"What the hell was that?"
Imran didn't wait until they were out of the building. The door had barely clicked shut before he tossed the question like a grenade between them.
Ayub sighed. "What was what?"
Imran turned on his heel to face him, grinning like the proud older brother of a man who had just learned how to throw a punch. "That line. That delivery. That tone. You know exactly what."
Ayub kept walking toward the elevator. "She pushed. I responded."
"Responded? That wasn't a response. That was flirting, and not even the accidental kind. You actually had bass in your voice, bro. I almost blushed."
Ayub rubbed the back of his neck. "She was messing with me the whole meeting. It was... a lot."
Imran hit the elevator button, still grinning. "She put you with Jasmina. That was the ultimate middle finger."
"Trust me, I know."
"Jasmina's been glowing all day, by the way. Like she just got nominated for an award. 'I get to work with Lamija's Ayub,'" Imran mimicked in a pitch-perfect impression.
Ayub gave him a flat look.
"You don't like her?" Imran asked.
"She's nice. Not for me."
Imran raised a brow. "Because she's not Lamija."
Ayub said nothing.
The elevator doors opened. They stepped in. The silence stretched.
Imran looked at him sideways. "So what is this then?"
"What?"
"Are you... hoping for something now? With her?"
Ayub stared straight ahead, the numbers lighting up one by one above the doors.
He didn't answer.
But the tightness in his jaw said enough.
Imran nodded slowly. "Man. You're really in it now."
They drove in mostly silence until Imran turned down a narrow street. He had told Lamija they were checking out the property on Marindvor. This was not it.
"Where are we going?" Ayub asked.
Imran smirked. "To see a site I'm working on. New project. Off the company books, more personal."
Ayub raised a brow. "You're not usually one for side ventures."
"This one's different. I want to open a gym. Full training setup. MMA, strength, discipline. Talha will run it."
Ayub turned to him, startled. "Talha?"
Imran nodded. "Yeah. I haven't told him yet. He thinks I'm moving him to northern logistics."
Ayub let out a low laugh. "He's going to think you've lost your mind."
"Maybe. But he's ready. He just doesn't know it yet."
Ayub hesitated, glancing toward the building. "You sure? Talha looks one bad day away from a lawsuit half the time. He's intense."
Imran shrugged. "So are most people with greatness in them. He needs direction. And he needs to know we believe he can lead, not just fight."
They stepped out of the car and stood in front of the building—tall windows covered in dust, scaffolding still clinging to one side. From the outside it didn't look like much yet.
But inside?
Inside, it had bones.
High ceilings. Reinforced walls. The echo of potential.
They moved through slowly, dodging ladders, exposed wires, and half-unwrapped fixtures. Imran rattled off specs—bag layout, ventilation, locker spacing—but Ayub barely heard him. He was already seeing it. The mats. The sweat. The chaos with rules. He could picture Talha in the middle of it all—loud, focused, alive in a way he rarely was outside a ring.
"This could be good for him," Ayub said. "The kind of good he doesn't think he deserves."
Imran just nodded.
Ayub kept walking.
And the more he saw, the harder it was to ignore the weight sitting in his chest.
Because this wasn't just a gym.
This was a gift.
Not the flashy kind. Not for show. This was the kind of thing you gave to people you considered your own. Something that said, You belong here, even if you don't believe it yet.
Ayub glanced back at Imran—at the way he moved through the site like he was laying down pieces of a future that already had space for all of them in it.
No fanfare. No speeches. Just action.
That's what the Begovićs did. They didn't hand you pity. They handed you responsibility. Ownership. Purpose. And somehow, they made you feel like it had always been yours.
Ayub looked around again, jaw tight.
This family—Imran, his father, even Lamija—they spent their wealth like it was a shared resource. Like it belonged to all of them. Not just blood, but anyone who stayed long enough to earn a place.
They took him in when his own family left him on a doorstep.
Now Imran was building Talha a gym.
He didn't say thank you. Not out loud.
He just stood there, letting it sink in.
This was what legacy looked like.
Not power. Not reputation.
Just people investing in each other like they meant it.
"You ever going to admit how far gone you are?" Imran asked, not even bothering to look up from his clipboard.
Ayub shot him a look. "I told you—I'm not letting her mess with me anymore."
Imran grinned. "Look at you. Boundaries. Words. Growth. Ayub 2.0."
Ayub snorted. "She pushed. I pushed back. That's all it was."
Imran didn't push it. Just raised an eyebrow and went back to checking off specs.
Then Ayub asked, almost offhand, "You still chasing Selma?"
Imran looked up, unfazed. "I wouldn't call it chasing."
Ayub scoffed. "She pushes you away like it's her job, and you just keep showing up like it's yours."
Imran smirked. "We're persistent. Not reckless."
Ayub raised a brow. "You Begovićs don't know when to back off. It's admirable. And deeply concerning."
Imran laughed, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "She's different."
"I know."
"She keeps me at a distance like I'm a grenade with the pin halfway out."," Imran said, quieter now. "And I get it. She's been through hell."
Ayub nodded. She had a look in her eyes that he often saw in himself and Talha. Like she was always bracing for something to fall apart. "Someone like you would be good for her," Ayub said aloud before he could stop himself.
Imran was silent for a second, then said, "I just want her to let me love her. Her and Sanel—both of them. That's all."
Ayub didn't respond right away.
Then, quietly: "You'd be good for her."
Imran didn't react. He just held his clipboard a little tighter.
And Ayub didn't say anything else.
Because some things didn't need to be unpacked in the middle of a construction site.
Some things just needed to be said once—and meant.
They walked the rest of the site in silence. When they stepped back out into the sun, Ayub glanced once more over his shoulder at the building.
It didn't look like much.
But it would.
They climbed into the car, the doors closing with a thud. Imran tapped the ignition. Just as the engine came to life, so did the screen.
The caller ID lit up.
Adil.
Both men groaned in unison.
"Why is it always him?" Ayub muttered.
Imran didn't answer right away. His jaw had already locked.
Adil's older brother—Nedim—had been circling Lamija like a vulture for months. It was never about romance. Never about her. It was strategy. A merger dressed in gold cufflinks and tailored suits.
Nedim marries Lamija. Their logistics company folds into Begović Industries. The families become one on paper.
Ayub's stomach turned every time he thought about it.
Husine had built the company with ruthless precision, but when it came to his daughters? They were never pawns. They were the jewels in his crown. And Imran lived to protect those jewels.
Lamija had turned Nedim down in every language they shared—blunt, cold, unmoved.
She wasn't interested.
And if she ever did lose her senses and gave that bastard a chance, Imran would burn the whole board before he let her become someone's strategic win.
He jabbed the speaker icon.
"Adil," he said, voice flat.
"Imran!" Adil's voice poured through the car, smooth and smug as ever. "Still hiding from society in dusty construction zones?"
Imran didn't answer. Ayub stayed silent.
"Listen," Adil continued, "I need a favor. Nedim saw that Lamija's been eyeing the new Solène bag—you know, the crazy limited drop, three per country. He wants to get it for her."
Imran's expression didn't shift. "Already got it."
Adil laughed. "Of course you did. Always a step ahead. Then maybe give it to Amina instead? Let Nedim take care of Lamija. It might open a door."
Imran's voice dropped into ice. "As long as I breathe, Lamija and Amina will be taken care of. Tell Nedim to back off. She's off limits."
There was a pause on the line.
"I'm serious, Adil," Imran continued. "It will never happen. My father would burn your company to the ground before he marries her off like cattle. And I'll burn everything your family has ever built down just for the fucking fun of it."
Adil gave a short, uneasy laugh. "Alright, alright. No offense meant."
"Then stop acting like this is business," Imran snapped. "She's not part of your portfolio."
The call ended.
Imran tapped the screen off and stared ahead, jaw tight.
Neither of them spoke for a while.
Then Ayub muttered, "I hate that guy."
Imran's fists flexed on the wheel. "Same."
Ayub watched him in silence. There was nothing to say—because he knew if it ever came down to it, Imran would burn it all.
That was the difference.
Men like Imran protected from the front.
Men like Ayub watched from the edge, unsure if they were even allowed to step into the fight.
And for the first time all day, Ayub wasn't just angry.
He was reminded.
That no matter how steady he stood, no matter how much he gave, a woman like Lamija might never see him as more than a shadow behind her father's throne.