Ibrahim's entire being shifted the second he saw her. The harsh, angry lines etched on his face simply melted away. He was at her side in three quick strides. Ava was still watching the elevator doors.
He gently cupped her cheek, turning her face gently towards him, "Who was on the phone that kept you?"
She blinked, turning her attention fully to him. "Oh, it was Mrs. Brown. Wishing me for Christmas. I did a design project for her garden in my first semester. She lives in London ñow and forgot the time difference. She called thinking it was evening here."
Her gaze flickered back to where the elevator had been. "Ibrahim, what happened with Aunty? She looked so angry."
Ibrahim intertwined his fingers with hers añd began leading her down the quiet corridor towards the ICU, "Nothing for you to worry about. A mother is allowed to be a little wild when her son is in the ICU. I told her to go home and rest. She argued, of course. Said she couldn't possibly sleep. But an elder son knows how to handle his mother."
"What did you say to make her agree?"
"What any good son does. I asked her who would be here for Samir tomorrow if she made herself sick today from exhaustion. It took some work. But in the end, even the toughest generals have to retreat to keep their army strong. So, she retreated. She'll rest, and come back later."
Someone needs to learn how to lie confidently from Ibrahim. He said it all so smoothly, with such believable weariness and fond exasperation. Ava had no idea she was hearing a perfectly crafted story.
"Ohhhh. Hmm. You did the right thing."
They stopped in front of the thick ICU door. Through the small glass window, they could see Samir lying still in the distance, a bandaged shoulder rising slightly with each breath from the ventilator. He looked so unresponsive. It wasn't visiting hours, so they couldn't go inside. ICU had strict rules.
For Ibrahim, it was the hardest thing. He was a man of action, but here, he was completely powerless. He could only wait and hope for his brother to wake up soon.
The rest of the day passed slowly. Since the entire floor was booked for security, there were many empty rooms available.
It was a standard room— white walls, a built-in cabinet, a single bed pushed against the wall. Ibrahim and Ava sat side-by-side on a small, stiff sofa meant for visitors, while Faisal pulled up a plastic chair opposite them.
Time to discuss the disaster. During the raid, the police arrested three men who worked for Ibrahim. These men were now in jail. Police had also seized every single gun and weapon that was stored there. Ibrahim had lost shipments worth billions in just one night.
Police also had found a ledger—a list of buyers and transactions. However, it was useless to them. The names and details were not written plainly. They were written in a secret business code—a system of numbers, symbols, and false names that only Ibrahim's trusted inner circle knew how to read. To the police investigators, it looked like a page of confusing nonsense.
There was one small piece of good news in the bad situation. Even though the police had the weapons, they had no solid proof that the weapons belonged to Rahmans. The police officer who had shot Samir was also found dead at the scene. This meant there were no other official witnesses who could connect Samir to that warehouse. For now, the Rahman family name was not directly linked to the crime.
Now, Ibrahim's first job was to get his three men out of police custody. He knew his men were loyal and would never say his name. But he could not just sit and do nothing. Today was December 25th. These men had families waiting for them. They should be at home celebrating, not in a jail cell.
As Faisal talked, holding up a report, Ibrahim noticed Ava beside him. She had fallen asleep sitting up, exhausted from the terrible night. Her head was tilted softly against the sofa cushion. She looked untouched in her white flowy dress by all the darkness he knew so well—the guns, the deals, the blood. She was just… Ava. Peaceful. Innocent.
He held up a hand, cutting Faisal off mid-sentence. "Shhh. Enough." Ibrahim didn't even take his eyes off her. "Bring a blanket."
Faisal immediately stopped, put down his paper, and quietly fetched a grey hospital blanket from a cabinet.
Ibrahim slid his arm behind her shoulders and lowered her head to rest on his thigh. She made a soft, sleepy sound but did not wake up. Then he draped the blanket over her, tucking it around her shoulders.
"Get my men out of jail. You have one hour."
Faisal, who was turning to leave, paused. "You know how it is. The police have their heels dug in on this one. It'll take some grease to make them move that fast. And I need to smooth things over with the clients on the Eastern line, or they'll think we're weak. They'll pull out of the next deal."
"I'll handle our clients. You handle the police. One hour means one hour. Not a second more."
Faisal gave a nod and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.
Ibrahim carefully balanced his laptop on his other thigh and began to type. When a major shipment failed, all communication with his international clients shifted to encrypted emails. It was the only safe way.
With one hand, he began typing quickly. And other hand stayed with Ava, stroking her hair in a steady rhythm.
But the constant, quiet tapping of the laptop keys began to bother her in her sleep. She stirred slightly. A soft sigh escaped her lips. She was deeply aware of two things: the solid warmth of his thigh beneath her cheek, and the heavy weight of his hand resting on her head. Then, she felt it move. His fingers trailed slowly down from her hair, over the curve of her ear, and down the side of her neck.
Under the blanket, the warmth of her body pulled him in like a gravity. His hand came to rest over her chest, on top of her clothes, right over her heart.
Ibrahim stopped typing for a second, his fingers pausing. He shouldn't be doing this.
Not when she was asleep… not when she trusted him enough to rest beside him like this.
But heart is a shameless creature. It wants what it wants, even when it knows it shouldn't. Through the fabric, he brushed his thumb lightly over her nipple and it reacted right away, tightening under his touch.
Her body reacted before her mind did—her legs tensed for a moment, and a quiet heat stirred low in her belly.
Why did her body respond so quickly, so sharply, when she wasn't even fully awake?
Somewhere deep inside, a quiet, hidden part of her already knew the answer. Desire lived in the body long before the mind admitted it. It reacted to warmth, to closeness, to power. It reacted to him.
And Ibrahim… he was not comfort. He was the opposite of it. But one touch from him was enough to burn through every fear she had.
Her soul wanted to be understood.
And her body…
her body wanted to be wanted.
To be held in a way that felt like worship, like she was the one weakness of a man who feared nothing.
Ibrahim touched her like that — as if she was something precious, something he would never let go of. He hesitated only for a moment before slipping his hand slightly inside the loose neckline of her dress.
He found what he was looking for — the peck of her nipple. Then he gently held her there between his fingers, giving a slow squeeze that made her toes curl under the blanket.
The tension in his shoulders, the stress for Samir — all of it faded.
Just vanished.
He forgot the emails.
He forgot the men waiting for orders.
Ava didn't even know what she was doing to him. She couldn't open her eyes. Waking up felt impossible. If she opened her eyes now, she would die of shame.
Ibrahim knew how to touch her breast without rushing. He squeezed just enough to make her ache, then softened his hold into a teasing circle that left her craving more. The urge to just wake up, to look at him, and tell him to use his mouth instead of his hands was almost too strong to ignore. But how could they do this now? Here, in a hospital room, with his brother fighting for his life just down the hall. It felt so wrong. This was not the place or time for such things.
So, the only option that felt safe was to keep pretending. To keep sleeping. She would carry on with the act, letting him believe she was unaware, while secretly feeling every single touch.
But just then, Ibrahim pulled his hand away. He carefully lifted her head from his lap, placed a cushion underneath it.
Just as he turned to leave, Ava's hand shot out and caught his wrist. He stopped and looked down. Ava was looking up at him. She swallowed and asked in a small voice, "Can we… do it?"
Ibrahim looked from her face to her hand on his wrist, then back to her face.
A teasing smile played on his lips. "Do what? Do you want to play a game? I'm not sure what you mean."
Ava's mouth fell open slightly. He was teasing her, and it was working. "You know exactly what I mean." Her cheeks bloomed with a bright rosy color.
"I really don't," he insisted, taking a half-step closer to the sofa, his shadow falling over her. "How can I know what's in your mind? You have to tell me. Use your words, Ava."
Frustrated and suddenly very shy, Ava released his wrist and pulled her hand back as if burned. She turned her face away, "Never mind. Just go. Do whatever you want."
But Ibrahim didn't go. Instead, he closed the final bit of distance. He stood directly in front of her, so close that her knees almost brushed his legs. He slipped his hands into his pockets, looking down at her with a gaze that was both tender and utterly commanding.
"Is it so difficult," he murmured, "to say what you truly desire? To look at me and admit that you want my dick inside you?"
Ava bit down on her lower lip, trapping the gasp that wanted to escape. Her gaze drifted down. He was standing so close that the hard line of his erection, straining against his trousers, was right in front of her face. He was already hard for her. How much has he been holding back?
Feeling a courage that was not her own, Ava reached out with a trembling hand. Her clumsy fingers found the cool metal of his belt buckle, then fumbled with the button of his pants until it opened.
She slowly drew down the zipper and, with a gentle tug, freed him from his underwear, taking his manhood in her hand.
It was hot in her and the faint blue veins along his length seemed to pulse, begging her to stroke him. So she did, starting a slow up and down motion.
A low moan escaped him. Ibrahim's other hand came up and cupped her chin, tilting her face gently until her eyes met his burning gaze. They were dark with pure need. "Eyes on me, baby girl," he breathed out, "Watch what you do to me."
Ava kept her eyes locked on his as she leaned forward and slowly ran her tongue along his length from base to tip. The taste of him was salty. She felt him shudder under her mouth.
She pulled back just enough to speak, her lips still brushing against him as she formed the words. "Ibrahim," she whispered, and he could feel the warmth of her breath where he was most sensitive.
"I need to tell you something else."
She licked him again in a circle, making him tense and let out a sharp breath. "You have to promise me you'll just listen. Promise you won't be angry. Please, just promise me first."
He gently guided her head back towards his dick. It was agony to stop now. "We can talk later. Right now... just suck."
But Ava pulled her mouth away again, shaking her head slightly. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand, her eyes wide with a painful urgency that cut through the heat.
"I can't. I can't hide it anymore. Please, just listen... Samir... he got shot because of me."
....
At the Police Station - Morning Briefing Room.
The station was buzzing with the usual morning noise. Captain Hameem walked over and then stopped in front of Elara, blocking the light from the window.
"I need the master keys for the cell block. The ones for the high-security lockup."
Elara closed the file he was reading—the preliminary report on the warehouse raid. He stood up, "The keys. May I ask why, Sir?"
"There's been a decision from the top. The three individuals detained from last night's operation are to be released. Immediately."
"With all due respect. We can't release them. These aren't small-time criminals. I have strong reason to believe they are directly connected to Rahman's network. This is our first real chance in months. If we keep them for just forty-eight more hours, apply the right pressure, they will talk. Releasing them now is like catching a big fish and throwing it back into the ocean!"
"My job is on the line if I disobey a direct order, Elara. My 'lead' right now is keeping my badge. And while we're on the subject of last night, your team's report is full of holes. Your team opened fire immediately upon entering. That's a major protocol violation. We have to account for every single bullet. How do you explain that? Three officers are in critical condition, and one is dead."
"Sir, it was pitch black inside. We had intel that the place was full of automatic weapons. My team's safety was the priority. We fired warning shots to stop the suspects from escaping out the back, not to cause harm. They were running, not surrendering. It was a split-second decision to secure the scene."
"That 'split-second decision' logic won't fly with Internal Affairs or the press," Hameem snapped. "Forget it. You're off this case. Your only priority is the Jessica' case. And handle the two journalists waiting outside. They're sniffing around about the seized weapons. Give them a basic statement, answer nothing specific, and send them on their way. We cannot have this story in the news before we have solid, leak-proof evidence. This media circus… it's a disaster."
"This is how it always goes, sir. Just like every other time we get close to something big, the file gets closed. The evidence disappears. You're taking orders from men in nice offices, who are themselves taking orders from the man who really controls this city. You know Ibrahim Rahman is a gangster. You know he runs the drugs, the guns. And yet here you are, handing him back his soldiers on a silver platter because someone higher up got a phone call. When do we actually do our job?"
"Watch your tone. This isn't about listening to a gangster. This is about following the chain of command and avoiding a political nightmare that neither of us can handle. You have your new, clear orders. Now, do the job you are actually paid to do, and stay in your lane. And you should be on your knees thanking God that Ibrahim Rahman hasn't decided to wipe you off the map for the mess you created last night. The keys, Elara. Now."
Elara looked at Captain Hameem's outstretched hand. For a moment, he just stared at them, this small symbol of all the justice he couldn't deliver. Then he placed the cold metal keys into Hameem's waiting hand. Hameem took them without another word, turned on his heel.
Elara collapsed into his desk chair, feeling utterly defeated. All the risk, the planning, the raid... everything had been for nothing. The men would walk free, the guns would disappear from the evidence room, and the case would be closed by lunchtime.
Hold on.
Ava.
He hadn't spoken to his sister since yesterday. He pulled out his phone and called her number. It rang, and rang, and then went to voicemail. He tried again. No answer.
No. No, no, no.
Did Ibrahim know? Did he find out that Ava was the one who sent the tip, the address that led to the raid?
If Ibrahim knew... God, there was no telling what a man like that would do to her.