Chapter 20

Layla's fingers clutched Tariq's sleeve, her knuckles white and trembling. Tears tracked through the bandages on her face. "Let's talk to grandfather," she pleaded, her voice a thin, broken thread. "He loved me. He was always the one who looked out for me. He would never truly cast me out, Tariq. There must be a mistake." Tariq looked at her shattered expression, the weight of her desperation pressing against his chest. He knew the nature of the Ghazis better than she did—their loyalty was a currency spent only on those who brought them profit. But seeing the flicker of hope in her eyes, he couldn't bring himself to extinguish it. "Alright," Tariq said softly. "We'll go." They reached the entrance of the Ghazi Villa. The iron gates felt colder than usual, the familiar stone path now appearing like a gauntlet. Layla stepped forward, her hand shaking as she pressed the doorbell. She stood there, smoothing her business attire with frantic, repetitive motions, trying to look like the chairwoman she no longer was. The door creaked open. Omar Ghazi stood there, his face twisting into a mask of pure loathing the moment he saw them. "Layla Ghazi, you jinx!" Omar yelled, his voice echoing off the foyer walls. "How do you have the face to show up here? Haven't you caused enough disaster? Why are you back here?" Layla flinched, stepping back. "Omar, I just want to see Grandfather. I need to explain—" "Explain what? That you destroyed the Sharifs and nearly took us down with them?" Omar stepped onto the porch, pointing a finger at her chest. "Get out before I—" The sound of the slap was like a whip cracking. Tariq's hand moved faster than the eye could track. Omar's head snapped to the side, his body spinning before he crashed hard onto the marble floor of the entryway. Omar groaned, clutching his swelling jaw. He looked up, disoriented, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. As the sting registered, his eyes flared with madness. "How dare you hit me?" Omar screamed, scrambling to find his footing while keeping a safe distance. "In my own house? You're a dead man! I'll kill you! I'll have you buried in the desert for this!" "What's this? Why are you causing a ruckus?" The stern, gravelly voice of Khalid Ghazi cut through the air. The patriarch of the Ghazi family approached the door, his hand gripped tight around the head of his heavy cane. He looked at the scene—Omar on the floor, Tariq standing like a sentinel, and Layla trembling in the middle. "Grandfather," Omar grumbled, pointing a shaking finger at Tariq. "Look at what he did! This trash hit me! He forced his way in here!" Layla didn't wait for Tariq to speak. She threw herself forward, her knees hitting the hard ground at Khalid's feet. "Grandfather, please," she sobbed, her forehead nearly touching his shoes. "Please don't cast me out. I've done everything for the Daim Group. I've worked myself to the bone. Don't let them throw me away like this." Khalid Ghazi looked down at her. There was no warmth in his gaze, only a simmering, toxic fury. He remembered the soldiers, the fear of the interrogation rooms, and the way the Ghazi name had been dragged through the dirt because of her connection to the Sharifs' downfall. His face turned a deep, mottled red. He raised his cane high, the wood creaking under his grip. For a moment, it looked as though he would strike her, but he let the cane slam into the floor instead. "Layla!" he roared, the sound vibrating in the small space. "You've been cast out of the family! You are no longer a Ghazi! You are a plague upon this house! Leave this place and never return, or I will have the guards throw you into the street like a dog!" Layla's strength vanished. She collapsed into a heap on the ground, the finality of his words hitting her harder than any physical blow. The grandfather who had once praised her success now looked at her as if she were filth. Tariq stepped forward, his shadow falling over her. He reached down, his hands firm and steady, and helped her up. He didn't look at Khalid or Omar; they were already dead men in his mind. He guided Layla away from the door, her body limp against his side. As they walked back toward the street, Layla's sobs turned into a hollow, rhythmic gasping. "I'm the unluckiest woman in the world," she whispered into his chest. "I gave them everything. Every humiliation I endured, every night I stayed up working... it was all for nothing. They hate me, Tariq. They really hate me." Tariq stopped and pulled her into a tight embrace, shielding her from the sight of the villa. His eyes were cold, reflecting a killing intent that would have withered the Ghazis where they stood. "Don't cry," Tariq said, his voice dropping into a low, terrifyingly calm register. "I promise your family will be begging for your return by the end of the day. They will crawl on their knees to find you." Layla didn't respond, her mind already drifting into the numbness of total exhaustion. Karim pulled the car over to the curb, his expression stoic as he opened the door. Tariq carefully lifted Layla into the backseat. They did not return to the Dar Al-Malik. Instead, the car headed toward Shari' Al-Afa'i, pulling up to the Mustashfa Al-Sha'ab. Inside the quiet of the ward, Layla finally fell asleep, her breathing ragged and interrupted by the occasional sob even in her dreams. Tariq stood by the window, watching the city lights of Al-Waha flicker. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number. In a high-rise office across the city, Sami Haddad saw the caller ID. His heart skipped a beat, and his hands began to shake violently. He fumbled with the device, nearly dropping it before pressing it to his ear. "Sami, it's me," Tariq said. Sami's voice was a frantic, terrified whisper. "Ah, Dragon... Tariq Al-Farsi." ════════════════════════════════════════