Chapter 12

Tariq looked at Sana Khoury. The woman who had spent the last hour trying to bribe and threaten him out of the building now stood trembling, her professional composure shattered. The office was silent, save for the sound of her jagged breathing. "I won't fire you," Tariq said. His voice was flat, devoid of the triumph she clearly expected. "But your promotion to General Manager isn't a gift. It depends entirely on your capabilities from this moment forward. If you can't handle the pressure of the new Mansour Corporation, you'll find your own way out." Sana blinked, her eyes wide. She looked like she wanted to thank him, but the weight of his gaze stopped her. She was a manager who had just been spared by the man she had called a beggar. She nodded quickly, her face flushed with a mix of shame and relief. As Tariq walked out of the executive suite, the atmosphere in the city of Al-Safwa was already shifting. News traveled through the business districts like a wildfire fueled by high-octane gasoline. The Mansour Corporation, a titan that many thought had grown stagnant, had just undergone a silent coup. The old president was out, and a new, mysterious figure had taken the helm. More importantly, the corporation had just injected five billion dollars into a new investment fund aimed at high-quality projects. Five billion dollars was enough to reshape the entire landscape of the region, and every clan, from the smallest startup to the established elite, was suddenly desperate for a seat at the table. His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out to see Layla's name on the screen. "Where are you?" Layla's voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet of the hallway. "I'm out," Tariq replied. "Get home. Now," she commanded, not waiting for an explanation. "Grandfather has called a family dinner. It's about the Mansour Corporation's new investment fund. Everyone is going to be there, and you need to be present. Don't make me wait." She hung up before he could respond. Tariq arrived at the villa to find a red Al-Buraq idling in the driveway. The luxury car's engine hummed with expensive precision. Layla was already in the driver's seat, tapping her fingers against the leather-wrapped steering wheel. She glanced at her watch, then at him, her eyes cold with impatience. As Tariq approached the passenger side, he paused. Pinned to her blouse was the 'Qalb Dubai' brooch. The light caught the intricate carvings, the craftsmanship of Al-Quds visible in the way the metal seemed to glow. She had actually worn it. "Get in," she said, her voice dropping an octave. Tariq sat down, the scent of her perfume filling the cramped cabin. Before she shifted the car into gear, she turned to him, her expression hardening. "Listen to me, Tariq. This dinner is important. The Farsi family needs this investment to survive the next quarter. Grandfather is on edge, and the rest of the family is looking for any reason to lash out. Keep your mouth shut. Don't talk about your 'business' or your 'friends.' Just sit there, eat, and don't embarrass me. Do you understand?" "I understand," Tariq said. They hadn't even reached the front door of the main house when Lina Haddad intercepted them. Layla's mother was dressed in silk that cost more than Tariq's entire wardrobe, her face contorted in a permanent sneer of disgust. She didn't look at Layla; her eyes went straight to Tariq's faded clothes. "Look at you," Lina spat, her voice echoing in the foyer. "You look like a vagrant we picked up off the street. You're a stain on this family's reputation, especially on a night like this." Tariq didn't move. He simply looked at her, his expression unreadable. "I'm sick of looking at your pathetic face," Lina continued. She reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a thick wad of cash. With a flick of her wrist, she threw a handful of hundred-dollar bills at his chest. The notes fluttered through the air like dying leaves, scattering across the floor. "Take it. Take the money and sign the divorce papers. Leave Layla alone so she can actually marry someone who can help this family, instead of a useless anchor like you." The bills lay at Tariq's feet. He didn't bend down to pick them up. He didn't even flinch. He stood perfectly still, his silence acting as a mirror to her frantic rage. Layla watched the scene, her jaw tightened. A flash of something—pity, perhaps—crossed her eyes as she looked at her husband standing amidst the scattered cash, but it was quickly replaced by a flare of anger. His indifference was more insulting than a shout. Why didn't he fight back? Why did he just let her mother treat him like a dog? "Mom, enough," Layla said, though there was no warmth in her defense. "We're going to be late." They drove to the Farsi Estate in a tense, suffocating silence. As they pulled up to the gates, the scale of the evening became clear. Dozens of cars were lined up along the driveway—Bentleys, Ferraris, and more Al-Buraqs than Tariq cared to count. The Farsi family was out in full force, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive cigars and desperation. Inside the main hall, the atmosphere was electric. Groups of cousins and uncles huddled together, whispering about the five billion dollar fund and which Mansour Corporation executive they needed to bribe first. As Tariq entered the room behind Layla, the conversations didn't stop, but the focus shifted. He was invisible in the way a piece of furniture is invisible—noticed only if someone tripped over it. No one greeted him. No one offered a chair. They looked through him, their eyes scanning for Khalid Saab or any other guest of actual importance. Yasmin Al-Farsi, Layla's younger sister, detached herself from a group of her friends and walked toward them. She was a high school senior, but she carried the same cold arrogance as her mother. She stopped in front of Tariq, crossing her arms. "You really have a thick skin, don't you?" Yasmin said, her voice loud enough to draw a few nearby glances. "Showing up here after everything. Do you honestly think you belong in this room?" Tariq looked at her. "I'm here because I was invited." Yasmin let out a harsh, jagged laugh. "Invited? You're here to be a witness. Look around, Tariq. Look at the people in this room. Look at the power. You're a ghost. And ghosts don't stay in the house forever." She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a hiss. "Enjoy the food while you can. This is the last time you'll be eating at a Farsi table. You'll be leaving this family sooner than you think, and nobody—not even Layla—is going to stop it." Tariq scanned the room, his eyes landing on the head table where Kamal Al-Farsi sat, his face grim as he talked to a group of elders. The patriarch looked like a man drowning, searching for a lifeline. He didn't realize that the man who held the five billion dollar pen was currently being told to leave the room by a teenager. Yasmin leaned in further, a cruel smile playing on her lips. ════════════════════════════════════════