Chapter 15

Layla Al-Farsi stood in the center of the hall, her fingers trembling as she touched the cold, intricate metal of the 'Qalb Dubai' pinned to her chest. The fragrance of the Al-Quds roses seemed to thicken around her, a sensory weight that made her vision blur. She looked at Khalid Saab, who stood with an air of triumphant grace, his eyes fixed on her with a heat that made her skin crawl even as her heart hammered against her ribs. She felt moved, a deep, aching shyness blooming in her chest because she truly believed he was the architect of this grand gesture. Yet, the weight of the moment felt like a collar. She knew she could not agree to the marriage—not while the legal ink was still wet on her life with Tariq—but the sheer scale of Khalid's apparent devotion left her breathless and paralyzed. The silence of the hall was shattered by a sharp, barking laugh. Rami Al-Farsi leaned back, pointing a manicured finger at Tariq Mansour, who stood by the periphery like a shadow that had forgotten to fade. "Look at him!" Rami shouted, turning his head to ensure the rest of the Farsi family caught the sight. "Look at that face! Tariq, you look like you've just seen a ghost. Or is it just the realization that a real man has finally stepped into the room?" The Farsi cousins and elders chuckled, their eyes darting between the radiant Khalid and the discarded son-in-law. Rami took a step toward Tariq, his grin widening into a sneer. "What's the matter, Tariq? Cat got your tongue? Khalid is here proposing to your wife with a dowry that could buy your entire bloodline ten times over, and you're just standing there gaping. Why don't you speak up? Say something to the man who's actually providing for Layla!" Lina Haddad moved like a viper, stepping into Tariq's personal space. Her face was a mask of cold fury, her voice a low, dangerous hiss. "Don't you dare," she warned, her eyes boring into his. "Don't you dare cause a scene and embarrass this family further. You've been a parasite for long enough. Keep your mouth shut, or I'll have the guards drag you out by your heels." Rami wasn't finished. He circled Tariq, his voice dripping with mock pity. "Maybe he's just overwhelmed by the sparkle of the 'Qalb Dubai'. It's a bit different from the plastic trinkets you probably find in the trash, isn't it, Tariq? Imagine, a piece designed in Al-Quds, and you get to see it up close before you're kicked out onto the street." Tariq's expression shifted. The shock Rami had misinterpreted wasn't fear or envy; it was a cold, crystalline clarity. He looked past Rami, his gaze settling on the brooch pinned to Layla's dress. "I sent that," Tariq said. The words were slow, deliberate, and quiet, yet they carried a weight that seemed to suck the air out of the room. "I was the one who sent the 'Qalb Dubai' to Layla," he repeated, his voice gaining a steady resonance. For a heartbeat, the hall was silent. Then, a single titter of laughter broke out, followed by a roar of derision that shook the chandeliers. The Farsi family members doubled over, clutching their sides. "Did he really just say that?" one of the aunts gasped, wiping a tear from her eye. "He's gone mad. The pressure finally broke his pathetic little brain." "Shameless!" another shouted. "To stand in this house, in front of Khalid Saab, and claim his gifts? There is no limit to your filth, Tariq!" Rami was laughing so hard he had to lean on a nearby table. He gasped for air, his face turning a shade of purple. "You? You sent the Qalb Dubai? The treasure of Al-Quds? Tariq, do you even know how much that costs? Do you even know how to get to the airport, let alone source a masterpiece like that?" He straightened up, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. "Go on then, genius. Explain it to us. How did a man who rides a broken scooter acquire a world-class jewel?" Tariq didn't flinch. He stood with his hands behind his back, his posture straighter than anyone had ever seen it. "I ordered someone to buy it," he said calmly. "It wasn't difficult. As for the price, I didn't pay a single dirham. It was given to me for free in exchange for a favor I performed." The laughter returned, even louder than before. It was the laughter of people watching a clown perform a particularly ridiculous stunt. "Free!" Rami shrieked. "A favor! What did you do, Tariq? Did you wash the jeweler's car? Did you sweep the floors of the workshop so well they gave you a multi-million dollar brooch out of pity?" Rami stepped closer, his face inches from Tariq's, spraying saliva as he spoke. "Tell us, O mighty benefactor. What favor could a loser like you possibly provide that is worth the 'Qalb Dubai'?" "I facilitated an investment," Tariq said, his voice cutting through the mockery like a blade. "An investment using Mansour Corporation's funds." The name of the corporation acted like a physical jolt. Khalid Saab, who had been watching the exchange with a look of bored disdain, suddenly sharpened his gaze. Rami, however, simply exploded in another fit of contempt. "Mansour Corporation?" Rami barked, his face twisting. "You? You're claiming to move money for the most powerful entity in the city? You're a delivery boy at best! You don't even have the right to breathe the same air as a Mansour executive!" Khalid took a step forward, his polished shoes clicking on the marble. He looked at Tariq as if he were an insect under a microscope. "This is pathetic," Khalid said, his voice smooth and mocking. "Tariq, do you realize who you're talking to? I am a project manager at Mansour Corporation. I am the one who actually handles the operations. Do you have any idea the scale of the investment we are currently moving? It's five billion dollars. Five. Billion." Khalid puffed out his chest, glancing at Kamal Al-Farsi to ensure the patriarch was listening. "I personally have influence over one-third of that five billion dollar investment. My word carries weight in those halls. My signature moves mountains. And here you are, a nobody who probably can't even spell 'investment', claiming you're handing out the company's capital for favors?" Tariq tilted his head, a cold light entering his eyes. "One-third of five billion?" he asked. "That's a very specific number, Khalid. You're claiming you have the authority to direct over a billion dollars of the Mansour family's wealth? As a project manager?" "I am more than a project manager," Khalid snapped, his composure flickering for a second before he smoothed it over with a disdainful sneer. "I am the new president's right-hand man. I am his eyes and ears. He trusts me implicitly with the future of this corporation. Even though he's new, he knows that men of my caliber are the backbone of his power. I don't need to have met him every day to know that I carry his mandate." Tariq began to laugh. It wasn't the frantic, desperate laugh of a man caught in a lie. It was a loud, booming sound that echoed off the high ceilings, full of genuine amusement and sharp, biting edge. "You?" Tariq said, his laughter subsiding into a cold grin. "The president's right-hand man? Khalid, you are a liar. A bold, transparent liar." Khalid's face darkened. "You call me a liar? You, who stands here claiming to own jewels you couldn't afford in a thousand lifetimes? If I'm a liar, then prove it. Do you even know who the new president is? Do you know his name? Have you even seen his shadow?" The Farsi family members closed in around Tariq, their voices a chorus of condemnation. "How dare you insult Khalid!" "He's our only hope for the Mansour investment, and you're slandering him?" "Apologize now, you dog!" Kamal Al-Farsi, who had been watching with increasing disgust, finally slammed his cane against the floor. The sound cracked through the hall like a gunshot. "Enough!" The patriarch's eyes were like chips of ice as he glared at Tariq. "I have tolerated your presence for the sake of my granddaughter's reputation, but this is the end. You are a delusional, disrespectful boy. Get out of my house. Now." Lina Haddad pointed toward the door, her voice trembling with rage. "You heard him! Get out, Tariq! You're a curse on this family. You're nothing but a liar and a thief of other men's credit. Leave before I have you thrown into the gutter where you belong!" Tariq looked at Layla. She was staring at him, her brow furrowed. This wasn't the Tariq she knew—the one who took every insult with a bowed head and a silent sigh. This man stood tall, his presence suddenly filling the room in a way that made the opulent surroundings seem small. He looked unfamiliar, almost dangerous. Tariq took a deep, slow breath. He felt the weight of the Mansour legacy settling onto his shoulders, no longer a secret to be guarded, but a weapon to be wielded. He scanned the faces of the Farsi family—the greed, the malice, the blind arrogance. "You want to know about the new president?" Tariq said, his voice dropping to a temperature that seemed to frost the very air. "You want to know who really controls the five billion dollars?" He stepped into the center of the light, looking directly at Kamal. "Since you're all so eager to meet him," Tariq announced, "I will reveal the identity of Mansour Corporation's new president right now." ════════════════════════════════════════