before the first hearing is even scheduled. We don't have the standing to challenge them." Hana sank back into her chair, her face pale. She looked at Omar again. "What did you do, Omar? Did you insult someone? Did you walk in there and act like a fool?" "I didn't! I swear!" Omar cried out, waving his hands frantically. "I was perfectly polite! But they told me the only reason they were even talking to us was because of Layla. They said... they said they will only cooperate with Layla. If it's anyone else, there is no deal." The room went silent. Hana's eyes narrowed as she processed the information. Rayyan Al-Mansour, Layla's father, wasn't there to defend his branch of the family, but the implication was clear. The massive corporation they were all trying to leech off of had a specific interest in his daughter. While the Mansour family spiraled into panic, the midday sun beat down on the tarmac at Al-Waha Airport. Layla Al-Mansour and her mother, Salma, stood by the arrivals gate, checking their watches every few seconds. "Is the flight delayed?" Layla asked, her voice tinged with impatience. "He should have been through customs by now." "It's only been ten minutes since the plane landed, Layla. Give your father some time," Salma said, though she too looked anxious. "He's been abroad for six months trying to get that new business off the ground. He's probably exhausted." Layla nodded, her mind drifting to the chaos at the office. Her phone buzzed in her hand. She expected another frantic message from Omar or a scolding from her grandmother. Instead, it was a text from Tariq. "If Grandma Hana calls you today or tomorrow and asks you to go back to the Al-Khoury Corporation to negotiate, reject her. Do not agree to help them until they realize your worth." Layla stared at the message, her brow furrowing. How did Tariq know about the Al-Khoury Corporation? He was a stay-at-home husband who spent his days cleaning floors and running errands. The idea that he could give her business advice was almost laughable, yet there was a strange, commanding tone in the text that gave her pause. "Who is that?" Salma asked, peering over Layla's shoulder. She caught a glimpse of the name on the screen. "Tariq? Why is he bothering you now? Is he asking for money again?" "No, it's nothing," Layla said, trying to lock the screen, but Salma snatched the phone away. Salma's face twisted into a mask of cold contempt as she read the message. "The nerve of this man! Giving you advice on how to handle your family? He's a parasite, Layla. A bottom-feeder." She handed the phone back with a sharp shove. "I've had enough. Your father is coming home today, and we are going to settle this. After Grandma's birthday tomorrow, you are divorcing that loser. I won't hear another word about it." "Mom, he's been through a lot," Layla started, her voice weak. "He does everything for us. He doesn't have much ambition, sure, but he's worked hard to keep the house running while I was focused on the company..." "Worked hard?" Salma scoffed, waving her hand as if swatting away a fly. "Malik and Layan's husbands are out making deals, building empires, and you're defending a man whose greatest achievement is picking up the dry cleaning? No more. If he doesn't leave this family, I will. I will pack my bags and walk out." Layla looked away, unable to meet her mother's fierce gaze. "And don't forget," Salma continued, her voice softening but her intent remaining just as sharp. "Karim Al-Farsi is coming to the birthday party tomorrow. He's bringing a gift that will put whatever Tariq brings to shame. Karim is a man of substance, Layla. He's already proven he cares for you—look at those shoes he got you. If Grandma approves of him tomorrow, I want you to give him a real chance. He's the husband you deserve, not that shadow of a man waiting at home." Layla looked out toward the airport exit, the heat haze shimmering over the pavement. She thought of Tariq's text and then of Karim's boastful smile. The pressure from her family was like a tightening vice, and for the first time, she felt the weight of the choice she would have to make before the sun set on the next day. ════════════════════════════════════════