"...and with that being said, Mrs. Fatima, how do you feel about the revised terms for Miami?" Zaire's lawyer asked, his voice cutting through the room.
I heard him, but I couldn't bring myself to answer. My eyes were locked on the paper in front of me, the words blurring together.
"Mrs. Fatima?" he tried again, a little louder this time.
I didn't look up. I couldn't. My head was heavy, my body even heavier.
"Mrs. Fatima," my attorney whispered from my right, nudging my arm gently.
I finally blinked and looked up, startled, only to realize everyone in the room was staring at me, waiting for an answer.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My throat was dry, my mind blank.
"Let's take a break," Zaire's deep voice interrupted, smooth but commanding.
His lawyer hesitated, glancing between us. "Sir, we were just about to—"
"I said, let's take a break," Zaire repeated, not raising his voice but leaving no room for argument.
Chairs scraped back and papers shuffled as everyone stood and quietly left the room. My attorneys walked out with Zaire's team, the door closing softly behind them until it was just the two of us.
I sat there frozen, staring down at the table as I tried to steady my breathing.
Zaire's footsteps were quiet as he walked around the table, and then he crouched down beside me.
"Fatima," he said low, and my name sounded so different coming from him.
I lifted my eyes slowly, and there he was. Close. Studying me.
"When's the last time you actually slept?"
I shook my head and sat up straighter. "I'm fine. I just—"
"You're not fine," he cut me off gently but firmly.
I dropped my gaze back to the table, my hands tightening in my lap. I hated how easily he could see through me.
Zaire's eyes stayed locked on mine, unreadable.
"You weren't paying attention the entire meeting," he said finally, his voice low but sharp enough to sting. "If you really don't want to continue, just say so. Don't waste people's money or time."
I felt my chest tighten. His words weren't loud, but they cut straight through me.
I pushed back my chair and stood abruptly. "I just need a minute," I muttered, brushing past him.
There was a small bar tucked against the corner of the conference room, and I went straight for it, my hands shaking as I grabbed the first bottle of liquor I saw. I didn't even bother with the label. My hands were still trembling, but then I tilted my head back and threw it all down in one go.
The burn hit my throat instantly, forcing a harsh cough out of me, but I didn't even care. I slammed the glass down on the counter and wiped the tears from my face with the back of my hand.
"You know what's so funny about life?" I said, my voice raw.
Zaire didn't answer, just stood there across the room watching me.
"You can give it everything you got—your heart, your energy, your soul—and in the end, life doesn't care. People don't care. They'll take it, step all over it, and keep moving like you never existed."
My voice cracked, but I forced myself to keep talking. "I built everything I have from nothing. I fought through hell for it. And now? It's like the world's just... laughing at me. Like it can't wait to watch me fall apart."
Zaire stepped closer, slow and deliberate. "You're wrong," he said quietly.
I looked at him, my hands still braced on the edge of the counter. "Am I?"
He closed the distance between us, his presence steady, grounding. "You're still standing, Fatima. That's what's funny about life. You think it's breaking you, but really... it's showing you how strong you are."
I let out a humorless laugh. "Strong? I feel like I'm hanging on by a thread."
He tilted his head, his voice low but firm. "Then hold on. But don't you ever show anyone else that you're this close to breaking. Not in here. Not in any room where your name means power."
I swallowed hard, my eyes dropping to the floor.
Zaire stepped even closer, his voice brushing my ear. "Don't give them the satisfaction of seeing you crack. You've built too much for that. Remember who you are."
My throat tightened, and I closed my eyes for a moment.
"You hear me?" he asked.
I nodded slowly, my voice barely a whisper. "Yeah... I hear you."
I stood there, letting his words settle in me.
Courage, I told myself silently. You've survived worse than this. Every downfall is the beginning of something new. Remember who you are, Fatima.
I straightened my back and lifted my chin, the fog lifting from my chest.
Zaire nodded slightly, reading the shift in my energy. "Good. Let's finish this," he said as he stepped to the door and pulled it open.
"Bring everyone back in," he told his assistant in the hallway, his voice carrying that quiet authority.
Within minutes, the conference room filled again. Chairs slid back into place, documents were reopened, and the atmosphere settled back into business.
Zaire glanced at me briefly before leaning back in his seat. "Let's pick up where we left off," he said to his lawyer.
The meeting moved forward with ease this time. No hesitations, no wandering thoughts. I was sharp again, fully present, asking the right questions, and my team was right there with me.
By the end, everyone had signed off on the terms and funding.
"It's official," Zaire's lawyer said, closing the final folder. "We'll begin building in Miami as soon as possible."
I nodded slowly, a small wave of pride washing through me. This was bigger than me—this was the next step for Luxor, for everything I'd worked so hard for.
Zaire's eyes met mine across the table, and he gave the faintest nod.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt steady.
After the meeting ended, the room filled with handshakes, congratulations, and the sound of briefcases snapping shut. One by one, everyone filed out, their voices fading down the hallway until the door finally closed.
It was just me and Zaire now.
We sat in silence for a moment, him leaning back casually in his chair, me tracing the rim of my empty water glass with my fingertip. The air between us was heavy but not uncomfortable.
Then Zaire leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. "You know I'm going to make you richer than you've ever imagined, right?"
I looked at him, caught off guard by the suddenness of his words.
"Why me?" I asked, the question leaving my lips before I could stop it. "Out of all the entrepreneurs you could've chosen... why am I the one given this opportunity? The money I'm putting in isn't even close to what you make monthly off your businesses. I did my homework, Zaire."
He was quiet for a beat, just staring at me with that steady, unreadable gaze. Then he leaned back, his voice low but firm.
"I've been watching you for a long time, Fatima," he said. "Before I had the money, before any of this... you were my motivation. I manifested meeting you."
My breath caught slightly, but I didn't interrupt.
"And when I saw what happened with that home invasion," he continued, his voice sharpening, "I knew I had to act fast. Before anything else could happen. I wanted to protect you."
The way he said it—stern, final—made my chest tighten.
Zaire stood and walked to the small bar at the corner of the room, pouring two glasses of dark liquor. He handed me one without saying a word.
We locked eyes, then threw them back at the same time. The burn settled low in my stomach, but my voice came out steady.
"You better be loyal to me, Zaire," I said, setting the glass down on the table with a soft clink. "Because if you ever cross me, I won't hesitate to destroy your life. Completely."
A small smirk tugged at his lips, like he respected the warning. "Duly noted," he said.
Then he grabbed his keys off the table. "Come on. Let me give you a ride home. I'm driving today—don't have a driver."
I raised an eyebrow. "That's... not very professional, Zaire."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping just enough to make my heart skip. "It's very professional. It's me making sure you get home safe. Don't argue with me, Fatima."
I hesitated for a moment, then finally let out a small sigh. "Fine," I said.
He smiled slightly and opened the door for me.
As we walked out, my eyes landed on Brianna standing near the front desk, sorting through some files. She looked up just as I passed.
I smiled at her. Sweet. Innocent. Like I didn't know a thing.
But in my head, I was already plotting. I never told her I found out. Only because I still need her—she's the best at what she does. And I have plans for Brianna.
We stepped outside, and the valet was already waiting with Zaire's car.
My jaw nearly dropped.
A brand-new white two-door Lamborghini, the latest model. Sleek. Aggressive. Perfect.
It had been years since I'd been in a two-door Lamborghini, and this one...
"Damn," I muttered under my breath.
Zaire just smirked and opened the passenger door. "Get in," he said simply.
And I did.
The soft hum of the engine filled the silence as we drove through the city. The car felt too quiet, too intimate, with the soft R&B playing low from the speakers. I leaned back in the buttery leather seat, staring out the window at the passing lights, trying not to think too much.
Zaire's hand tightened on the steering wheel suddenly, and his voice broke the calm.
"He's not putting his hands on you, is he?" he asked, his tone low but sharp, like the question had been sitting on his chest for a while.
I turned my head slowly, studying his profile. His jaw was clenched, his grip firm on the wheel.
"And if he was," I said carefully, "it isn't any of your business."
He didn't respond right away, his knuckles whitening as he held the wheel tighter.
"Of course he isn't," I added, my voice dropping, "because he'd be six feet under if he even tried."
That earned me the smallest curve of his lips. "Good," he said simply, his voice low.
I shifted slightly in my seat, suddenly aware of how close we felt in the confined space of the car.
"You ask a lot of questions for someone who claims to be professional," I said, glancing at him with a faint smirk.
His eyes flicked to me for a brief second before focusing back on the road. "Making sure you're good isn't unprofessional, Fatima. It's necessary."
The way he said my name—slow, deliberate—sent a shiver down my spine, but I ignored it.
"I'm fine," I said, a little too quickly.
"You keep saying that," he replied softly, "but I don't think you even believe it yourself."
I stared out the window again, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. But I could feel his eyes flick toward me, like he was reading me without even trying.
The music filled the silence again, and I found myself relaxing, even though I didn't want to.
"You drive like you own the road," I muttered, more to change the subject than anything.
"Because I do," he said easily, his lips tugging into a smirk.
I couldn't help the small laugh that slipped out.
And in that moment, the air between us shifted—just a little. It wasn't obvious. But it was there.
I shook my head, still laughing softly. "You're ridiculous," I said, leaning back into the seat.
Zaire smirked but kept his eyes on the road. "Ridiculous? Or confident?"
"Cocky," I corrected.
"Cocky gets results," he shot back smoothly.
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't hide the small smile tugging at my lips. "You sound just like every other man with money."
"That's where you're wrong," he said, his voice calm but with that edge of certainty. "I'm not like every other man. You'll figure that out eventually."
I glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "Will I?"
He looked over at me for just a second, his gaze steady. "Yeah... you will."
The air in the car felt heavier, and I quickly looked out the window again, trying to ignore it. "You have an answer for everything, huh?"
"Only when I'm right," he said simply.
I exhaled, half annoyed and half amused. "You don't make it easy to argue with you."
"You're not supposed to," he replied, that faint smirk still on his face.
I shook my head again, but a small laugh escaped.
"Tell me something," Zaire said after a moment, his tone softening just a bit. "When's the last time you actually did something for yourself? Not the kids. Not the business. Just you?"
I frowned, caught off guard by the question. "I don't know... I can't even remember."
"That's a problem," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.
I turned my head to look at him, but he didn't meet my eyes this time. He just kept driving, his hands loose on the wheel now, his focus on the road.
"You should fix that," he added. "You deserve more than just surviving every day."
I felt my throat tighten, and I hated that his words hit me deeper than I expected.
"I'm fine," I said, softer this time.
Zaire glanced at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. "No," he said slowly, "but you will be."
The way he said it... like it was a promise.
I shifted in my seat, suddenly too aware of how close we felt in that car. I tried to ignore it, but my heart was beating faster than it should've been.
Zaire glanced at me again as we drove, his voice softer this time. "We don't need our new CEO stressed out from life. I need you to start putting you first, Fatima."
I looked at him skeptically. "You make it sound so easy."
"It's not easy," he said, his eyes back on the road. "But it's necessary. You're the backbone of everything you're building. If you break, all of it breaks with you."
I sighed, leaning back into the seat. "I don't even know where to start."
"Start with you," he said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Take care of yourself the same way you take care of everyone else."
I didn't answer, but the weight of his words settled heavy in my chest.
The car slowed as we turned into my neighborhood. He pulled into the driveway, and as the Lamborghini stopped, Zaire looked up at my house, letting out a low whistle.
"Wow... it's bigger in person," he said, genuinely impressed.
I smirked faintly. "Yeah, well... I needed the space."
He looked over at me. "You ever think about moving to Miami?"
I arched an eyebrow. "Oh yeah, because the first thing I need is to add more chaos to my life," I joked, shaking my head.
He chuckled, then leaned slightly toward me as if to hug me goodbye. But I quickly put a hand on his chest and shook my head.
"Not happening," I said with a small smile, extending my hand instead.
He gave me a look but shook my hand firmly. "Fine," he muttered, smirking just a little.
I opened the car door and stepped out, my heels clicking against the driveway.
As soon as I walked into the house, I froze.
He was standing right there in the doorway—my husband. Arms crossed, jaw tight. I realized he must've been looking out the window, watching me get out of Zaire's car.
"Who was that?" he asked, his voice cold.
I brushed past him, not even looking his way. "Are you ready to sign the divorce papers?" I shot back.
He didn't answer. Instead, he followed me into the hallway. "Fatima, we don't need to do this. We can try again. We can fix this. I'll do whatever it takes, please—"
I turned on him, my face blank. "Whatever," I said flatly. "Whenever you're ready to sign the papers, let me know."
He opened his mouth to argue, but I was already walking away.
In the living room, my kids were playing on the floor with their toys, their laughter filling the space. My heart softened instantly.
I sat with them for a few minutes, listening to their little voices and letting the warmth of their presence settle me. Soon, the nanny came in and gently guided them upstairs to start their bedtime routine.
I climbed the stairs slowly and headed to my bathroom. The water was warm as I sank into the tub, the bubbles rising around me. I closed my eyes and exhaled deeply.
Damn, I thought, my mind flashing back to that night. I was this close to being a murderer. He would've died right here.
The thought made my stomach twist.
After a while, I climbed out of the tub, grabbing a towel and drying myself off. I walked over to the mirror and stared at my reflection.
The woman staring back at me looked tired... but she also looked stronger.