Chapter 14

Salma stopped in her tracks at Al-Waha Airport, the bustling crowds flowing around them like a river. She turned to Layla, her expression hardening into a mask of cold determination. "Your dad is home today," Salma said, her voice sharp enough to cut through the terminal's noise. "And once your grandma's birthday celebration ends, your dad and I will bring you to get the divorce done. You must divorce him!" Layla lowered her gaze, her fingers tightening around the handle of her suitcase. "Mom, it's not that simple." "It is that simple! Think of the ridicule you've faced for three years because of that useless Tariq Al-Khoury. Every gathering, every party, you are the laughingstock of the Mansour family. And for what? Because he helped with a five million deficit once?" Salma scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "That loan has repaid his debt to us ten times over. He's a lead weight dragging you into the mud. It ends after the birthday." Before Layla could respond, a familiar figure emerged from the arrival gate. Rayyan Al-Mansour walked toward them, his face weathered from six months abroad but his eyes bright with a new, aggressive energy. He didn't wait for a greeting before pulling them both toward the exit. The family of three left the airport in silence, the tension thick enough to stifle the afternoon heat. Back at the house, the atmosphere shifted. Salma had prepared a sumptuous meal, the table overflowing with dishes to celebrate Rayyan's return. Rayyan sat at the head of the table, leaning back with the air of a man who had conquered a kingdom. "The trip was worth every second," Rayyan said, chuckling as he pulled a checkbook from his breast pocket. He scribbled a figure and slid the slip of paper across the table to Salma. "Fifty million. For the household." Salma gasped, her eyes bulging as she snatched the check. "Fifty million? Rayyan, you actually did it!" Rayyan turned to Layla, his expression softening but remaining boastful. He wrote a second check and held it out. "And this is for you, Layla. Another fifty million. I heard about that five million shortage your company had—child's play. Take this and fix whatever needs fixing." Layla reached for it, but Rayyan pulled it back slightly, a small smirk on his face. "There's a catch. This check can only be cashed in a week, after I leave the country again for the next phase of the business. It's a security measure for the transfer, but it's yours." "Thank you, Dad," Layla said, though her mind was miles away, drifting back to the strange warnings Tariq had given her about the Al-Khoury Corporation. "Don't thank me," Rayyan said, pouring himself a drink. "Just make sure you use it to distance yourself from that loser. I heard Rana is signing a massive deal with Al-Khoury Corporation soon. We need to be on that level, not dealing with live-in trash." The phone on the table began to vibrate. The caller ID showed Hana Al-Mansour. Salma hurried to answer it, putting it on speaker with a beaming smile. "Mother? Yes, Rayyan is back," Salma chirped. "Layla," Hana's voice came through the speaker, slow and uncharacteristically pleading. "I need a favor. I need you to go to Al-Khoury Corporation. Negotiate for the image consultation contract for Rana. The previous arrangements... they've hit a snag." Layla froze. Her parents looked at her, then at the phone. Salma didn't hesitate. "Of course, Mother! Layla will handle the negotiation personally. Consider it done!" Salma hung up and looked at Layla expectantly. "See? This is your chance to show your value to the family." Layla bit her lip, the memory of Tariq's voice echoing in her head. *Don't agree. Make them come to you.* "No," Layla said firmly. The silence that followed was deafening. Rayyan dropped his fork. Salma's smile vanished. "What did you just say?" Salma whispered. "I won't do it," Layla said, her voice trembling but gaining strength. "Grandma gave that project to Omar. He took the credit, he took the resources, and he pushed me out. If there's a problem now, Omar should handle it. It's only fair." Hana Al-Mansour's voice suddenly erupted from the phone—Salma hadn't actually disconnected the call. "Fair? You talk to me about fairness? Layla, you are becoming arrogant! I am asking you to save a deal for this family, and you throw a tantrum over Omar?" "Layla!" Salma slammed her hand on the table, the plates rattling. "How dare you offend your grandmother? Are you listening to that good-for-nothing Tariq? Is this his influence? You're choosing to believe the words of a beggar over your own flesh and blood?" Layla stood up, her heart racing. Despite the vitriol being hurled at her, a strange sense of security washed over her. Tariq had predicted this. He had told her exactly what would happen, and it was playing out beat for beat. For the first time in years, she felt like she wasn't just a piece on a chessboard. She retreated to her room, shutting out the sound of her mother's screaming. She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to Tariq. *Grandma called. She wants me to negotiate with Al-Khoury Corporation for the Rana project. I refused. What do I do now?* The reply came almost instantly. *Continue to refuse. Don't go to them. They will come to you. Al-Khoury Corporation will only acknowledge you. Trust me.* Layla stared at the screen. Short sentences. Direct. No apologies. This wasn't the Tariq who scrubbed floors and took insults with a bowed head. The door to her room burst open. Salma marched in, her face contorted with rage. She lunged forward and snatched the phone out of Layla's hand before she could lock it. "I knew it!" Salma screamed, her hand trembling as she read the messages. "He's poisoning your mind! He's trying to ruin your standing in the family so you'll be as pathetic as he is!" "Mom, give it back! He guessed Grandma would call! He knew they were in trouble!" "Guessed? He's a cockroach who spends his time listening at doors!" Salma slammed the phone onto the vanity. "He is a good-for-nothing, Layla! Look at the sons-in-law the other families have—CEOs, investors, men of stature. And you have... this! You are divorcing him after the birthday, and that is final! I won't have him whispering in your ear while you ruin our future!" While the storm raged in Layla's bedroom, the Al-Mansour Manor was in a state of quiet panic. Hana Al-Mansour sat in her high-backed chair, her face pale. She had sent Malik Al-Mansour to Al-Khoury Corporation earlier that afternoon, hoping a fresh face from the younger generation would smooth things over. Malik had returned ten minutes ago, looking as if he'd been chased by wolves. He hadn't even made it past the lobby. The security had been told that no one from the Mansour family was welcome unless their name was Layla. "They wouldn't even look at the documents," Malik muttered, staring at his shoes. "They said the partnership was dead." Hana turned to Omar, who was pacing by the window. Layan Al-Mansour sat nearby, watching the exchange with a sharp, calculating gaze. "We cannot lose this," Hana said, her voice thin. "If Rana's contract falls through, our reputation with the Al-Khoury Corporation is finished before it begins." Omar stopped pacing. A slow, greasy smirk spread across his face. He looked over at Layan, who was undeniably the most striking woman in the room, her beauty polished and deliberate. "Grandmother, I think we're looking at this the wrong way," Omar said, his tone postulating and confident. "The President of Al-Khoury Corporation is new. He's powerful, and he's clearly a man of... tastes. Why else would he insist on Layla? It's not about her business skill. It's about her face." Hana frowned. "Go on." "If he's a womanizer who is attracted to beauty, then Layla isn't our only card," Omar suggested, gesturing toward Layan. "In fact, Layla is a married woman. Layan is far more... available. And, frankly, more refined. If we send Layan to negotiate, she can offer the President something Layla can't. A man like that won't care about the name on the contract once Layan walks into his office." Layan straightened her back, a flicker of ambition lighting up her eyes. The rest of the room remained silent, the weight of the suggestion hanging in the air. Hana Al-Mansour looked from Omar to Layan, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the arm of her chair. "Layan, are you prepared to do what is necessary for the family?" ════════════════════════════════════════