Chapter 3

The Ghazi family had not spent a single moment of the last ten days searching for Layla. To Yousef, Nader, and Rami—the three sons of the patriarch Khalid Ghazi—her absence was a quiet relief rather than a cause for concern. As the manager of the struggling Daim Group, Layla had become a shadow in their lives, a disfigured reminder of a debt the family didn't want to pay. Her scars were an embarrassment to the Ghazi name, and if she had vanished into the desert or the slums of Al-Waha, it simply meant one less problem to discuss at the dinner table. Tariq Al-Farsi walked beside Layla through the manicured streets of the residential district. The Ghazi villa served as the family's central power base, but Layla lived in a nearby high-rise building, a vertical slice of luxury that felt cold compared to the open plains Tariq had called home. "That's my home," Layla said, pointing toward the shimmering glass tower. Her voice was steady, but she kept touching her face, her fingers tracing the smooth, unblemished skin where the thick burn scars had once lived. Tariq looked up at the building and then back at her. A faint smile touched his lips. "A home is where you find peace, Layla. It's good to be back." They entered the building and ascended to her family's unit. When the door opened, Salma Ghazi was standing in the foyer, her face set in a mask of habitual irritation. She didn't look at the woman standing before her; she looked through her, searching for the daughter she expected to see—the one who hid under scarves and heavy makeup. "Who are you?" Salma asked, her eyes narrowing as she took in the stunning woman in front of her. "What are you doing in my house?" "Mom, it's me," Layla said. She stepped into the light, letting the overhead chandelier illuminate every curve of her restored face. "It's Layla." Salma froze. She took a stumbling step forward, her hand trembling as she reached out to touch Layla's cheek. "Layla? No... your face. The scars. This isn't possible." "They're gone," Layla said, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Tariq... he helped me. I'm recovered." Tariq stepped into the foyer, his massive frame filling the doorway. He inclined his head with the practiced discipline of a commander. "Greetings, Mom." The warmth in Salma's eyes vanished the moment she looked at him. The shock of her daughter's beauty was instantly overshadowed by the sight of the man she blamed for Layla's misfortune. She pulled Layla back by the arm, putting herself between her daughter and Tariq. "Who are you calling 'Mom'?" Salma's voice was a whip-crack of cold disdain. "Get out. Leave this house immediately." "Mom, stop it!" Layla cried, trying to pull her arm away. "Tariq is my husband. He's the one who took care of me when no one else would." Salma ignored her, her gaze fixed on Tariq's plain clothes and his lack of a wealthy entourage. "Husband? That was a mistake made out of desperation because you were broken. Now look at you." She turned to Layla, her eyes bright with a new, predatory ambition. "You're beautiful again, Layla. More beautiful than you were before the fire. I'm going to your grandfather immediately. Khalid Ghazi will have this marriage annulled. You aren't wasting this face on a vagabond." Tariq remained silent. He didn't argue or move to stop them. He simply watched, his eyes dark and unreadable, as Salma dragged Layla toward the door to head for the main Ghazi villa. The foyer of the Ghazi villa was crowded when they arrived. The entire clan had gathered for an evening briefing, but the room fell into a suffocating silence as Layla walked in. Omar Ghazi, the eldest grandson, dropped the glass he was holding. Rami Ghazi stood up so abruptly his chair screeched against the marble floor. "Is that... Layla?" Omar stammered, his eyes roaming over her face with a mixture of shock and sudden, inappropriate interest. Salma marched to the center of the room, standing before the patriarch, Khalid Ghazi. "Father, look at her! The heavens have returned Layla's beauty to us. It is a miracle for the Ghazi family." Khalid leaned forward in his high-backed chair, his sharp eyes scanning his granddaughter. A slow, calculating smile spread across his face. "Indeed. This changes everything." "That's why this marriage cannot stand," Salma argued, her voice rising to reach everyone in the room. "We married her off to that... that person because we thought she was ruined. Now that she is restored, she is the Ghazi family's greatest asset. She should marry into a family of status, not remain tied to a man who has nothing." Khalid nodded slowly, his fingers tapping the arm of his chair. "You're right, Salma. A girl with this kind of beauty belongs in a palace, tied to a man of influence and wealth. It's for the good of the family." "No!" Layla stepped forward, her voice trembling but loud. "I won't do it. You can't just trade me away again. Tariq is my husband, and I will not divorce him." Salma's face turned a mottled red. "How dare you? After all the shame you brought this family with your face, you finally have a chance to repay us, and you refuse?" "If you force me to divorce him," Layla said, her voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm whisper, "I will take a knife to my face right now. I'll make sure there's nothing left for you to sell." Salma began to tremble with pure rage. "You ungrateful girl! You would threaten your own family for this beggar?" Khalid roared, slamming his fist onto the side table. "Layla! Do you realize who you are speaking to? Do you think your little tantrums matter in this house?" Tariq moved then. He stepped forward, his boots heavy on the marble, placing a hand on Layla's shoulder. The temperature in the room seemed to drop as he looked at the assembled Ghazis. "The marriage is between me and Layla," he said, his voice mild but carrying an edge that silenced the room. "Only she can decide on a divorce. Not you, and not the laws of this house." Omar Ghazi's shock turned to a sneer. He stepped toward Tariq, his face twisted in a look of profound arrogance. "You? You're talking about decisions? You're nothing but trash we picked up to hide our shame. You should be kneeling and thanking us for the clothes on your back." Omar raised a finger, pointing it inches from Tariq's nose. "Listen to me, you pathetic dog. You'll sign the papers, you'll take whatever scraps we throw you, and you'll disappear from Al-Waha. If you don't—" Tariq didn't let him finish. In a blur of motion, he caught Omar's hand. With a precise, sickening crunch, he bent Omar's index finger backward. "I told you once before," Tariq said, his voice dropping to a sub-zero chill. "I don't like people pointing at me." Omar let out a piercing, high-pitched yell, his body sagging as he tried to follow the movement of his own finger to alleviate the pain. "Let go! My finger! Grandfather, help me! He's breaking it!" "Tariq Al-Farsi! Stop this madness!" Khalid shouted, standing up and striking the floor with his cane. "This is a place of business and family, not a battlefield! Release him this instant!" Tariq held the finger for a heartbeat longer, letting the tension build until Omar was gasping for air, then he tossed the hand away as if it were contaminated. Omar stumbled back, clutching his hand to his chest, his face pale with agony. "He's a monster!" Omar pleaded, looking at Khalid. "Grandfather, call the guards! Kick him out!" Khalid ignored the plea, his eyes fixed on Tariq. He saw the way the man stood—unmoved by the wealth of the villa, unimpressed by the numbers against him. "Enough. We are civilized people. Tariq, it's clear you have some... physical prowess. But physical strength is cheap in Al-Waha. Influence is what matters." Khalid reached into his jacket and pulled out a checkbook. He scribbled a figure and tore the paper out, holding it between two fingers. "Five hundred thousand dollars. That's more money than a man like you will see in ten lifetimes. Take it, sign the divorce papers, and you can walk out of here a rich man. It's a fair price for a marriage that never should have happened." "Five hundred thousand?" Layla yelled, her eyes wide with fury. "Is that all I'm worth to you? You want to buy my husband's heart with a check?" "Silence, girl!" Khalid slammed his hand onto the table again, the wood groaning under the force. "I am the head of this family! My word is law!" Tariq looked at the check and then at Khalid's face. He didn't take the money. "You think money is the measure of a man's worth in this family? Fine. If that's the game, give me a chance to prove my worth to the Ghazi Group. If I am as useless as you claim, I will leave. But if I can do what your sons and grandsons cannot, then you will recognize our marriage." Omar, still nursing his finger, let out a sharp, pained laugh. "Prove yourself? You? You're a soldier at best, a thug at worst. You wouldn't know a business deal if it bit you." A sudden, malicious light entered Omar's eyes. He looked at Khalid and then back at Tariq. "Fine. You want a chance? There's a thirty-million-dollar order from the Najm Group that we've been trying to secure for months. They won't even take our calls anymore. If you're so capable, secure that contract within ten days. If you do, maybe we'll let you stay as a servant. If you fail, you leave Layla and Al-Waha forever." The room went still. Thirty million dollars was a massive sum, and the Najm Group was notoriously difficult to deal with. It was an impossible task, a death sentence for any business career. "Ten days?" Tariq asked. "Ten days," Omar sneered. "Unless you're afraid?" Tariq adjusted his jacket, his expression completely flat. "I don't need ten days. I'll have the order on your desk tomorrow." The room erupted. Even Salma laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. "Tomorrow? You hear that? He's not just a thug, he's a lunatic!" "Tomorrow, then," Khalid said, his voice cold. "I'll hold you to that, Tariq. If you don't have the signed contract by the time the sun sets tomorrow, I will have you forcibly removed from this city." Tariq didn't respond to the threat. He turned to Layla, offering her his arm. "Let's go. We have a home to return to." As they walked out of the villa, the sounds of mocking laughter followed them. Omar leaned over to the rest of the family, his face twisted in a grin. "He's a dead man walking. No one gets a meeting with Najm Group on one day's notice, let alone a thirty-million-dollar signature." Salma turned to Khalid, her voice desperate. "Father, please. Don't even give him until tomorrow. Just throw him out now. We can find a match for Layla tonight!" Khalid waved his hand dismissively, watching the door where Tariq and Layla had exited. "Patience, Salma. Let the boy humiliate himself. When he fails tomorrow—and he will fail—Layla will see him for the fraud he is. She'll have no choice but to give up. We'll play his game, and then we'll win everything." Outside, the night air was cool. Layla walked beside Tariq, her head down, her hands trembling. "Tariq... thirty million? From Najm? They've rejected us four times this year. Why would you agree to that?" Tariq looked toward the city center, where the Najm Group's headquarters towered over the skyline like a monument to power. "They think they've set a trap," he said quietly. "But they don't realize who they've invited into the hunt." ════════════════════════════════════════