After breakfast, Ibrahim and Ava were finally back in Kuala Lumpur. Without wasting much time, Ibrahim took her to see the penthouses from the shortlist.
Ava, who thought it would be a simple "see and choose" kind of thing, was now walking like someone who had just climbed Mount Everest in heels. Her legs were protesting, her eyes were begging for sleep, and at this point, even her soul felt jet-lagged—despite not changing time zones.
Now, they were standing in the third penthouse, and the broker was doing what all brokers do best—talking like a broken record. "This space has excellent natural light, ma'am. As you can see, the open kitchen leads to a balcony with a breathtaking view..."
Ava side-eyed Ibrahim with a look that screamed: If this man says 'breathtaking view' one more time, I swear I'll jump off that balcony myself.
Ibrahim smirked, trying not to laugh. She was clearly tired and annoyed, but she was still here, walking beside him. That was enough for now.
The broker politely excused himself for a call. As soon as he disappeared, Ava leaned back lazily on the sleek, ivory-toned dressing table. Her head rested against the mirror edge, arms folded, eyes half-shut.
"I want to go home," she mumbled like a child begging for bedtime.
It was evening and the sky was painted in purple and soft orange. That kind of sky that made everything inside the room glow a little warmer.
They were standing in what could easily be mistaken for a hotel suite, not a regular bedroom. The bed was king-size, maybe even emperor-size—huge, with layers of pillows. It has a velvet headboard that stretched nearly up to the ceiling, and the side tables looked like they cost more than an average car.
The flooring was made of expensive marbles imported all the way from Italy, so smooth and shiny that it almost reflected their footsteps. Behind the bedroom was a walk-in closet—wide open and well-lit, with sliding glass doors, racks made of dark polished wood, and enough space to store clothes for a lifetime. Even the handles of the drawers looked expensive.
Ava glanced around, still leaning on the table, and shook her head with a tiny, tired smile. No matter how many expensive things Ibrahim showed her, she still couldn't get used to it. Every time it felt like a surprise—like he belonged to a different world.
Ibrahim, with his hands tucked casually in his pockets, walked toward her slowly, "Why are you smiling like that?"
Ava glanced at him, then quickly looked away, pretending to fix her hair in the mirror. "Nothing," she said. "Just make it final and let's go."
Ibrahim stood beside her now, close enough for his presence to warm the space between them. He raised an eyebrow. "You liked it?" he asked, reading her more than her words, There are still two more to show you. I thought maybe you'd want to compare. There might be a quieter neighborhood. And we haven't even seen the kitchen in this one properly. What if you don't like the layout? Or what if the closet isn't enough for your dresses."
Ava turned fast, almost panicking. "No, no! No need to waste time. I like it very much. Really. Look—everything is fine here." She pointed vaguely at the room. "The marble, the view, the… the lights. There are so many rooms, it's perfect. See?" she added, rushing through her words.
Ibrahim chuckled lightly and leaned on the edge of the table beside her.
"Ava, you said the same thing about the first penthouse, then the second. Now you're trying to convince me like you're selling the place to me. I know you're tired. But I don't want you to settle for 'fine' just because your legs are giving up. I want you to walk into a place and feel like it's yours—even before it is. That's what I'm looking for. Not just rooms and marble floors. You get me?"
He looked at her gently. "So tell me honestly. Do you really like this one? Or should we keep looking?"
Ava groaned dramatically, tilting her head back, "Ibraaahhhiiimmm… they're all the same. Just choose anything, please."
Ibrahim froze. That way she said his name.
He felt it crawl down his spine, settle somewhere dangerously low in his stomach. He quickly turned his face away and faked a cough, one hand covering his mouth as if clearing his throat, but really, he was trying not to let his thoughts escape his lips.
God, if he didn't shut up now, he might say something that would scare her off again. And right now—when she was standing close, relaxed, almost playful—he didn't want to ruin that.
Meanwhile, Ava was completely clueless to his inner struggle. Her phone started vibrating in her hand. She looked down and muttered, "Oh no…"
Elara was calling.
Her blood ran cold for a second.
What would she even say? That she came house-hunting with Ibrahim? When she hadn't mentioned a word to her brother till now.
She picked up. Before she could say a word, Elara's voice shot, "You're with Ibrahim right now?"
Ava's voice faltered. "Y-yeahh… I'm… with Ibrahim…"
Ibrahim turned his head towards her, a frown pulling at his brow. His eyes narrowed. Not suspicious, yet—but definitely curious.
Ava turned her back a bit more toward him, pretending to be focused on the mirror in front of her.
Then came Elara's voice again— "Ava. Listen carefully to what I'm about to say. Don't react. Keep your expression neutral. I don't care what he says or does right now—don't let him sense even a flicker of change in you."
Ava muttered, "Mhhhmm," barely audible. Her hand reached out and began wiping a faint smudge off the mirror—an excuse to avoid looking at him directly. But through the reflection, she could still see him watching her with suspicion.
Elara's voice continued, "He's doing a large arms shipment tonight. We've confirmed that part. But I don't have the exact location. It's somewhere between Port Klang and Rawang—both within 40 to 60 kilometers from Kuala Lumpur—but too far apart to guess."
"You want me to ask him?" she whispered.
"No," Elara said. "I want you to stay. I want you to look out for anything—a name, a location, a code. Make any excuse to live with him. If he makes a call, try to catch the number. If he gets a message—anything, even a single word—just tell me. We've tried hacking his phone twice. But his phone can't be hacked, Ava. You're the only chance. Just keep your eyes open. That's all I'm asking."
Ava's eyes flickered in panic as she saw Ibrahim approaching her in the mirror — his hands still calmly tucked into his pockets. She quickly, and too loudly, said into the phone, "Sure! I'll stay with him tonight!" Her voice cracked slightly at the end.
With trembling fingers, she ended the call and spun around. A nervous smile clung to her lips. "Elara is going out for some work. So he asked me to stay with you. You know… after Jessica's kidnapping, he's kinda scared."
Ibrahim arched a brow and smirked softly. "Wow… After so many days, your brother finally did something that makes sense." He took a step closer, the marbled floor catching the sound of his shoes gently. "But why are you sweating, Ava?"
Ava gulped. She could feel the heat crawling up her spine, not because of his closeness — or maybe because of it — but more from the weight of the lie she just told and the mission that suddenly sat heavy on her chest.
She forced a chuckle, her eyes refusing to meet his. "It's just… a little warm in here," she mumbled.
Before she could calm herself down, Ibrahim asked again, "And what about Farah? If Elara's so worried for your safety, isn't he worried about her too?"
Her palms were already damp, "Uhh... not sure if Farah is back from Malacca. Maybe... maybe she's staying with her old roommates. I'll… I'll call her later."
Ibrahim gave a thoughtful hum, then bent slightly to gently crunch her nose with his knuckles — playfully.
"You should," he said with a small smile. "So… we taking this place, then?"
Ava again nodded far too quickly. "Y-Yeah. Finalize it."
.....
INSIDE THE POLICE STATION
The buzzing white lights of the station hummed overhead as Elara, Michael, and Aqil sat around the long table, their eyes focused on the maps stretched open between them. Three coffee mugs—half-empty and long forgotten—sat on one side, growing colder as the trio worked through every possible detail. A large pinboard behind them displayed satellite snapshots, neighborhood layouts, and red-circled zones.
Captain Hameem walked toward the team, "Hope I'm not interrupting a top-secret operation that nobody informed me about."
Elara capped the pen and placed it calmly on the desk. "I got the intel three hours ago, sir..... I was going to loop you in—"
"Oh?" Hameem said while stepping closer. "Three hours? That's generous. And in those three hours, you've already involved your informant, drafted an entry plan, and mapped out a potential raid zone?"
Aqil stayed silent, sipping his lukewarm coffee without looking up. Though he didn't like the way Hameem is talking.
Hameem leaned over the desk, "You do realize, Officer Elara, the man you're tailing isn't some street thug running scams from his garage. It's Ibrahim Rahman. One of the most powerful names in this country. And conveniently, your brother-in-law."
"I know exactly who he is," Elara replied, firm but not loud. "Which is why I'm doing this carefully."
"Carefully? You're planning an operation against Ibrahim Rahman without authorization. Without a warrant. Without a single green signal from seniors. You're lucky I walked in before this turned into a political mess." Hameem turned slightly toward Aqil. "And you... I'm not even surprised to see you here."
Aqil smirked faintly. "I just pass messages. What you do with them is your problem."
"Elara," Hameem snapped, turning back. "You know what this looks like? A personal grudge hidden behind a badge. You don't go after men like Mr. Rahman unless you have concrete proof. If this gets out, it won't be Ibrahim Rahman going down—it'll be you."
"I failed once. That doesn't mean I'll fail again. I'm not chasing Ibrahim Rahman out of anger," she continued. "I'm doing it because someone has to. And if everyone else is too scared to touch him, then fine—I'll be the one who isn't. I promise you, Captain," Elara said, rising from her chair. "If I don't have something real this time, I'll shut it down myself. But I won't walk away because it's inconvenient or dangerous."
Captain Hameem let out a slow, tired sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You've got 24 hours. If there's an illegal shipment moving tonight like you claim, you better bring me more than just coordinates and a gut feeling."
Elara gave a short nod. "You'll have what you need."
"And if you don't…" Hameem paused, leveling his voice, "You'll never ask for another operation against Mr. Rahman. One shot, Elara. Make it count."
Then he turned and walked away.
"So... what now?" Michael asked.
"Now?" Elara's fingers curled around the edge of the table, knuckles pale, "Now we make sure Ibrahim Rahman doesn't sleep tonight."