Chapter 7

"Yasmin, stop it already," Layla said softly, her eyes flickering toward Tariq. She adjusted the strap of her handbag, her mind momentarily drifting back to the chaos of the annual gathering. "He did help back there. It wasn't all for nothing." Yasmin let out a sharp, cold laugh, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're too soft-hearted, Layla. Seriously. If I were in your shoes, I would have divorced this piece of trash the moment he failed to provide a single decent thing for this family. I don't know how you can handle facing him every day without losing your mind. He's a lead weight dragging you down into the mud." Tariq, who had been standing quietly by the door, felt a familiar pull in his chest—not of hurt, but of a cold, calculated readiness. He looked at Yasmin, a thin smile playing on his lips. "My wife's company needs five million bucks," he said, his voice steady. "Why would you assume that I couldn't help?" Yasmin's eyebrows shot up. She leaned back, her expression twisting into one of pure mockery. "You? Help? With five million?" "I remember you said something interesting a while back," Tariq continued, his smile widening. "You said that if I could fork out five million, you'd call me 'daddy.' Is that offer still on the table?" Yasmin slowly stood up from the sofa, her heels clicking against the floor. She looked him up and down with utter disdain. "Yes, I did say that. Show me then. Put the money on the table right now. But let's make it fair—if you can't, you'll drop to your knees and call me 'mommy' for the rest of your miserable life. Deal?" Tariq didn't answer with words. He reached down and hoisted a heavy, nondescript black sack he had been carrying. With a casual flick of his wrist, he upended it over the center of the living room. The air in the room seemed to vanish. Wads of crisp, red cash notes cascaded out of the bag, tumbling onto the sofa, sliding across the coffee table, and piling up on the floor. The sheer volume of the currency created a dull thudding sound as the stacks hit the carpet. Thousands upon thousands of bucks lay scattered in a chaotic, crimson mountain of wealth. Yasmin froze, her mouth hanging open as she stared at the pile. Hala, who had been watching from the side, gasped, her hands flying to her face. Even Layla stood paralyzed, her breath hitching as she looked from the money to Tariq. The silence stretched for several long seconds before Yasmin found her voice, though it was shrill and defensive. She sneered, pointing a trembling finger at the cash. "Tariq Al-Khoury, don't think I'm not aware that Layla only gives you two hundred bucks a day for groceries. This amount here... five million? I'm sure it's not clean. You stole this, didn't you? Or you got it from some shady back-alley deal. This is dirty money!" Layla stepped forward, her face pale. She looked at Tariq with a mixture of hope and terror. "Tariq... where did that money come from?" she whispered, her foot anxiously stomping against the floor. "Is it from dirty sources? Did you do something dangerous? You have to tell me the truth." Tariq took a deep breath, maintaining his calm demeanor. "It's clean, Layla. Don't worry. Just use it to save the company. I borrowed it from a friend." "A friend?" Layla's foot stomped again, her voice rising in disbelief. "Where do you even find a friend with five million bucks just lying around? You've been a live-in son-in-law for three years! You don't go anywhere, you don't see anyone!" "A classmate from back then," Tariq said firmly, his eyes locking onto hers to project a confidence he knew she needed to see. "He got rich after starting a business of his own. We reconnected recently, and when he heard about the trouble the Mansour family was in, he lent me the money. It's a loan, that's all. Just use it first and get the company back on its feet." Layla looked at the money again. The five million she needed to stop the company from collapsing was sitting right there, physically present on her floor. "I'll return you this money as soon as I can," she said softly, her shoulders finally dropping as the weight of the financial crisis began to lift. Yasmin and Hala didn't stay much longer. The atmosphere had become suffocating for them, the sight of the cash a physical rebuke to every insult they had hurled. After Layla and Tariq retreated toward the bedroom to discuss the logistics of the funds, the two friends hurried out of the house without another word. Tariq sat on the edge of the bed, pulling out his phone. "Too bad," he mumbled under his breath, scrolling through his messages. "I was really looking forward to hearing her call me 'daddy.'" The next few days in Al-Fajr City were anything but peaceful. A shockwave rippled through the upper echelons of the city's business circles. The Al-Khoury Corporation, a titan that had been ruthlessly rejecting proposals from first-class families and established conglomerates, had made an announcement. They had agreed to partner with the Mansour family—a second-class clan that most had assumed was on the brink of irrelevance. Rumors flew through the streets and boardrooms. How had the Mansours done it? What leverage did they have? Layla was the most surprised of all. She had prepared herself for weeks of grueling negotiations, for cold receptions and repeated rejections. Instead, she received a notification that she was to sign the contract the very next day. She hadn't even met the president of the Al-Khoury Corporation yet, and already, the deal was finalized. It felt like a dream. To celebrate this unprecedented success, Hana Al-Mansour went all out. She booked the entire Al-Hilal Hotel, the most renowned and expensive venue in Al-Fajr City. This wasn't a place for the common man; the average spending per person started at a thousand bucks just for a seat at the table. The grand ballroom was draped in silk and gold, filled with the city's elite and the extended Mansour clan. Tariq sat at one of the secondary tables, content to stay in the shadows, but peace was never an option when Omar Al-Mansour was in the room. Omar marched over, his face flushed with the arrogance of the family's new status. He looked at Tariq with pure venom. "Get up," he demanded. "Is this somewhere you belong? Sitting here like you're part of the success?" Tariq looked up calmly. "There are plenty of seats, Omar." "Not for you," Omar snapped. "Give your seat to Lina Jamal immediately!" He gestured to a young woman standing behind him. Lina Jamal was the young mistress of the Jamal family, titans of the antique business. Her family's collection alone was worth at least two billion bucks. She was the guest of honor, a connection Hana Al-Mansour was desperate to cultivate. Salma, seeing the commotion, hurried over. Her face twisted in fury when she saw Tariq hadn't moved. "Are you deaf? Can't you hear what Omar said? You're an embarrassment! Move!" Tariq looked at Layla, who was standing nearby, caught between her mother's rage and the social pressure of the room. She looked at him pleadingly. "How about... you give your seat for now..." she said softly. Tariq didn't argue. He stood up with a slight nod. "Okay," he said, moving aside. He didn't look bothered; in fact, he looked almost happy to be away from the center of the noise. Omar chuckled, bowing slightly as he gestured for Lina to sit. "Miss Jamal, please be seated. Ignore him. That guy is just our clan's live-in son-in-law, living for free with us yet acting like he matters. He is just an idiot, don't be bothered by him." Lina Jamal sat down gracefully, but her eyes weren't on Omar. She wasn't even looking at the food. Her gaze was fixed downward, her expression shifting from polite boredom to intense, burning curiosity. She was staring at Layla's feet. Specifically, she was staring at the shoes Layla was wearing—'The Emerald's Embrace.' The deep green silk and the meticulously set emeralds caught the light of the chandeliers, shimmering with an unmistakable aura of luxury. "I'd like to ask," Lina said, her voice soft but carrying a weight that silenced the table. "Where did you purchase this pair of heels?" Layla blinked, surprised by the sudden attention from the antique heiress. "A friend gifted it to me," she replied, her voice cautious. Lina's eyes widened, her composure slipping into genuine eagerness. "Do you mind troubling your friend to help me purchase a pair too? I've been looking for these everywhere. They are a masterpiece. I'm willing to pay double the price! Please, name any figure." The guests nearby gasped. Double the price? 'The Emerald's Embrace' was known to be priced at 30 million bucks. Lina Jamal was offering 60 million for a pair of shoes. Salma's eyes lit up with greed and social ambition. This was the golden ticket. If they could provide these shoes to the Jamal family, their status in Al-Fajr City would be unshakable. She leaned over to Layla, her voice urgent and breathless. "My daughter, what else could you be thinking? Quickly call this friend of yours! Now!" Layla felt a bead of sweat at her temple. She looked at Tariq, who was standing by the pillar, but her mother's hand was already pressing her phone into her palm. Layla hesitated, then scrolled through her contacts. There was only one person she believed was capable of such a gift—the man who had been pursuing her with displays of wealth for months. She dialed the number for Karim Al-Farsi. ════════════════════════════════════════