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Her mother sat slouched on a well-worn bench in the bus terminal, holding onto her torn purse as if letting go would mean losing everything, not even noticing the people coming and going. The weariness on her face was clear to see, tired eyes brimming with unshed tears, yet her lips remained supple and sealed. Barely speaking during the ride from the mansion to the bus station, it seemed she lacked the strength to speak at all.
Layla was furious, fighting back the impulse to scream to alert the world. She felt the need to shake her mother awake and assure her that it was still possible to contest, they could still emerge victorious. But her words refused to materialize, all while anger and sadness mingled with her sorrow as hot, insatiable fingers curling around her neck. Irate, disappointed and forlorn an inner tempest brewed, colliding mercilessly with no outlet.
"Muttered," is far too accurate to suggest the infliction. "Father never liked Kamal." These terse sentences left shallow air in her lungs, not an ounce of breath to spare. While he was always cautious around Kamal, suspicious of his true intentions, pale in comparison to the reality. Kamal was more interested in power than family. Still, Layla had never imagined his greed stretched this far, nor that he'd go to such ends and claim every last semblance of them.
No response came from her mother. As if she had not listened to her daughter, she physically disentangled herself from the situation. Layla's heart plummeted. This moment was unbearable to her, and she yearned for some way to change it. Yet she felt like a captive in a surreal nightmare, with no means of escape.
"Mom," Layla uttered softly. "We can't let him take everything. We can't just let him win."
A small tremor could be seen on her mother's lips as she gazed at Layla, sorrow and acceptance merging on her face. "Your father... he's gone, Layla. There's nothing more we can do."
Tightening her chest, Layla felt the crushing weight of her mother's words. They were brutal but brutally honest. With the realization that her father was gone, defeat started creeping in. There was no way back. But Kamal could not be allowed to triumph. Not if she had anything to say about it.
Her focus shifted back toward the mansion, gaze sharpening as rigid determination fueled her. Everything had already been taken. Her father's company, their home, even their projected life together. But he hadn't taken her, not yet at least. And never would.
Her resolve sparked with rebellion, she reached for her phone. With trembling fingers, she began crafting a message to the sole individual she thought might help. The person who had the resources to fight back.
"Aidan Rayyan."
Memories of everything that led up to the moment she hit send felt like an endless loop. After all, Aidan was the CEO of a well-known corporation, cold-blooded, and a man who built the empire he owned from scratch. It was common knowledge that he earned a reputation for getting what he wanted no matter the cost. While Layla didn't fully trust him, at least not right now, she was desperate and needed Aidan's resources. He could perhaps, just perhaps, make things easier that take down Kamal.
Of course, one thing Layla knew for certain was that Aidan did not help people without giving something in return. Now, she wasn't sure if she was ready to pay that price, but like so many others, the notion of choice had vanished long ago.
Her phone vibrating with Aidan's message was an entirely new matter.
"Meet me at my office at 2 p.m. Come solo."
"Did I mention you have my number?" Aidan added.
Skipping a beat was the last thing she expected, as Aidan's words felt heavy on her chest. So much was unknown but she was beginning to understand what Layla's instincts told her. While she might have been entering into a transaction with the proverbial devil, there were no choices left to wander.
As she arose and headed towards the nearest bus stop, she turned to look at her mother for the last time. "This will be resolved. It's a promise."
As always, her mother gave no reply. There was no need for an answer. The silence that enveloped them was laden with words, and for the most part, sent a tacit understanding. In this case, silence partnered with concern vividly detailed everything in the world. Under no circumstance did Layla want to rationally explain what she was doing. There was no time for the mother's consent, for Layla had a plan, and it was methodical.
Sleepless endorsing wheels, Ubuntu! Her preoccupied gaze froze on the window while contemplating on Kamal, the will and everything else acute. Additionally, everything Kamal took from her was a burning distraction, a consuming thirst for incandescent resolution – death's forgiveness. While attempting to work on her plan, she realized. Not yet, but one day she was bound to crack.
She pulled up to Aidan's office building a little roughly one o'clock. The lobby was sleek and modern, exuding affluence and status. Aidan was a man who didn't do anything halfheartedly. If he was going to aid her, it would be on his terms, and Layla recognized she would have to pay something to reap the benefits. What that price was, however, remained elusive.
The elevator doors opened, and she stepped out onto the 34th floor. His office was at the end of a long hallway, the door to his inner sanctum ajar. It seemed as if he was waiting for her. Deep breaths in rhythm with the thumping of her heart, surrendering to the moment, was the technique she had perfected over the years. Out of the myriad of moments this was perhaps the most pivotal.
Aidan shouldered the western window, his back to her, surveying the city like a colossal sleek animal as he preyed on his afternoon snack. In contrast to the city painting his frame, the setting and silhouette seemed fragile. Relaxed as he seemed, Aidan had an undeniable edge to him—a man like Aidan was deadly, dangerously focused.
He pivoted toward the door as she entered, and he spoke with the undertone of a man who harbored a secret. "Layla," He said with her voice flat, yet under control. It would not accompany any outburst, "I did expect you, but not for courtesy's sake. What do you desire?"
Layla stepped forth with more determination than before. "What I want is Kamal. Everything he took, also."
"And that is your answer," Aidan replied with an eyebrow raised and a smirk on his face. 'It's much too demanding.' "Yet, this can be arran
ged. Though, in which form are you prepared to bargain?"