Chapter 2

Layla Al-Mansour's fingers dug into the fabric of Tariq's shirt, her knuckles white with tension. “Can't you go any faster? I'll be screwed if I'm late!” Her voice was a sharp lash against the back of his neck, cutting through the hum of the electric bike's motor as they threaded through the morning traffic. Tariq twisted the throttle, feeling the slight weight of her leaning against him. The unexpected contact sent a jolt of warmth through his chest. For three years, she had barely looked at him, yet here she was, her arms instinctively tightening around his waist as he accelerated. He leaned into the wind, navigating the crowded streets of the Al-Gharb Region with a focus that wasn't entirely on the road. They skidded to a halt at the office building's main entrance. Layla hopped off the back before the wheels had even stopped spinning, smoothing her skirt with frantic hands. She let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief, her eyes darting to the digital clock above the lobby doors. The roar of a high-performance engine drowned out the sound of Tariq's kickstand. A sleek GMC Terrain pulled up to the curb, its metallic paint gleaming under the morning sun. The door swung open, and Karim Al-Farsi stepped out, looking every bit the heir of the Farsi clan in a tailored suit that cost more than Tariq made in a year of odd jobs. Karim's eyes raked over Tariq with a look of profound confusion and disgust before settling on Layla. “Layla? Who is this… individual?” He gestured toward Tariq as if he were a piece of discarded trash on the sidewalk. Without waiting for an answer, Karim draped his designer jacket over Layla's shoulders. “You look cold. And please, tell me you aren't walking into a board meeting in those.” He reached into the back seat of the GMC and pulled out a velvet box. He flipped it open to reveal a pair of shimmering green heels. “I noticed you eyeing ‘The Emerald's Embrace.' I spent three hundred thousand to have this replica made; wear them for now, and I'll buy you the real ones later.” Layla's eyes widened as she looked at the shoes. The light caught the facets of the synthetic gems, casting green fractured shadows across the pavement. Tariq stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the craftsmanship. The stitching was slightly uneven near the heel, and the luster of the stones lacked the internal fire of genuine emeralds. “It's a replica,” Tariq said, his voice flat. Karim didn't even flinch. He let out a condescending chuckle, looking Layla in the eye. “Of course it is. I told you, I spent three hundred thousand on these. Consider them a placeholder. I'll track down the original set soon enough.” Layla shook her head gently, her expression softening as she looked at the gift. “There's no need to find the real ones, Karim. The real ‘The Emerald's Embrace' cost 30 million at auction and they are impossible to find now. These are more than enough.” Karim's throat bobbed as he let out a sharp, audible gulp at the mention of the price tag, but he quickly masked it with a boastful grin. Tariq moved before either of them could react. He reached out, snatched the box from Karim's hand, and dumped the heels onto the concrete. The replica shoes clattered and skidded across the ground. “Tariq! What are you doing?” Layla gasped, her face turning pale. Tariq ignored her, his eyes fixed on Karim. He reached out and grabbed Layla's wrist, pulling her toward the building entrance. “Let's not take other people's stuff, Layla. I shall buy you what you like.” “What's the meaning of this?” Karim roared, stepping into Tariq's path. His face was flushed a deep, angry red. “Do you have any idea what those cost? If you broke those heels, not even selling your kidney would make up for it! You're just a pathetic loser on a bike!” Tariq stopped. He peeled Karim's jacket off Layla's shoulders and tossed it into the dirt next to the replica shoes. “Layla is my wife. Stay away from her. If she's cold, she can have my shirt. I'll provide anything my wife likes, including the real ‘The Emerald's Embrace' tonight.” He didn't wait for a rebuttal. He practically dragged a stunned Layla through the glass doors, leaving Karim standing by his GMC Terrain, shaking with unquelled rage. Karim's gaze fell on the modest electric bike parked nearby. He let out a guttural snarl and lashed out with his polished leather shoe, kicking the bike over. He didn't stop there, stomping on the plastic fairings and the battery housing until the frame was bent and the headlight was shattered into a thousand shards. Inside the building, the atmosphere was no less volatile. Layla slammed her office door shut and rounded on Tariq, her eyes burning with a cold, hard stare. “Do you have any idea what you just did?” she hissed, pacing the length of her mahogany desk. “My company is on the verge of collapse. We need a five-million-dollar investment just to keep the lights on, and Karim was my best lead. You just threw that away for what? Your ego?” Tariq stood by the door, his expression unreadable. “Why are you still loitering here?” Layla shouted, her voice cracking. “Get lost! You're useless. Yasmin and Salma were right about you. My friends' husbands are out making deals, building empires, and I'm stuck with a man who picks fights with the people trying to save us. Go!” Tariq turned and walked out without a word. His silence only seemed to incense her more, his indifference acting like fuel to the fire of her resentment. When he reached the street, he stopped dead. His electric bike lay in a heap of twisted metal and cracked plastic. He looked at the scuff marks on the frame—the exact shape of a high-end dress shoe. “Who smashed my bike!?” he howled, his voice echoing off the surrounding skyscrapers. Employees entering the building hurried past, keeping their heads down, but Tariq knew. He knew the weight of the boot that had done this. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed a number he hadn't touched in three years. “It's Tariq,” he said the moment the line connected. “I'll help the clan on two conditions. First, get me ‘The Emerald's Embrace.' The real one. Second, I want the Farsi clan ruined. I want Karim Al-Farsi to have nothing left but the clothes on his back.” A text message vibrated against his palm a moment later. It was from Layla: *Don't forget the Mansour family's annual gathering tonight. Dress appropriately. Don't embarrass me more than you already have.* Tariq pocketed the phone and hailed a car. The seaside villa sat on the eastern sea coast, a sprawling monument to the Khoury family's fading glory. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of expensive tobacco and desperation. Rami Al-Khoury, the patriarch, sat behind a massive oak desk, his face lined with shadows. “Tariq,” Rami said, his voice hesitant. He didn't look like the man who had banished Tariq three years ago. He looked small. “Thank you for coming.” “Make it quick, Uncle,” Tariq said, standing in the center of the room. Rami took a deep breath. “The clan is in trouble. Our investments in the Al-Gharb Region have failed. We are three billion dollars in debt, Tariq. The creditors are circling. If we don't clear it, the Khoury name dies with this generation.” Tariq's face remained gloomy. “Three billion dollars? That's a lot of debt. I think I should be heading out.” He turned toward the door. “Wait!” Rami scrambled up from his chair, his hands trembling. “Our clan needs the funding. Your two conditions will be met! Karim Al-Farsi will be ruined by the end of the week, and ‘The Emerald's Embrace' is already on its way from the private collector in Europe. We will do anything.” Tariq stopped, his back to his uncle. He clenched his fists, the memories of the last three years rushing back—the cold nights, the insults from Salma, the way Layla looked at him like he was a stain on the floor. “You banished me. You ignored me for three years while I lived like a dog. Why do you only seek my help now?” Rami stepped around the desk, reaching out to hold Tariq's arm, his breath coming in hurried hitches. “We were wrong. The elders, the council… we were all wrong to banish you. Please, Tariq. If you support the clan with your capital, I will grant you the position of President of Al-Khoury Corporation. You will be the face of the family. You will have the power to protect whatever you want.” Tariq looked at his uncle's hand, then up at the ceiling of the villa. He had 3.2 billion dollars sitting in a restricted account—wealth he had built in the shadows while the rest of the clan squandered their heritage. “Fine,” Tariq said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his identity card, sliding it across the desk. “Take it. Clear the debt. I'll head to Al-Khoury Corporation tomorrow to claim the title.” Rami clutched the card as if it were a holy relic, his eyes watering with relief. “Thank you, Tariq. Thank you.” “I have a high school reunion tonight,” Tariq said, turning to leave. “I'll see you in the morning, Mr. President.” He walked out of the villa, the salt air stinging his face. Tomorrow, the Al-Khoury Corporation would have a new leader. Tonight, he had a promise to keep to a wife who hated him and a reunion full of people who remembered him as a failure. ════════════════════════════════════════