Chapter 5

Rana Ghazi's eyes widened as she took in the scene. Tariq was standing there, his posture unusually straight, while Fahd Abbas—the man who held the keys to the most powerful conglomerate in the city—stood inches away. Tariq's heart hammered against his ribs. He hadn't expected Rana to appear at this exact moment, let alone catch him with the man who had spent the last hour begging him to reclaim his throne. "I... I was just helping him," Tariq blurted out, the lie tasting like ash. Fahd Abbas didn't miss a beat. The old butler-turned-chairman smoothed his expensive silk suit, his face shifting into a mask of polite gratitude that betrayed none of their shared history. "Young man, thank you," Fahd said, his voice resonant and calm. He directed a small, formal nod toward Rana, acknowledging her presence without revealing his shock at seeing the Young Master's wife. "It's thanks to you that I finally found this place. Let this old man treat you to a meal next time to show my gratitude." Tariq waved a hand dismissively, trying to usher the man toward the waiting luxury vehicle. "That's okay, sir. Please take care on your way back." Fahd climbed into the back of the Al-Fares. The heavy door closed with a muffled thud, and the sleek black car glided away from the curb, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Rana stood frozen, her gaze fixed on the disappearing taillights. She turned to Tariq, her expression a mix of bewilderment and burgeoning suspicion. "Do you know Fahd Abbas?" Tariq shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. He needed to downplay this immediately. "No, I don't. That old thing was lost, so I just led the way." Rana's eyes practically popped out of her head. She let out a sharp, frustrated breath, her shoulders tensing. "What do you mean by 'old thing'? Tariq, do you have any idea who that was? That man is the wealthiest in Al-Wadi, the president of Murad Group!" "He looked like any other old man to me," Tariq replied, his tone flat. Rana rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful. She massaged her temples, clearly exhausted by his perceived ignorance. "I can't even talk to you. Listen, don't forget that my father will be hosting a get-together this weekend at Al-Karam Residence. Prepare some gifts." Tariq looked away, his jaw tightening. The Ghazi family gatherings were nothing but gauntlets of humiliation where he served as the primary target. "I never said I would go." "You!" Rana's voice rose, her composure finally snapping. She looked at him—really looked at him—with a gaze full of sharp, jagged disappointment. "Do as you please then!" She turned on her heel, her heels clicking aggressively against the pavement as she stormed toward her car. "I must have been blind to fall for you," she muttered, loud enough for the wind to carry the words back to him. Tariq watched her go. He noticed the way she moved—stiff, hurried, and dressed in her best professional attire. She wasn't heading toward her office. He watched her pull out into traffic and followed at a distance, his instincts prickling. When she pulled into the driveway of the Al-Manzil Hotel, a cold knot of anger formed in his chest. Inside her car, Rana checked her reflection in the rearview mirror, wiping a stray tear before it could ruin her makeup. She was drowning. The project she was handling was worth one million dollars—a make-or-break deal for her career and the only way to keep up with Layla's mounting medical bills. But the client, Adnan Jabir, was a predator who smelled blood in the water. Her phone buzzed. She took a steadying breath and answered. "Hello, Adnan Jabir, I've arrived. Where are you?" "I'm waiting for you at the restaurant on the sixth floor," Adnan's voice came through, mellow and oily, like he was already tasting a victory. "Alright, Adnan Jabir, I'll be over soon," Rana said, forcing a professional smile into her voice that didn't reach her eyes. Tariq entered the hotel lobby minutes later. The opulence of the Al-Manzil usually made him feel out of place in his delivery uniform, but today, he didn't care. He saw the elevator doors close and noted the floor indicator rising toward the sixth. "Wow, isn't this my cousin brother-in-law who works as a delivery man?" The mocking voice cut through the lobby. Tariq turned to see Farah Ghazi, Rana's younger cousin, draped over the arm of a tall, handsome man. Farah was dressed in labels that probably cost more than Tariq's annual salary, her face twisted in a look of pure derision. "Are you delivering to the Hilton?" The man beside her, Zayd, looked Tariq up and down with an amused smirk. "Farah Ghazi, who's this?" Farah snorted, tossing her hair back. "He's my cousin brother-in-law. Didn't I tell you before? The one whose business failed and had to do deliveries for a living. He even borrowed a few thousand bucks from me but hasn't returned it yet." Zayd let out a loud, bark-like laugh. "Haha, this is the cousin brother-in-law you've been talking about? The legend himself?" Tariq felt the familiar heat of annoyance rising, but he suppressed it. Farah was family, however toxic, and he had more pressing matters on the sixth floor. He forced a thin, tight smile. "I'll return you the money, but I have something to do now. So, I won't keep both of you company." "Return me the money?" Farah's laugh was sharp and sarcastic. "I'm not counting on it. With your pay as a delivery man, would it even be enough to cure Layla? You can barely afford the bus fare here, let alone a hospital bill." Tariq's expression went ice-cold. Bringing his daughter into their petty elitism was the final straw. "Farah Ghazi, I am still your cousin brother-in-law. Don't you think you're too rude?" "Hah! I've never acknowledged you as my cousin brother-in-law," she snapped, her voice drawing looks from other hotel guests. "You just happened to be clinging onto my cousin sister and married into our family, nothing more. You're a parasite, Tariq." Zayd leaned in, his eyes gleaming with mockery. "Wow, he's a live-in son-in-law? I thought those only existed in bad soap operas." Farah waved her hand in front of her nose as if clearing a bad smell. "Forget it, let's go, Zayd. Standing beside a person like this makes the air all greasy and smelly. I don't want his 'delivery boy' aura rubbing off on my new dress." They sauntered away, their laughter echoing in the marble lobby. Tariq took a deep, steadying breath. He looked at his hands, then at the elevator. If Farah knew that he could buy this hotel and the street it sat on with a single phone call, she would be groveling at his feet. But he had a wife to find. He stepped into the next elevator and hit the button for the sixth floor. The restaurant was a high-end Western establishment with low lighting and intimate booths. It didn't take Tariq long to spot them. Rana was sitting across from a bald, oily fat man whose skin seemed to shine under the recessed lights. Adnan Jabir. Tariq watched from the entrance as Adnan leaned forward, his hand sliding across the white tablecloth toward Rana's. He saw Rana flinch, pulling her hand back under the guise of reaching for her water glass, her face a mask of strained politeness. The sight sent a jolt of pure fury through Tariq. He pulled out his phone and dialed Rana's number. Across the room, Rana saw her phone light up. She looked at the screen and felt a surge of relief at the excuse to break the tension. "I'm sorry, Adnan Jabir, let me take this call," she said tactfully, sliding out of the booth before he could protest. She walked toward the foyer, pressing the phone to her ear. "Hello, Tariq, is something up?" "I'm in front of you," Tariq said. Rana froze. she looked up and saw him standing by the maître d' station, his delivery jacket a jarring contrast to the velvet curtains. Her face fell, transitioning from shock to a frosty, jagged anger. "Are you following me?" she hissed, walking toward him until they were secluded in a corner. "Excellent job Tariq, you're even starting this disgusting hobby of stalking someone now? Is your life so empty that you have to track my every move?" "I don't have that kind of time to be following you," Tariq lied, his voice flat. "I just happened to pass by and saw your car. Who's he? Is he more important than Layla? To come out and meet this fat man instead of going to the hospital. You're something, aren't you?" Rana's jaw dropped. "A business partner. We're here for a business discussion about a contract that could save our finances." "A business discussion?" Tariq countered. "I saw him making moves on you. Are you having a business discussion or a date? Because from where I was standing, he looked like he was trying to buy more than just a marketing plan." The slap didn't come, but the words Rana threw at him felt like one. "Tariq Murad, what are you trying to say? Are you suspecting me of an affair?" Her voice dropped to a hateful, trembling tone. "I grind myself away every day, working just to earn money to cure Layla! I swallow my pride and sit with men like that so our daughter has a chance! But, what about you? Does making deliveries every day earn you a great future? I have asked you to apologize to my parents, to try and get back into their good graces so they might help us, but have you done that? No. You're just a coward hiding behind a delivery bag!" She sniffled, her eyes brimming with tears of pure exhaustion and rage. "Forget it. It's no use telling you anything. You don't understand the pressure of a million-dollar order. You don't understand anything. I'm not coming back tonight." The weight of her words hit Tariq like a physical blow. He looked at her—at the dark circles under her eyes that makeup couldn't quite hide—and realized his approach had been all wrong. He was the one with the power, yet he was letting her drown. "What if I can help you?" he asked quietly. Rana let out a short, cold laugh that was more of a sob. "What can you help me with, Tariq? Can you bring me a one million dollar worth of order? Can you sign the papers? Can you pay the hospital?" "It's just a one million dollar order, I can—" "Tariq, that's enough," Rana interrupted, her voice turning deathly cold. "I don't need you to worry about my troubles. Go back to your bike. I have work to do." She turned and walked back into the restaurant, straightening her spine as she approached Adnan Jabir's table. Tariq stood in the hallway for a long moment, the sounds of the hotel fading into the background. He pulled his phone out again, but he didn't call Rana. He scrolled through his contacts until he found the number he had avoided for seven years. ════════════════════════════════════════