Chapter 9

Zahra Jawad snatched the platinum card from Tariq's hand, her lips curling into a smirk. She marched toward the front desk of Al-Karam Residence, her hips swaying with exaggerated confidence. Kamal Al-Khoury stood by, crossing his arms with a look of smug expectation, while Rana Ghazi remained frozen, her face a mask of weary embarrassment. The rest of the marketing team huddled together, whispering and casting pitying glances at Tariq. "Help me check if this card can reserve us a private room," Zahra said, tossing the card onto the polished marble counter. Her voice was loud enough to echo through the foyer, ensuring every elite patron in the vicinity could hear. The front desk girl picked up the card. Her initial expression of professional boredom vanished the moment her eyes swept over the embossed platinum surface. She swiped it through the reader, her fingers trembling. The monitor flashed a sequence of high-level clearances that made the girl's breath hitch. "Miss... is this your card?" the receptionist asked, her voice cracking with sudden nerves. She looked at Zahra with a mixture of terror and awe. Zahra threw her head back, laughing tauntingly as she pointed a manicured finger at Tariq, who was standing several paces away. "It's not mine. It's his. Can you believe it? He probably found it in the trash or printed it at home." The receptionist didn't join in the laughter. Instead, her face went pale. She scrambled from behind the desk, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste to reach Tariq. She stopped before him, bowing so low her forehead almost touched her knees. "Sir, you are our restaurant's platinum member," the girl said, her voice frantic with respect. "There is a special room specially reserved for you. It is ready for your immediate use. Please, follow me." The laughter in the foyer died instantly. Kamal Al-Khoury's smug grin vanished, replaced by a slack-jawed stare. Rana Ghazi blinked, her eyes darting between Tariq and the bowing staff member. Zahra lunged forward, her face flushed with agitation. "Hey, hey, hey, are you mistaken? Him? He's your restaurant's platinum member? Look at him! He's a delivery driver! Check the name again!" The receptionist straightened up, though she kept her head slightly bowed toward Tariq. "I'm not mistaken, Miss. This is a platinum card, and our restaurant has issued only eight pieces. Each cardholder has a private room specially reserved for them at all times. The system does not lie." Eight pieces. The weight of that number hit the room like a physical blow. In a city of millions, Tariq held one of only eight keys to the most exclusive establishment in Madinat Al-Waha. Tariq remained neutral, his expression unchanging as he looked at the stunned crowd. "It's not mine," he said calmly, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. "It belongs to my company's boss. I'm just here to make a reservation on his behalf." Kamal Al-Khoury let out a long, loud exhale, his chest puffing back out. He began to laugh, a harsh, taunting sound that lacked its previous conviction but served to mask his shock. "And here I was wondering why! So it was just dishonest advertising. You're just a glorified messenger boy playing with your master's toys. I almost thought the world had gone mad." Zahra sneered, her shoulders relaxing. "Of course. He's just a dog holding his owner's leash. For a second there, I thought the trash had turned into gold." Tariq ignored them. He turned to Rana, whose eyes were still fixed on him with an unreadable intensity. "Take them to dinner," he said faintly. "I'll go back first. You guys enjoy the room." Without waiting for a response, Tariq turned and walked out of the opulent glass doors of Al-Karam Residence. He didn't look back at the luxury he was leaving behind, nor at the colleagues who were already rushing toward the elevator to claim a seat in a room they would never have seen otherwise. A few minutes later, as Tariq unlocked his rented bicycle, his phone vibrated. It was a message from Rana. *Thank you.* Tariq looked at the two words for a long time. He typed a quick reply. *No problem.* A faint smile touched his lips, but it faded quickly. He climbed onto the bicycle and began to pedal toward the outskirts of the district. Guilt gnawed at him. He had the world at his fingertips—the Murad family's vast wealth, the seventy percent of global business his family controlled—yet he was letting his wife struggle, letting her endure the insults of men like Kamal and the arrogance of girls like Zahra. He wanted to tell her the truth, to sweep away her worries with a single word, but the seven years of distance and the complexity of his inheritance held his tongue. The sun was setting as Tariq reached the intersection near Al-Jawhara. He signaled a right turn, his mind still preoccupied with thoughts of Rana. Suddenly, the roar of a high-performance engine shattered the quiet of the evening. A motorcycle, a gleaming Al-Hurriya Sportster 883 Custom-Davidson, came hurtling through the intersection at a speed far exceeding the limit. The rider slammed on the brakes, the tires screaming against the asphalt, but the momentum was too great. To avoid a direct collision with Tariq's bicycle, the rider swerved violently. The heavy machine skidded across the road and crashed into the thick grass of the embankment, kicking up a cloud of dust and debris. Tariq hopped off his bike and rushed toward the wreckage. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you there!" he called out quickly, his voice tight with concern. "Are you guys alright? Do you want to go to the hospital? I'll compensate for the bike." A man crawled out from under the heavy frame of the Sportster, his leather jacket scuffed. Beside him, a young woman in fashionable, torn jeans and a tight top stood up, dusting off her knees. "Why are you here?" The voice was a sharp, piercing screech. Tariq froze. Farah Ghazi was staring at him, her eyes wide with shocked fury. The man beside her, Adel Al-Hammadi, didn't wait for an explanation. He lunged toward Tariq, his face contorted. "Are you trying to kill yourself? F*ck!" he bellowed, his voice shaking with rage. "I said I'm sorry," Tariq began, reaching out a hand to steady the situation. Adel shoved him hard in the chest, sending Tariq stumbling back several steps. "You think you have a lot of money? Three hundred thousand? Can you pay up? What are you pretentious for?!" Adel let out a furious, sarcastic laugh, gesturing wildly at his mangled motorcycle. The Al-Hurriya Sportster 883 Custom-Davidson was worth two hundred thousand dollars, but the customized parts and the ego of its owner had inflated the price of the accident instantly. Tariq regained his balance, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the traffic light behind them. "You're the ones running a red light," he said, his voice dropping into a cold, firm tone. "I'm already kind enough to not argue with you on that, don't push it!" "You said I'm running a red light?" Adel's reaction was a sudden, roaring outburst. He stepped into Tariq's personal space, his chest heaving. "Which eye did you see it with? You're some loser on a bicycle and you're trying to lecture me?" Farah stepped forward, her face twisted in a sneer as she gripped Adel's arm. "Adel Al-Hammadi, don't let him off so easily!" she urged harshly. Adel glanced at her, momentarily distracted. "Do you know him?" "My cousin brother-in-law," Farah spat, glaring at Tariq as if he were a stain on the pavement. "But we're not close. He's a kept man. He lives off my cousin's salary and spends his days delivering food. He doesn't have a cent to his name." Adel's rage transformed into a cruel, mocking delight. "Shit! A kept man was trying to act all pretentious in front of me? Are you tired of living?" He stepped back, scolding Tariq with a wagging finger. "Alright then, didn't you say you would compensate three hundred thousand dollars? Pay up! Right now!" Tariq looked at the wreckage, then at the two of them. The guilt he had felt earlier was gone, replaced by a weary irritation. "I don't feel like it anymore," he said neutrally. "Because you guys were the ones running a red light. You're lucky I didn't call the police." Farah let out a cold, sharp laugh. "Haha! I think you just don't have the money. Weren't you doing really well in your act earlier? 'I'll compensate for the bike,'" she mimicked his voice with a high-pitched whine. "Why back down now? Oh, right, because your 'allowance' doesn't cover six-figure accidents." Adel stepped closer, his hand reaching for his phone. "Three hundred thousand! Pay up or I'll call some guys over to settle this the hard way." Tariq didn't blink. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Call them then." Adel's jaw tightened. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number, his eyes never leaving Tariq's. "Majid Al-Amiri, bring some men over to Al-Jawhara! I've got a brat here who needs a lesson in manners. Hurry up!" He hung up and looked at Tariq with a vicious grin. "Alright, you're a tough brat! Don't run away in shock later!" He started laughing as Tariq pulled out his own phone. "Hahaha! You've called someone too? Hilarious! Okay, let me see just who you managed to get. Is it the neighborhood trash collector?" Tariq ignored the taunt. He waited for the call to connect. "Yasmin Al-Farsi," he said into the receiver, his voice calm and level. "Bring some men over to Al-Jawhara. The more, the better." He ended the call and looked at Farah. He wondered if he should tell Rana about how her cousin was spending her evenings—speeding through red lights on the back of a rich kid's bike and harassing her husband. At the headquarters of Al-Saqr Delivery Services, Yasmin Al-Farsi's eyes widened as she put down her phone. She didn't hesitate. She grabbed the radio on her desk and keyed the all-call frequency. "All units," Yasmin commanded, her voice ringing with authority. "This is an emergency mobilization. Every driver currently on shift, drop your orders. We are heading to Al-Jawhara. Now!" Across the city, hundreds of red-colored scooters began to pivot, their engines buzzing as they abandoned their routes and converged on a single point. ════════════════════════════════════════