Chapter 14

Tariq stood by the hospital window, his phone pressed to his ear. On the other end, Lina Quinn's voice was a practiced blend of professional distance and deep-seated loyalty. "Sir, the preparations at the gallery are proceeding according to your previous instructions," Lina said. "However, I would be honored if you would permit a formal meeting. It would allow me to present the full ledger of the Madinat Al-Waha holdings in person." Tariq looked at the reflection of his own tired face in the glass. He had spent the last few hours processing the weight of the Murad family legacy, a crown he wasn't yet ready to wear in the light of day. "I'll consider it in the future, Lina. For now, let things stay as they are." "I understand, sir," Lina replied immediately, her tone shifting to one of absolute deference. "Your word is final. I will await your next command." Tariq ended the call and tucked the phone away. He didn't return to the luxury of a private suite or a hotel. Instead, he found a plastic chair in the sterile, dimly lit corridor of the hospital. He leaned his head against the cold wall, closing his eyes as the scent of antiseptic filled his lungs. He slept fitfully, his rest punctuated by the distant squeak of nurse's shoes and the humming of the vending machines, a delivery man hiding in plain sight. Morning light was filtering through the ward's blinds when Rana appeared. Her eyes were rimmed with red, her expression a mask of frozen exhaustion. She looked at Tariq, who was straightening his crumpled clothes. "The doctor signed the discharge papers," Rana said, her voice brittle and cold. "I'm taking Layla home. Are you coming with us?" Tariq looked at her, searching for a flicker of the warmth they once shared, but found only a wall of resentment. "I'll come," he said, his voice raspy. A bitter smile touched his lips. "I should apologize to your father for the scene yesterday." Rana didn't respond. she simply turned and walked back toward the room to gather their daughter. The drive to the Mansour family home was conducted in a suffocating silence. When they entered the house in the afternoon, the air was thick with a tension that felt physical. Khalid Ghazi sat in his high-backed chair, his face a stony mask of disapproval. Nour stood nearby, her arms crossed, her eyes darting toward the door as if expecting someone far more important than her son-in-law. Layla, clutching a small stuffed toy, stepped forward on unsteady legs. Her voice was thin but hopeful. "Grandpa? I'm home." Khalid didn't even turn his head. He stared straight at the wall, his jaw tight. After a moment of agonizing silence, he stood up abruptly and walked toward his study, the heavy wooden door clicking shut behind him. Layla's face fell, her lip trembling as she looked up at Rana. Rana bit her lip so hard it turned white, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears of humiliation and hurt. Tariq remained silent, his hands clenched at his sides, recording every second of the snub. Seeking to break the atmosphere, Tariq moved toward the kitchen where Nour was beginning to prepare tea. "Let me help you with that, Mother. I can handle the heavy lifting." Nour spun around, a serrated knife in her hand as she pointed toward the kitchen exit. "Don't touch anything in this kitchen, Tariq. Your 'help' is the last thing this family needs. Look at you—still in those filthy clothes, smelling of the street. Get out of my sight before you ruin the appetite of our guest." Tariq lowered his head, his posture one of forced submission. "I'm sorry. I only wanted to be useful." "Then be useful by being invisible," she snapped. The doorbell rang, a sharp, energetic sound that changed Nour's entire demeanor. She dropped the knife and smoothed her hair, a bright, rehearsed smile spreading across her face. She hurried to the door and pulled it open. "Jawad! Oh, look at you! Come in, come in!" Jawad Al-Hashemi stepped into the foyer, radiating the confidence of a man who owned the room before he even walked into it. He held several beautifully wrapped gift boxes, the gold foil catching the light. "Good afternoon, Auntie Nour," Jawad said, his voice smooth and projecting a calculated modesty. "I hope I'm not intruding. My parents send their warmest regards and asked me to bring these delicacies for you and Uncle Khalid." "Intruding? Never!" Nour beamed, taking the gifts with a flutter of excitement. "You are always welcome here, Jawad. You're like the son we never had." Tariq stood in the shadows of the hallway, a silent observer to the performance. Jawad glanced past Nour, his eyes landing on Tariq. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but he didn't acknowledge him directly. Nour turned back toward the hallway, her face hardening as she saw Tariq. "Don't just stand there like a statue! Go and prepare the tea for Jawad. And make sure it's the good leaves, not the scrap you usually drink. Move!" Tariq didn't argue. He walked into the kitchen, the sound of Nour's barking voice following him. Behind him, he could feel Jawad's smug gaze tracking his movements, the silent triumph of a predator watching a scavenger. Khalid emerged from his study the moment he heard Jawad's voice. The coldness that had greeted Layla was gone, replaced by a forced but eager hospitality. The two men sat in the living room, the conversation flowing easily about business and the local social scene. "And where is Rana?" Jawad asked, his tone casual but his eyes searching the stairs. "I was hoping to see her." Khalid looked up and shouted toward the upper floor. "Rana! Get down here! Jawad is visiting!" Rana appeared at the top of the stairs, her expression shifting from weariness to sharp surprise. She descended slowly, her eyes narrowing as she saw Jawad sitting comfortably in her father's house. "Jawad? What are you doing here?" "Just checking in on the family, Rana," Jawad said, rising politely. Nour stepped toward Tariq, who had just emerged from the kitchen with a tray. She caught the scent of tobacco on him and her face contorted in a vicious glare. "Are you smoking in this house? How dare you! With Layla's condition, you're bringing that poison in here?" Tariq looked at the half-finished cigarette he had extinguished just before entering. "I'm sorry. I'll be more careful." "You won't be careful, you'll be finished!" Nour hissed. "Stub that out and get out of the way." She pushed a platter of expensive, imported fruits toward Jawad, her hands hovering as she offered him the best cuts. "Eat, Jawad. These were just delivered this morning. Only the best for you." "Thank you, Auntie. You're too kind," Jawad said, taking a piece of fruit with practiced grace. He looked over at Khalid, his expression turning business-like. "I wanted to give you an update, Uncle Khalid. The decorations at Al-Badr Gallery have already begun. My team is working around the clock." Khalid leaned forward, his interest piqued. "Already? That's impressive speed, Jawad." "We don't believe in delays," Jawad said, throwing a cheeky, sidelong glance at Tariq. "The invitations have been sent to the most influential families in the city. The grand opening is set for Saturday morning, ten o'clock sharp. It will be the event of the season." Tariq remained silent, leaning against the doorframe, his face unreadable. "And what about the... other matter?" Khalid asked, his voice dropping slightly. "The master of the gallery? Tariq Murad?" Jawad leaned back, looking humble yet tactfully influential. "I've made inquiries. A meeting with Mr. Murad is certainly possible. My family has certain... connections. It isn't scheduled yet, as a man of his stature is incredibly busy, but I'm confident I can arrange it soon." Khalid's face lit up, a rare look of genuine pleasure crossing his features. He turned his head toward Tariq, his eyes cold and full of condescension. "Tariq, look at Jawad," Khalid said, his voice heavy with "advice" that felt like a lash. "Look at what a man of his age has accomplished. You should take this opportunity to learn from him. Or better yet, maybe Jawad can find a job for you. A driver, perhaps? Or a security guard? It's better than wasting your life delivering food." Tariq met Khalid's gaze. His voice was calm, devoid of the anger the room expected. "I don't think I have anything to learn from him. And I certainly don't need a job from him." The room went silent. Rana looked at Tariq with a mixture of fear and exhaustion. Nour's face turned a deep, mottled red. "You arrogant, ungrateful brat!" Nour screamed, stepping toward Tariq. Her glare was pure hate. "You dare insult Jawad's kindness? You have nothing! You are nothing! We took you in out of pity, and this is how you act?" She grabbed Tariq by the arm, her nails digging into his sleeve, and began shoving him toward the front door. "Get out! I won't have your filth staining this house another minute. Go back to the gutter where you belong!" She shoved him out onto the porch and slammed the heavy oak door. The sound of the lock clicking echoed in the quiet afternoon air. Tariq stood on the steps for a moment, straightening his collar. He took out his phone and dialed a number. "Lina," he said when she picked up. "Yes, sir?" "I've changed my mind about one thing," Tariq said, his voice cold and precise. "I find I have a very strong dislike for Jawad Al-Hashemi." There was a brief pause on the line. "I understand perfectly, sir. Consider it handled." Across the city, at the Al-Badr Gallery, the sound of hammers and drills filled the air as workers moved expensive display cases into position. Jawad's personal assistant was overseeing the placement of a large banner with the Hashemi family crest. Lina Quinn walked onto the floor, her heels clicking sharply against the marble. She didn't look at the workers. She looked at the foreman. "Stop. All of it. Now." The foreman blinked. "Ma'am? We have a contract with Mr. Al-Hashemi—" "The contract is void," Lina said, her voice like a glacier. "Remove everything. You have one hour before I have it thrown into the street as refuse." She pulled out her phone and dialed Jawad. Jawad was still sitting in the Ghazi living room, basking in the praise of Nour and Khalid, when his phone vibrated. Seeing the ID for Al-Badr Gallery, he excused himself with a triumphant grin. "Lina! I assume you're calling to tell me the centerpiece has arrived?" Jawad said, his voice loud enough for the Ghazis to hear his importance. "Is Tariq Murad there? Have you set the time for our meeting?" "Mr. Al-Hashemi," Lina's voice came through the speaker, cold and biting. "I am calling to inform you that Al-Badr Gallery will not be rented out to you. Not today, and not ever. Your reservation is cancelled, effective immediately. Do not contact us again." The smile froze on Jawad's face. "What? You can't—Lina, wait! What about the invitations? What about Mr. Murad?" The line went dead. Jawad stared at the screen, the silence of the Ghazi living room suddenly feeling like a tomb. ════════════════════════════════════════