Secrets, Surprises, and a Name from the Past
The night was still.
So still, the quiet seemed almost unnatural—as if the whole world was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
Dee stepped barefoot onto the cool grass of the backyard, the blades soft and damp beneath her toes. The chill of the earth seeped through her thin socks, sending a shiver up her spine. Above her, the stars were scattered like diamonds across the ink-black sky, indifferent witnesses to the storm of thoughts swirling inside her head.
In her hand, she clutched a small black card. It was unassuming—no logos, no words—just a simple rectangle of matte black plastic. Yet the weight it carried felt immense. Not physical weight, but the kind that pressed deep in the chest, like a stone lodged behind the ribs.
Her thumb hovered nervously over the back of the card, where a phone number was etched in faint silver lettering. She hesitated, heart pounding, then finally pressed the digits into her phone and hit call.
The line rang.
Once.
Twice.
Click.
A voice came through the speaker—calm, measured, and deep as velvet wrapped around steel.
"Who is this?"
Dee blinked, startled by the low timbre that felt like it could command rooms and silence crowds. Her mouth went dry.
"Uh—I should be asking you that," she stammered, voice catching slightly.
A soft laugh followed—a sound warm, teasing, and just a little cocky, like a man who knew secrets and enjoyed holding the cards close to his chest.
"Sweetheart, you called me. So… you first."
Dee swallowed hard. The words felt like they pulled at a thread inside her.
"Stape gave me this number. She said to call if anything ever happened to her."
Silence stretched between them. Then the voice shifted, darkening just a little, sharper now, like the change in a blade's edge when it's drawn.
"So… you're Dee."
Her breath caught. A shiver ran down her spine.
She took an involuntary step back, eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"Wait. How do you know my name?"
The voice didn't hesitate.
"Because I'm Kavin Maroni."
Everything inside her froze.
Kavin Maroni.
The king of underground racing. A myth whispered about in dark circles. The shadow behind every major race she'd heard of but never truly believed was real. The man no one had ever seen—unless he wanted to be seen.
"You're lying," she whispered, barely daring to believe.
"I never do."
Suddenly, her mind exploded with memories.
That underground welcome party Ayat had thrown—the place thick with smoke and bass pounding like a heartbeat. The air had been electric with danger and excitement.
She'd danced with a stranger there.
Funny, charming, with eyes that flickered like firelight.
He hadn't told her his name—but that smile… that goddamn smile had burned itself into her memory.
Her breath hitched.
"You… danced with me."
He chuckled, a sound rich with amusement.
"Finally. Took you long enough. I thought you'd never remember."
"You're that guy?!" she gasped.
"The one and only."
"But—but you didn't say anything—"
"Wasn't allowed to. Stape almost strangled me for even showing up."
Her head spun, a thousand questions flooding at once.
"I want to meet."
"I figured. Next Thursday, 8 p.m. Hotel behind your racing bureau. Room 104. Come alone."
She nodded, though he couldn't see it.
"Alright."
"And Dee… be careful."
Click.
The line went dead.
Dee lowered the phone, heart pounding so loudly she thought it might burst.
Then—
"Careful about what?"
Her eyes snapped open wide.
She spun around.
Rayyan stood behind her, silhouetted by the dim porch light.
Her heart plummeted to her stomach.
He raised a brow, arms crossed over his chest, voice deceptively calm.
"Who were you talking to?"
"I—I couldn't sleep," she stammered, fumbling for excuses. "So I came out here. For fresh air. Normal. Very boring."
Rayyan took a step forward, suspicion flickering in his eyes, but there was amusement there too.
"So… you have conversations with the air now?"
She forced a smile, trying to sound casual.
"Yeah, you know me. Super weird."
"Mhm." He stared at her, the teasing edge sharpening. "You twitch when you lie."
"I do not twitch—"
"You just did."
She groaned, burying her face in her hands.
"Can we please pretend this didn't happen?"
He grinned, clearly enjoying her discomfort.
"That depends… are you hiding something from me, Dee?"
She blinked rapidly.
"N-No. Nothing serious. Just… insomnia."
---
The Days That Followed
For a little while, the tension between them softened.
Life slipped back into its strange, sweet rhythm.
Rayyan made breakfast—burnt toast with way too much jam, and coffee so watery it was practically a joke. But he wore the goofiest smile as he handed it over, as if presenting a Michelin-star meal.
Dee danced around the kitchen in socks, her voice rising and falling as she sang off-key on purpose. Rayyan tossed crumpled tissues at her like a sarcastic applause.
They bickered over the dumbest things—movies, desserts, the age-old debate of chocolate versus vanilla—each argument laced with laughter and sharp, affectionate teasing.
At night, she curled beside him as he typed furiously on his laptop, the light from the screen casting shadows across his focused face. His fingers moved fast, eyes sharper than they appeared when he smiled.
One night, she found him asleep, face smashed into a pile of files.
She stopped in the doorway, watching.
A slow smile crept across her face.
"You look like a very dangerous baby," she whispered.
Curious, she picked up the papers—names, files, backgrounds, hidden crimes.
Murderers.
Traffickers.
Corrupt officials.
He wasn't just a businessman.
Behind the facade, Rayyan was running a company that cleaned up the city's filth in a way the police never dared.
She didn't ask questions.
Instead, she took it on herself.
She organized everything.
Made notes, flagged new leads.
Created lists of targets he hadn't even spotted yet.
---
The Next Morning
Rayyan woke groggy, rubbing his eyes.
He glanced at the table.
All his files? Sorted. Color-coded. Complete.
His voice cracked, confused and a little impressed.
"What the hell…"
Dee stood in the doorway, holding a steaming cup of tea.
"Good morning, sleepy criminal," she teased.
"You did all this?"
"Yep. Turns out I'm not just a pretty face. I'm secretly a criminal mastermind."
He stared, speechless.
"You're seriously scaring me right now."
She smirked. "Don't worry. I only help the hot ones."
---
Movie Night Madness
That night, Rayyan picked The Conjuring.
"I said chill!" Dee cried, hiding behind a cushion.
"It is chill!" he laughed.
"There's a demon in the wardrobe!"
"There's worse stuff in our fridge!"
Halfway through, Dee was practically in his lap.
"If a ghost drags me, I swear I'll drag you too."
"Romantic," he whispered, wrapping his arm around her.
They fell asleep tangled in blankets and popcorn, the demon forgotten.
---
The Day of the Meeting
Thursday arrived faster than Dee could prepare for it.
Rayyan and Dee reached the racing bureau together.
She wore black jeans, a hoodie pulled low, and sunglasses hiding her eyes.
She looked casual. Calm. But inside, a wild storm raged—nerves electric like live wires under her skin.
"You okay?" Rayyan asked quietly.
"Just tired," she lied smoothly. "I'm going upstairs to nap. You manage the track?"
He nodded.
"Yeah. Sure. Let me know if you need anything."
She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
"Thanks."
He watched her walk away.
She didn't look back.
She couldn't.
Her pulse hammered in her ears.
Her palms were cold and slick.
And somewhere, down the dim, narrow hallway…
Hotel Room 104 was waiting.
---