Nyla sat still in her office, the door locked, blinds half-drawn, the soft hum of the air conditioner the only thing grounding her as she pressed the tiny receiver deeper into her ear.
Cherry's car.
Her trap.
Her first real test.
For a few seconds, there was nothing but the faint rustle of movement, the low hum of the engine, then—
Cherry's voice.
"…I'm telling you, something is off about her."
Nyla didn't move. Not even a blink. Her fingers rested lightly on her desk, nails tapping once… then going still again.
Good.
She leaned back into her chair, calm, composed, waiting.
Jay would respond. He always did.
And then—
"She has no one else."
Nyla froze.
The words didn't just land—they cut.
"You forget that her world is small. Always has been."
Silence.
Not from the call.
From her.
For the first time in a long while… Nyla didn't feel like the girl in control.
Because he was right.
Painfully, brutally right.
Her world was small.
No allies.
No extended family she could trust.
No one to step in if everything collapsed.
Just—
Her father.
And even he…
Her throat tightened.
Images flashed in her mind—his coughing, the blood, the way his strength seemed to slip a little more each day.
He was fading.
And she was still… figuring things out.
Still playing games.
Still pretending.
Her chest tightened painfully.
What if I lose him before I'm ready?
Her fingers curled slowly against the desk.
On the other end, Jay's voice continued, smooth, confident, like a man who had already won.
"The directors in her father's company are already in my control. Every single one of them."
That snapped something in her.
Her eyes darkened.
Her fist clenched.
"They're waiting for the right moment…" he continued.
A pause.
Then the final blow—
"For Alaric to step aside permanently."
That was it.
Nyla ripped the earpiece out of her ear so fast it stung.
"No—"
She stood abruptly, her chair scraping harshly against the floor.
Her breathing was uneven now.
Too fast.
Too sharp.
She began pacing.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Her heels clicked against the polished floor, each step echoing the storm building inside her.
"They want to kill him…"
Her voice was low, almost a whisper, but filled with disbelief.
"Not just weaken him. Not just push him out…"
Her jaw tightened.
"They're waiting for him to die."
Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
"And the directors—"
She let out a sharp, humorless laugh.
"All of them?"
For the first time since this game began…
Nyla felt it.
Not anger.
Not calculation.
Not strategy.
Helplessness.
Real, suffocating helplessness.
She stopped pacing.
Her hands dropped to her sides.
Her gaze unfocused.
What if I'm already too late?
But then—
Something shifted.
A flicker.
A spark.
Her brows slowly drew together.
"No…"
She whispered it.
Then again, firmer.
"No."
Her eyes sharpened.
"They've shown me a piece of their plan."
Her breathing steadied.
"They think I'm blind."
A pause.
Her lips curved slightly.
"Then I'll stay blind… while I plan."
Her mind began moving again—fast, precise, dangerous.
She turned sharply, walking back to her desk.
Think, Nyla.
Think.
Her father.
Poisoned to die slowly.
She couldn't confront it directly—the house was bugged.
Every room. Every corner. Every whisper.
Even concern could be used against them.
She needed…
Something invisible.
Someone unexpected.
Someone who could stand right in front of them—
And still not be seen.
And then—
It hit her.
Faisal Ahmed.
Her eyes widened slightly.
"Yes…"
A slow smile spread across her lips.
Faisal.
The world knew him as a celebrated chef—refined, charismatic, always surrounded by luxury and elite events.
But beneath that?
A secret almost no one knew.
He was a doctor.
Not just any doctor.
An exceptional one.
She remembered Saudi Arabia—the music, the lights, the exclusive gathering she had been invited to as an influencer. That was where they met.
Unexpected.
Unplanned.
And somehow… genuine.
Without wasting another second, Nyla grabbed her phone and dialed his number.
It rang once.
Twice.
Three times—
"Habibti."
His voice came through warm, familiar.
Nyla exhaled softly, tension easing just a fraction.
"My friend," she replied, her tone softening, "how are you?"
There was a brief exchange—light, almost normal.
Then—
She told him everything.
Not in fragments.
Not in half-truths.
Everything.
Her father.
The poisoning.
Her relatives.
The control.
The threat.
For once… Nyla didn't filter herself.
She didn't pretend.
And when she finished—
There was silence.
Not empty.
Heavy.
Then Faisal spoke.
Gentle.
Firm.
"I will help you."
Her eyes closed briefly.
Relief.
Real relief.
"You are not alone in this," he added.
That almost broke her.
"I need you to save him" she said quickly, voice tightening. "You are the only I can trust."
"I understand." He replied.
A faint smile touched her lips.
Of course he did.
"You'll come as a chef," she continued. "No one will suspect anything."
"And your father?"
"I'll get a sample," she said immediately. "Blood. I'll send it to you."
"Good," Faisal replied. "Once I analyze it, I'll know exactly what they're using."
Her grip tightened around the phone.
Finally.
Something solid.
Something real.
"Thank you," she whispered.
And this time—
Her voice broke.
"I'll repay you. I promise."
"You already have," he said softly. "By trusting me."
The call ended shortly after.
Nyla stood there for a moment.
Still.
Then she exhaled deeply.
One problem—
Handled.
But not solved.
Not yet.
Because Jay's words echoed again in her mind.
"Every single one of them."
Her expression hardened.
"If the directors are compromised…"
She muttered.
"…then who do I have?"
And then—
Another memory surfaced.
Her mother's journal.
Her eyes widened slightly.
She moved quickly, grabbing her iPad from the desk, fingers swiping through saved images—notes she had taken, pages she had captured.
Then she found it.
One word.
Simple.
But powerful.
Spies.
Nyla's breath caught.
Her mother…
Had planted people inside VALE?
Her pulse quickened.
That meant—
She wasn't alone.
She had never been.
And then—
Another memory clicked into place.
The janitor.
The old woman.
The way she had looked at her.
Not like an employee.
Not like a stranger.
But like someone who…
Knew.
Nyla shot up from her chair.
Without thinking, she rushed out of her office.
Down the hallway.
Her eyes scanned every corner.
Every face.
Every movement.
Nothing.
She moved faster, heading straight to the janitorial department.
"Excuse me," she said, her tone sharp, urgent. "The older woman who was cleaning the hallway earlier—where is she?"
The staff exchanged confused looks.
"Older woman?" one of them repeated.
"Yes. Grey hair. She was—"
"We don't have anyone like that here."
Nyla frowned.
"What do you mean you don't have—"
"Ma'am," another interrupted politely, "we don't employ elderly staff. The work is too physically demanding."
Silence.
Nyla stood there.
Still.
Processing.
If she wasn't staff…
Then who was she?
Her heart began to race.
Faster.
Louder.
More certain.
Her mother's spies.
Her gaze sharpened.
"She's real…"
Nyla whispered under her breath.
And if she was real—
Then the answers she needed weren't here.
They were waiting.
For her.
She turned abruptly and walked out.
No hesitation.
No delay.
Back to her office.
She grabbed her bag, her movements swift, decisive.
Her mind was already ahead of her.
The hidden room.
The journals.
The truth.
As she stepped out of the building, her expression was no longer shaken.
No longer uncertain.
It was focused.
Cold.
Ready.
Because for the first time since hearing Jay's words—
Nyla wasn't thinking about what she lacked.
She was thinking about what had been left for her.
And how to use it.
The game wasn't slipping out of her hands.
No.
It was only just beginning to unfold.
Nyla sat still in her office, the door locked, blinds half-drawn, the soft hum of the air conditioner the only thing grounding her as she pressed the tiny receiver deeper into her ear.
Cherry's car.
Her trap.
Her first real test.
For a few seconds, there was nothing but the faint rustle of movement, the low hum of the engine, then—
Cherry's voice.
"…I'm telling you, something is off about her."
Nyla didn't move. Not even a blink. Her fingers rested lightly on her desk, nails tapping once… then going still again.
Good.
She leaned back into her chair, calm, composed, waiting.
Jay would respond. He always did.
And then—
"She has no one else."
Nyla froze.
The words didn't just land—they cut.
"You forget that her world is small. Always has been."
Silence.
Not from the call.
From her.
For the first time in a long while… Nyla didn't feel like the girl in control.
Because he was right.
Painfully, brutally right.
Her world was small.
No allies.
No extended family she could trust.
No one to step in if everything collapsed.
Just—
Her father.
And even he…
Her throat tightened.
Images flashed in her mind—his coughing, the blood, the way his strength seemed to slip a little more each day.
He was fading.
And she was still… figuring things out.
Still playing games.
Still pretending.
Her chest tightened painfully.
What if I lose him before I'm ready?
Her fingers curled slowly against the desk.
On the other end, Jay's voice continued, smooth, confident, like a man who had already won.
"The directors in her father's company are already in my control. Every single one of them."
That snapped something in her.
Her eyes darkened.
Her fist clenched.
"They're waiting for the right moment…" he continued.
A pause.
Then the final blow—
"For Alaric to step aside permanently."
That was it.
Nyla ripped the earpiece out of her ear so fast it stung.
"No—"
She stood abruptly, her chair scraping harshly against the floor.
Her breathing was uneven now.
Too fast.
Too sharp.
She began pacing.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Her heels clicked against the polished floor, each step echoing the storm building inside her.
"They want to kill him…"
Her voice was low, almost a whisper, but filled with disbelief.
"Not just weaken him. Not just push him out…"
Her jaw tightened.
"They're waiting for him to die."
Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
"And the directors—"
She let out a sharp, humorless laugh.
"All of them?"
For the first time since this game began…
Nyla felt it.
Not anger.
Not calculation.
Not strategy.
Helplessness.
Real, suffocating helplessness.
She stopped pacing.
Her hands dropped to her sides.
Her gaze unfocused.
What if I'm already too late?
But then—
Something shifted.
A flicker.
A spark.
Her brows slowly drew together.
"No…"
She whispered it.
Then again, firmer.
"No."
Her eyes sharpened.
"They've shown me a piece of their plan."
Her breathing steadied.
"They think I'm blind."
A pause.
Her lips curved slightly.
"Then I'll stay blind… while I plan."
Her mind began moving again—fast, precise, dangerous.
She turned sharply, walking back to her desk.
Think, Nyla.
Think.
Her father.
Poisoned to die slowly.
She couldn't confront it directly—the house was bugged.
Every room. Every corner. Every whisper.
Even concern could be used against them.
She needed…
Something invisible.
Someone unexpected.
Someone who could stand right in front of them—
And still not be seen.
And then—
It hit her.
Faisal Ahmed.
Her eyes widened slightly.
"Yes…"
A slow smile spread across her lips.
Faisal.
The world knew him as a celebrated chef—refined, charismatic, always surrounded by luxury and elite events.
But beneath that?
A secret almost no one knew.
He was a doctor.
Not just any doctor.
An exceptional one.
She remembered Saudi Arabia—the music, the lights, the exclusive gathering she had been invited to as an influencer. That was where they met.
Unexpected.
Unplanned.
And somehow… genuine.
Without wasting another second, Nyla grabbed her phone and dialed his number.
It rang once.
Twice.
Three times—
"Habibti."
His voice came through warm, familiar.
Nyla exhaled softly, tension easing just a fraction.
"My friend," she replied, her tone softening, "how are you?"
There was a brief exchange—light, almost normal.
Then—
She told him everything.
Not in fragments.
Not in half-truths.
Everything.
Her father.
The poisoning.
Her relatives.
The control.
The threat.
For once… Nyla didn't filter herself.
She didn't pretend.
And when she finished—
There was silence.
Not empty.
Heavy.
Then Faisal spoke.
Gentle.
Firm.
"I will help you."
Her eyes closed briefly.
Relief.
Real relief.
"You are not alone in this," he added.
That almost broke her.
"I need you to save him" she said quickly, voice tightening. "You are the only I can trust."
"I understand." He replied.
A faint smile touched her lips.
Of course he did.
"You'll come as a chef," she continued. "No one will suspect anything."
"And your father?"
"I'll get a sample," she said immediately. "Blood. I'll send it to you."
"Good," Faisal replied. "Once I analyze it, I'll know exactly what they're using."
Her grip tightened around the phone.
Finally.
Something solid.
Something real.
"Thank you," she whispered.
And this time—
Her voice broke.
"I'll repay you. I promise."
"You already have," he said softly. "By trusting me."
The call ended shortly after.
Nyla stood there for a moment.
Still.
Then she exhaled deeply.
One problem—
Handled.
But not solved.
Not yet.
Because Jay's words echoed again in her mind.
"Every single one of them."
Her expression hardened.
"If the directors are compromised…"
She muttered.
"…then who do I have?"
And then—
Another memory surfaced.
Her mother's journal.
Her eyes widened slightly.
She moved quickly, grabbing her iPad from the desk, fingers swiping through saved images—notes she had taken, pages she had captured.
Then she found it.
One word.
Simple.
But powerful.
Spies.
Nyla's breath caught.
Her mother…
Had planted people inside VALE?
Her pulse quickened.
That meant—
She wasn't alone.
She had never been.
And then—
Another memory clicked into place.
The janitor.
The old woman.
The way she had looked at her.
Not like an employee.
Not like a stranger.
But like someone who…
Knew.
Nyla shot up from her chair.
Without thinking, she rushed out of her office.
Down the hallway.
Her eyes scanned every corner.
Every face.
Every movement.
Nothing.
She moved faster, heading straight to the janitorial department.
"Excuse me," she said, her tone sharp, urgent. "The older woman who was cleaning the hallway earlier—where is she?"
The staff exchanged confused looks.
"Older woman?" one of them repeated.
"Yes. Grey hair. She was—"
"We don't have anyone like that here."
Nyla frowned.
"What do you mean you don't have—"
"Ma'am," another interrupted politely, "we don't employ elderly staff. The work is too physically demanding."
Silence.
Nyla stood there.
Still.
Processing.
If she wasn't staff…
Then who was she?
Her heart began to race.
Faster.
Louder.
More certain.
Her mother's spies.
Her gaze sharpened.
"She's real…"
Nyla whispered under her breath.
And if she was real—
Then the answers she needed weren't here.
They were waiting.
For her.
She turned abruptly and walked out.
No hesitation.
No delay.
Back to her office.
She grabbed her bag, her movements swift, decisive.
Her mind was already ahead of her.
The hidden room.
The journals.
The truth.
As she stepped out of the building, her expression was no longer shaken.
No longer uncertain.
It was focused.
Cold.
Ready.
Because for the first time since hearing Jay's words—
Nyla wasn't thinking about what she lacked.
She was thinking about what had been left for her.
And how to use it.
The game wasn't slipping out of her hands.
No.
It was only just beginning to unfold.