The Shuaib mansion glowed under soft golden lights, every chandelier polished to perfection, every surface reflecting wealth that had been carefully curated for generations. Dinner was already laid out lavishly in the expansive dining room, fine china, crystal glasses, silver cutlery aligned with military precision. It was the kind of setting that spoke of power, control, and expectations.
Rayyan arrived just as the servants finished placing the last covered dish on the table.
"Mr. Rayyan is home," one of them announced quietly.
He loosened his tie as he walked in, his shoulders tense, his mind still buzzing with the events of the day..Nuha's quiet smile, her professionalism, the way she'd tried to hide her excitement over the car. For a brief moment, work had felt lighter. Human.
That feeling disappeared the instant he stepped into the dining room.
His father, Ibrahim Shuaib, sat at the head of the table, posture rigid, expression unreadable. Beside him was Rayyan's stepmother, elegantly dressed, her lips already curved into a polite smile that never quite reached her eyes. His mother sat opposite, calm and graceful, hands folded neatly in her lap. A few other family members were present, including his stepsister, Liyana, seated confidently to his father's right.
Rayyan inclined his head slightly.
"As-salāmu ʿalaykum."
"Wa ʿalaykum as-salām," his mother replied immediately, her voice warm.
"Wa ʿalaykum as-salām," his stepmother echoed, a fraction of a second later.
His father nodded once. "Wa ʿalaykum as-salām. Sit."
Rayyan took his seat without another word. Servants immediately began uncovering dishes, the aroma of rich spices filling the room. Yet, despite the feast before him, Rayyan felt no appetite.
"So," Ibrahim began, lifting his glass, "I hear our competitors have surpassed us again this quarter."
Silence fell.
Rayyan's fingers tightened around his cutlery, but he said nothing.
His father continued, his voice calm but sharp. "Another company overtaking us. Do you know what that says about leadership?"
Rayyan kept his gaze on his plate.
"It says incompetence," Ibrahim concluded flatly.
His stepmother clicked her tongue softly. "Ibrahim, don't be too harsh. Rayyan is… trying," she said, though her tone suggested otherwise. "But perhaps trying isn't enough anymore."
Liyana leaned forward, folding her arms gracefully.
"Honestly, Father, this wouldn't be happening if the company had fresh ideas. Innovation. Maybe someone who actually understands modern strategy."
Rayyan finally looked up, his eyes briefly meeting hers. She smiled...cool, calculated.
"I mean," she added lightly, "if you ever needed someone to step in temporarily, I wouldn't mind helping. After all, I've been attending meetings, observing operations. I already know how things run."
His stepmother nodded approvingly.
"She's right. Liyana has been very involved. Very impressive, actually. Maybe it's time to reconsider who's best suited to lead."
The words felt like knives.
Rayyan's jaw clenched, but he still didn't speak.
His mother cleared her throat gently.
"Let's eat," she said softly, forcing a smile. "There's no need to turn dinner into a board meeting."
Ibrahim waved a dismissive hand.
"This family is a board meeting. Business doesn't stop because food is served."
She laughed lightly, trying to defuse the tension.
"At least allow the food to cool first," she said jokingly. "Everyone's stomach will protest if we argue on an empty one."
A few forced chuckles followed. The servants resumed serving.
Liyana glanced at Rayyan sideways.
"You've been very quiet, brother," she said sweetly. "No defense? No explanation?"
Rayyan slowly placed his cutlery down.
"I don't need to explain myself at the dinner table," he said evenly.
His father's eyes narrowed.
"You need to explain yourself everywhere. You were given responsibility, Rayyan. Power. And what have you done with it?"
Rayyan met his gaze now.
"I'm working."
"Working?" Ibrahim scoffed. "Working doesn't mean watching others surpass you. It doesn't mean handing out cars and rewards while the company slips."
His stepmother raised an eyebrow.
"Cars?"
Rayyan stiffened.
"Generosity doesn't replace results," Ibrahim continued.
"If you can't handle the pressure, I won't hesitate to relieve you of your duties."
The words landed heavy.
Liyana smiled faintly.
"Father, if that happens, I'll gladly step up. For the sake of the family name."
Rayyan's mother reached out, touching his arm.
"Enough," she said gently. "Rayyan has always been responsible. Let's not judge him based on one quarter."
"One quarter?" Ibrahim snapped. "This isn't the first time."
Rayyan pushed his chair back slightly, the sound sharp against the marble floor.
"If you think I'm useless," he said quietly, "then do what you think is best."
The table went still.
His stepmother blinked, surprised. Liyana's smile faltered for half a second.
Ibrahim stared at him.
"Careful," he warned. "You forget who built everything you're sitting in."
Rayyan stood.
"I haven't forgotten," he said. "That's the problem."
Without waiting for permission, he turned and walked away from the table.
"Rayyan!" his mother called after him.
He paused but didn't turn back.
"I've lost my appetite," he said, his voice controlled, distant. Then he left the room.
Upstairs, his bedroom felt just as suffocating despite its size and luxury. He loosened his collar, ran a hand through his hair, and let out a slow breath. The walls were lined with awards, framed articles, achievements, proof of success that never seemed enough.
He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees.
Everything in his life felt dictated. His career. His expectations. His worth.
Even his silence was expected.
For a moment, Nuha's face crossed his mind..her quiet resilience, the way she handled pressure without complaint, the way she smiled despite exhaustion.
He closed his eyes.
When was the last time he had been allowed to choose?
Rayyan leaned back, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of a life that looked perfect from the outside but felt like a cage from within.
Morning sunlight filtered gently through the thin curtains, painting soft gold lines across the living room floor. The apartment was unusually quiet, the kind of quiet that only existed early in the morning before the city fully woke up.
Nuha stirred beneath the light blanket, groaning softly as she turned to the other side.
"Why is morning always so… loud?" she muttered to herself, even though the room was silent.
From the other side of the bed, Nawal shifted and let out a sleepy laugh.
"Because you sleep like a rock and wake up like someone dragged you out of Jannah," she teased, eyes still closed.
Nuha smiled lazily. "That's because my dreams were good. I was driving my Lexus again."
Nawal's eyes snapped open.
"Don't you dare start flexing this early in the morning."
Nuha laughed, sitting up and stretching. "Good morning to you too."
Nawal rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. "Good morning, Miss RX 500h F SPORT. How does it feel to wake up rich?"
Nuha grabbed a pillow and threw it at her. "I'm not rich. It's not even mine."
"It's parked downstairs with your name on it," Nawal shot back. "That's rich enough."
They both laughed.
A moment later, the adhan drifted faintly from a nearby mosque. Nuha paused, her smile softening.
"Subh prayer," she said quietly, already reaching for her scarf.
Nawal sighed dramatically but sat up. "Okay, okay. Let's go before you start judging me with your righteous silence."
"I don't judge," Nuha replied innocently.
"You do. Internally."
They prayed together in comfortable silence, side by side, the calm of the morning settling into the room. When they were done, Nuha remained seated for a moment, hands resting on her knees.
"You okay?" Nawal asked, watching her closely.
Nuha nodded slowly. "Yeah. Just… thinking."
Nawal smirked. "About him."
Nuha shot her a look. "About life."
"That's code for *him*."
Nuha stood up. "You're impossible."
The kitchen soon filled with the sound of clinking plates and light music from Nawal's phone. Nuha tied her apron while Nawal leaned against the counter, scrolling.
"So," Nawal began casually, "what are your plans today, Miss Day-Off?"
Nuha cracked an egg into a bowl. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I want peace."
Nawal snorted. "Peace? After yesterday? You're funny."
Nuha smiled despite herself. "I just want to rest. Maybe read. Maybe nap."
"Maybe think about Rayyan."
Nuha groaned. "Nawal!"
"I'm just saying," Nawal continued, taking a sip of tea. "He's living rent-free in your head."
Nuha stirred the eggs, pretending not to hear her. "He's my boss. That's all."
"That's how it always starts," Nawal said knowingly. "First 'he's my boss,' then 'he's complicated,' then suddenly you're picking scarves carefully."
Nuha froze for half a second, then continued stirring. "That scarf was loose."
"Mhm."
They ate breakfast at the small dining table, sunlight streaming in through the window.
"You know," Nawal said between bites, "I like this version of you."
Nuha looked up. "Which version?"
"This one," Nawal said simply. "Relaxed. Smiling. Not drowning in deadlines."
Nuha smiled softly. "Me too."
Her phone buzzed suddenly on the table.
She froze.
Nawal noticed immediately. "Why are you staring at it like it might bite you?"
Nuha glanced at the screen. 'Rayyan Shuaib'
Her heart skipped.
Nawal grinned. "Oh. Speak of the devil."
Nuha swallowed. "It's… him."
"Well?" Nawal urged. "Answer."
Nuha hesitated for a second, then picked up the phone.
"Hello?"
"Good morning, Miss Salam."
His voice was calm, professional but softer than usual.
"Good morning, sir," she replied automatically, then winced at herself.
There was a brief pause.
"I just wanted to confirm that you're resting today."
"Yes," Nuha said. "I am. Thank you."
"Good," Rayyan replied. "That's all."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"And… the car?" he added. "Any issues?"
Nuha smiled without realizing it. "No. It's perfect."
"I'm glad," he said. "Enjoy your day."
"You too, sir."
The call ended.
Nuha stared at the phone.
Nawal burst out laughing. "That's it? That's the call?"
"He just wanted to check in," Nuha defended weakly.
"Exactly," Nawal said, wagging her finger. "Checking. In."
Nuha covered her face. "Please let me live."
Nawal refused to let the matter rest.
She stood in the middle of the living room, arms folded, eyes narrowed at Nuha who was curled comfortably on the couch, a throw blanket over her legs and her phone in hand.
"No," Nawal said firmly. "You are not spending your first free day in weeks lying down like a retired woman."
Nuha didn't even look up. "I am resting. That was the plan."
"The plan," Nawal repeated dramatically, "is for humans who don't get surprise luxury cars and unexpected attention from emotionally unavailable bosses."
Nuha sighed. "Nawal…"
"Kaysan is going to be there," Nawal added casually.
That got Nuha's attention. She glanced up. "And?"
"And," Nawal continued, walking closer, "Shan might come too."
Nuha frowned. "I don't even know him."
"You noticed him," Nawal countered.
Nuha scoffed. "I bumped into him once."
"And stared at his eyes for at least three seconds," Nawal said smugly.
Nuha sat upright. "That is a lie."
"Your face told the truth."
Nuha shook her head, reaching for her mug. "I don't want to go out. I want quiet. I want peace. I want to sleep."
Nawal dropped onto the couch beside her. "You can sleep tonight. Today is for living."
Nuha met her gaze, firm now. "I'm not going. You go and enjoy."
Nawal studied her for a moment, then sighed. "Fine. But don't blame me when you regret it."
Nuha smiled faintly. "I won't."