Amira awoke to the sound of the city humming beneath her. Idris was no longer in bed, though the sheets were still warm. The scent of his cologne lingered in the air—a mixture of cedarwood and something sharp, like mystery. She stretched slowly, her limbs aching not with discomfort but with the weight of thoughts she hadn't shaken since the encounter with Naima.
The name itself was like a thorn.
Naima Castillo.
She hadn't expected to feel so… shaken. But the woman was poised, intelligent, and carried history with Idris that Amira had only begun to understand.
Slipping out of bed, Amira moved toward the kitchen. Idris was standing there by the window, dressed in black slacks and a dark shirt, sleeves rolled halfway up his arms. A coffee mug sat untouched on the counter.
He turned slightly when he sensed her.
"You didn't come back to bed," she said softly.
He nodded. "Couldn't sleep."
"Because of her?"
His silence was her answer.
Amira crossed the space between them, but left a few inches untouched. "What is she doing here, Idris? What does she want?"
He looked down into his coffee. "Power. Leverage. Closure, maybe. I don't know."
"You didn't even tell me she was still part of your company."
"She's not. Not really. But her father left her a stake when he died. She owns five percent. Just enough to show up and stir things."
"And you never thought to warn me?"
His jaw tightened. "I didn't want her in our story."
"But she already is," Amira replied, voice steady. "You let her in the moment you didn't tell me."
He sighed, the weight of years pressing into that one breath. "Amira… Naima didn't just leave. She humiliated me. Left the night before our engagement announcement. No goodbye. Just a note."
She blinked, surprised. "You were going to propose?"
"I already had. She said yes. Then she disappeared."
Amira felt the sting in her chest. "And now she's back. Just like that."
"Exactly why I kept you out of it. She has a way of twisting things."
"Well, she succeeded," Amira said. "Because now I can't stop wondering what part of you still belongs to her."
Idris turned, finally facing her. His eyes were stormy. "None. Not a damn thing."
"You say that," she whispered. "But the hurt in your voice… it's still fresh."
He stepped closer, his presence a magnetic pull she hated loving. "The hurt is from the past. But what I feel now—this fear of losing something real—that's new. That's you."
Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. "Then prove it. Don't shield me from your past. Let me help you carry it."
For a moment, neither spoke. Then he nodded slowly, eyes locked on hers. "Okay."
Later that day, Idris sent for his driver to take Amira home. "I'll meet you there tonight," he said. "I have to deal with a board issue."
"You sure?" she asked.
"I need to finish this. So Naima doesn't think she still has control."
Amira leaned up to kiss his cheek. "Be careful."
"I always am."
The car ride was quiet. Amira sat staring out the tinted window, thoughts racing. When she arrived at the apartment, something unexpected waited at her door.
A bouquet of dark red lilies.
No note.
She frowned. They weren't from Idris. He always sent peonies—her favorite. Lilies were Naima's signature flower, according to one of the old articles she'd read in idle curiosity.
She stepped inside with the bouquet and immediately tossed them in the bin. Coincidence or not, she wasn't going to let another woman play mind games with her.
Hours passed. Idris didn't come home.
By ten, her calls went unanswered.
By midnight, she was pacing the living room.
At 1:00 a.m., the door finally opened.
Idris stepped in, his face shadowed, his shirt collar undone.
Amira rushed to him. "Where have you been?"
He kissed her forehead, exhaling. "Boardroom politics. I'm sorry."
She studied him. "That's all?"
He paused.
Her heart skipped.
"She confronted me again," he admitted.
Amira folded her arms tightly. "And?"
"She wants to return as Creative Director."
Her mouth dropped open. "What?"
"It's a stunt. She doesn't care about the role. She just wants attention. But she's using her shares as leverage."
"So what are you going to do?"
He met her eyes. "I said no."
Relief flooded her chest, but it came too fast.
"And then she offered to sell her shares."
Amira blinked. "That's good, right?"
"Not if the price is you."
"What?"
"She said she'd only sell if I agreed to meet her one last time. Alone. Somewhere private."
A sharp chill ran down Amira's spine. "You're not actually considering it."
"I haven't decided."
"She wants to sink her claws into your head, Idris."
"I know."
"Then why hesitate?"
"Because if I buy her shares, she's out of our lives permanently. No more appearances. No more leverage. Just silence."
Amira looked down. "And if you go, what does that make me? A woman you keep safe in the background while you face your past alone?"
He walked over, cupping her chin. "You're not in the background. You're the reason I care enough to want peace."
She swallowed. "Then take me with you."
He hesitated. "It's not a fight I want you in."
"But I'm already in it, Idris."
He stared at her, and then finally nodded.
Two days later, Amira stepped into the glass atrium of the Leventis penthouse lounge. Idris stood beside her, dressed in sharp black, shoulders tense.
Naima arrived moments later, in a wine-colored dress that clung to her like a second skin. Her smile was as calculated as ever.
"I didn't expect you to bring company," she said, eyes flicking to Amira.
"I didn't come to entertain expectations," Idris replied.
Naima raised a brow, amused. "Fair. Let's make this quick then."
She laid the share documents on the table. "Sign this, and they're yours. But I want five minutes. Just you and me."
Idris looked at Amira. "You okay with that?"
Amira's lips were tight, but she nodded. "I trust you."
He stepped aside with Naima, moving just far enough that their voices were a low hum. Amira watched closely, every twitch of Naima's hand, every flicker in Idris's expression.
Naima leaned closer, her hand brushing Idris's arm.
Amira's stomach twisted.
Then, suddenly, Idris stood tall and cold, the CEO mask dropping into place. He stepped back, pulled out a pen, and signed the papers without another word.
When he returned, he didn't speak until they were in the car.
"She kissed my cheek," he muttered.
Amira turned sharply. "What?"
"Like it was still hers to kiss. But I let her have it. That goodbye. So she'd know it's over."
Amira didn't speak. She simply leaned her head against his shoulder.
Sometimes the loudest victories were the quietest exits.