Chapter 3

Tariq Mansour pulled his electric bike to a stop in front of the glass-fronted headquarters of Layla Al-Farsi's company. He adjusted the strap of his bag, feeling the weight of the document folder against his hip. As he stepped toward the sliding glass doors, a heavy black shadow lunged into his path. A stun baton, crackling with a faint hum of electricity, snapped out to bar his way. The bodyguard holding it sneered, his eyes traveling over Tariq's faded T-shirt and the shorts that bore visible patches at the seams. "Back off, beggar," the bodyguard barked, his voice cold and utterly dismissive. "This isn't a soup kitchen. Move your bike and yourself before I help you along with this baton." Tariq stopped, his expression remaining calm despite the weapon inches from his chest. "I'm not a beggar. I'm here to see my wife." The bodyguard's eyebrows shot up. He looked Tariq up and down once more, a mocking grin spreading across his face. "Your wife? Is she the cleaning lady, Salma? Or maybe Farah from the back kitchen? They usually use the service entrance in the rear. Get going." "My wife is Layla Al-Farsi," Tariq said. His voice was direct, devoid of the hesitation the bodyguard clearly expected. The silence that followed lasted only a second before the bodyguard erupted into a jagged, harsh laugh. He lowered the stun baton slightly, leaning in to get a better look at the man standing before him. "You? You're the famous live-in son-in-law?" The guard shook his head, chiding Tariq with a wag of his finger. "I've heard the stories, but seeing you in the flesh is something else. The Farsi family really does have a sense of humor, letting a loser like you carry their name. Or half of it, anyway." Tariq didn't flinch at the ridicule. He reached into his bag and pulled out the folder his sister-in-law had insisted was vital for the day's business. "I have an important document for Layla. I need to take it to her office immediately." The bodyguard's laughter died down, replaced by a suspicious squint. He held out a meaty hand. "Give it here. I'll make sure it gets to the reception desk. A guy looking like you walking through the main lobby is bad for the company's image. Just hand it over and disappear." Tariq pulled the folder back, shaking his head. "No. I was told this is urgent and must be delivered personally. I'm going in." "Listen to me, you stubborn brat," the guard growled, his patience evaporating. "You aren't going anywhere near the executive floor. If it's that important, I'll take it. Otherwise, stay out here with the rest of the trash." The sound of a high-performance engine cut through the argument. A sleek, silver Al-Amir 5 Series pulled up to the curb with a confident screech of tires. The door swung open, and Khalid Saab stepped out. He looked every bit the high-ranking project manager at Mansour Corporation, dressed in a sharp, tailored suit that probably cost more than Tariq's entire wardrobe ten times over. The bodyguard's demeanor flipped instantly. He stood up straight, tucked the stun baton away, and rushed toward the car with a subservient bow. "Mr. Saab! Welcome back, sir," the guard called out, his voice now oily and full of reverence. Khalid Saab didn't even glance at the guard, let alone at Tariq standing by the door. He adjusted his cuffs, checked his reflection in the glass, and walked straight through the entrance as the guard held the door open with a flourishing gesture. Tariq watched the silver car and the retreating back of the man who had just ignored his existence. The bodyguard returned to his post, glancing at Tariq with a look that was almost pitying. He let out a long, heavy sigh. "You see that? That's a real man. That's Khalid Saab. He's been here every day this week, and everyone knows why. He's pursuing Director Layla." Tariq remained silent, his eyes fixed on the lobby. "He's got the money, the car, and the backing of the Mansour Corporation," the guard continued, chiding Tariq as if he were a slow-witted child. "If I were you, I'd start looking for a lawyer. A divorce is coming, kid. A woman like Layla Al-Farsi doesn't stay tied to a patched-up T-shirt when an Al-Amir 5 Series is waiting for her. Just give up and go home." Inside the lobby, the chime of the elevator echoed against the polished marble walls. The doors slid open, and Layla Al-Farsi stepped out. She was wearing a floral dress that accentuated her grace, her hair falling perfectly over her shoulders. She looked every bit the director of a rising firm, though a shadow of fatigue lingered in her eyes. Khalid Saab's face lit up as he approached her. He was carrying a massive, overflowing bouquet of roses. "Layla," Khalid said, his voice smooth and projecting a practiced grace. He stepped into her personal space, offering the flowers with a flourish. "I saw these and immediately thought of you. Al-Quds roses. Only the best for the most beautiful woman in the city." Layla stopped, a small, polite smile appearing on her face as she nodded in greeting. "Khalid. You shouldn't have. This is too much." "Nonsense," Khalid countered, his smile widening. "Each of these is worth more than a thousand dollars. A bouquet like this? It's a small price to pay to see you smile. I've even heard that a full arrangement of a hundred Al-Quds roses can run upwards of two million dollars—though even that would be a bargain for your attention." He stepped closer, his tone turning flirtatious as he leaned toward her. "I know the company is facing some funding issues. Five million is a lot, but for a friend like you, nothing is impossible." Layla shifted her feet, looking slightly uncomfortable under his intense gaze. She reached out to take the bouquet, her fingers brushing the expensive petals. Suddenly, the lobby doors swung open with a bang. Tariq Mansour marched across the marble floor, his patched clothes a jarring contrast to the luxury of the lobby. Before Khalid could react, Tariq reached out and snatched the bouquet from Layla's hands. With a sharp, violent motion, Tariq threw the thousand-dollar roses onto the floor. The delicate Al-Quds petals scattered across the tiles like droplets of blood. "Tariq!" Layla gasped, her eyes wide with shock. Tariq didn't look at the flowers. He didn't look at Khalid. He grabbed Layla's wrist and began dragging her toward the elevator. "You don't need these scraps," Tariq declared, his voice bold and possessive. "I'll buy you better roses. Roses that actually mean something." Khalid Saab stood frozen for a beat, his hands still shaped as if holding the bouquet. His face turned a deep, mottled red as he looked down at the ruined, expensive mess at his feet. "Tariq, stop this!" Layla cried out, her voice a soft rebuke filled with embarrassment as she tried to pull her arm back. "What are you doing? This is nonsense! You can't just—" "You!" Khalid finally found his voice, his shout echoing through the lobby. He turned on Tariq, his eyes burning with rage. "You pathetic piece of trash! Do you have any idea what those cost? Do you have any idea who I am? Explain yourself before I have the guards break every bone in your body!" Tariq stopped at the elevator door, his hand still firmly on Layla's wrist, and slowly turned his head to look at Khalid. ════════════════════════════════════════