The whole room was almost dark except for soft yellow light from candles placed here and there. On the nightstands, at the windowsill, even at the foot of the bed. They burned quietly, their light moving over the walls and furniture, making everything seem softer. On the bed, a tray was set with polished plates, shining cutlery, and dishes that gave off light steam. The smell made her stomach twist with hunger, even though she wasn't sure if she could eat in front of him right now.
He set her down on the bed, slow enough that she felt the deliberate drag of his hands before they let go.
Ava's eyes moved from the food to the candles and back to him, "You… prepared all this?"
Most of the food was Chinese-themed. In Malaysia, it's common to have at least one meat dish, one vegetable dish, one soup, and rice for a Chinese dinner.
Ibrahim reached for her phone, plugged it into the charger, then came around to the other side of the bed and sat down beside her.
He began spooning fluffy white rice onto her plate, adding slices of chicken and small portions of the side dishes with care.
"If you're talking about the tray, then yes, I prepared it. But if you mean the actual cooking. Baby girl, you already know I could burn water. This—" he gestured at the food, "—is edible, which means someone else had to do it."
Ava couldn't help it — a laugh slipped out. It was ridiculous… she shouldn't be laughing like this. Not after the day she'd had. But in that instant, she forgot — forgot the lies, the tension, the silent games.
Her laughs hit him harder than he expected. He hadn't realized just how much he'd missed that sound. For days. For weeks. It was like water to a man dying of thirst. He found himself just staring at her, a quiet smile curving his lips. She didn't know what that sound did to him. She didn't know that he could spend the rest of his life chasing it. For this woman, there was very little — no, nothing — he wouldn't do.
"May I feed you?" he asked suddenly.
She smiled faintly, shaking her head. "Thanks… but I'll eat with my own hands."
The dinner had been… good. At least for Ibrahim. It had been so long since they'd sat down to eat together in their own home. Faisal arrived not long after, and Ibrahim led him to the room he used as a private office.
In the bedroom, one of the maids was clearing the plates and candles, gathering leftovers to take back to the kitchen.
Ava moved without drawing attention to herself — picking up a chilled water bottle and slipping out toward the poolside. She sank into one of the loungers, stretching her legs, letting the cool air kiss her skin.
It was the perfect moment and she didn't waste a second. She sent Elara the location she had pried out of Sameer earlier. The message delivered. Her part was done now. Whatever came next was in Elara's hands.
And then… as always… the guilt crept in. Was it really necessary to betray him when he was looking at her like that, asking for a second chance? Maybe she should give him some time…
What she didn't realize was this: she wasn't ready for the price she would have to pay for this betrayal. Something much bigger was already set in motion, waiting to crash down on them all.
And, lost in those swirling thoughts, Ava slipped into sleep — before even fully realizing it herself.
....
The warehouse in Rawang was quiet except for the low sounds of machines humming and crates being moved. Samir was carefully checking the labels on the big metal boxes stacked high around him. Each label showed where the shipment was supposed to go, and Samir was making sure nothing was wrong.
He ran his fingers over the codes printed on one crate, nodding to himself. This shipment was important — weapons worth billions.
Suddenly, a young worker came out towards Samir, breathing fast and looking worried.
"Boss," he whispered urgently, "the police… they're coming here. I just heard."
"What? How did the police find out?"
The worker shook his head. "I don't know exactly. Maybe someone called them. Or maybe they saw the trucks going this way. We might have made a mistake somewhere."
Samir's jaw tightened. "This is bad. Really bad. We have to act fast."
He raised his voice, calling to the men working around the warehouse.
"Listen to me, everyone! The police are coming. I want all of you to leave everything exactly as it is. Don't touch the crates or move anything. Just run away as fast as you can. Understand?"
A few men looked at each other in confusion, unsure if they heard him right. One of them stepped forward.
"But boss, what about the weapons?"
"Right now, our most important job is to protect each other. The police want the guns — not us. If any of you get arrested, otherwise everything will be lost. I don't want a single one of you arrested. So go! Run! Run away through the back exits. Make sure no one is left behind."
The men have been gone through this situation like this before. They knew exactly how to act when the heat was seconds away from breaking in.
Some of them bolted for the back exits — doors that opened into narrow alleys and side streets where police vans couldn't follow. Others switched off the overhead lights one by one until the huge warehouse sank into darkness.
In one corner, two men were already at a steel desk, burning stacks of paperwork with a lighter. Flames ate through invoices, delivery notes, and maps, curling the paper into black ash before dropping them into a metal bin.
The sirens grew louder, closer. Then, the night outside exploded in light.
Through the high warehouse windows, Sameer saw the sudden flash of blue and red washing over the walls. Police trucks pulled up, doors flying open as officers jumped out in groups.
Some were already fanning out to block the perimeter. Others began rushing toward the entrances, heavy flashlights cutting through the darkness. A smaller unit stayed near the vehicles, speaking into radios and pointing toward side alleys, clearly coordinating with unseen backup teams.
They weren't just coming in blind — this was planned.
Samir counted — six, seven, ten men out — but there were still too many here. One by one the men were disappearing behind the false wall. Samir stayed where he was, checking every face. He was the owner tonight, the one in charge. He couldn't leave until the last man was safe.
From outside came the heavy stomp of boots and the crackle of radios.
"Alpha Team, left side clear!
"Bravo, push in — watch your corners!"
Charlie, block the back — I don't want anyone slipping out!"
They reached the main sliding door of the warehouse. It was locked from inside — but that didn't slow them down.
"Breach!" the leader shouted.
THUD! The first heavy kick rattled the door. Then another kick, harder this time. The metal shook, dust falling from the top.
"Again!" a voice ordered. Two men kicked together. The door rattled like thunder. On the third try, the latch snapped. The huge door slid open with a long screech, revealing the darkness inside.
Flashlights instantly cut through the black — strong white beams searching every corner.
"Move in!" the lead officer shouted.
"Police! Everyone down!" They came in firing warning shots. The sound of gunfire cracked. Sparks flew when bullets hit metal crates. But the men they expected to find weren't there. The aisles were empty.
"They ran… but they left something behind."
Flashlight beams swept over a stack of long metal cases. One officer pried a lid open. Inside were sleek black rifles, rows of ammunition, and other weapons.
"Illegal arms. A lot of them."
"Secure this section. Call in the inventory team."
Teams split up — some officers began opening crates and checking serial numbers, others moved deeper into the warehouse.
What they didn't know was that Samir was watching them the whole time. His hiding place wasn't just a room. It was a false pit beneath the warehouse floor — an old drainage channel that had been converted into a secret shelter. From above, it looked like part of the concrete foundation. A narrow hatch was hidden under a pallet of old pipes. Inside, the ceiling so low they had to crouch.
Two of Samir's most trusted men were with him. One of them whispered, "Boss… they're taking everything."
Samir's eyes were hard in the dim glow of a single battery lamp. "Let them. Those arms are meant to be lost. We can replace steel and bullets — we can't replace our people."
Another worker said, "But this is worth trillions—"
Samir cut him off. "Trillions mean nothing if your body's lying cold on this floor. Let the police have their trophies tonight. What matters is that they get nothing else."
From his jacket, the first worker pulled out two grenades which were kept for nights exactly like this, "Boss… you want to use these?"
Samir took them without hesitation. "If they want a war, give them something to remember."
He climbed silently up the narrow ladder to the hatch, waited for the moment when the police were grouped in two sections, then pulled both pins and rolled the grenades into opposite corners of the warehouse.
BOOM! BOOM!
The sound tore through the building. Flames and smoke burst up, and half the police inside dropped — some clutching their ears, others crying out in pain, a few lying still. The rest scrambled for cover, shouting orders, dragging the wounded.
"Get them out! Move, move, move!"
It was chaos now. Flashlights spun wildly, beams dancing over shattered crates and weapons spilling across the floor.
Samir dropped back into the pit. "Time to go."
They slipped out through the old drainage tunnel, emerging in the weeds behind the warehouse. Their getaway car was parked under a dead tree, engine cold, lights off.
Samir was just pulling the door open when a sharp voice shouted from behind, "Stop! Police!"
The crack of a rifle came a split second later.
BANG!
The bullet tore into Sameer's shoulder, spinning him sideways. Heat and pain exploded through his upper body. He gritted his teeth, staggering but refusing to fall.
"Boss!" first worker shouted, grabbing his arm to keep him from falling.
The officer was running toward them, rifle raised for another shot. Sameer stumbled but stayed on his feet. Blood was already soaking through his shirt.
The second worker swung up his own weapon and fired three quick shots toward the police. And the officer dropped.
"Get him inside!" the first worker yelled. The two of them half-pulled, half-shoved Samir into the back seat. His injured shoulder hit the seat frame, and he bit down hard to stop a cry of pain.
The second worker kept firing bursts toward the police, covering the driver's side. The engine roared. The car shot forward into the dark road, leaving the sound of gunfire and shouts fading behind them.
Samir's ears were ringing. His eyes felt heavy. He could see their mouths moving, but the words were fading. And then, without meaning to, his mind drifted away from the chaos.
He saw Farah.
Her face, smiling.
For a moment, it felt like she was right there in front of him.
Maybe… maybe he wouldn't see her again.....