The silence between them as they returned home was not cold, but contemplative—heavy with everything unspoken. Idris kept his eyes on the road, one hand gripping the wheel while the other rested on the gear, tense and unmoving. Amira sat quietly beside him, her fingers laced in her lap, eyes fixed on the blur of city lights rushing past.
"Do you believe me now?" he asked, his voice low, almost weary.
She turned her head slowly. "That it's over with her?"
He nodded.
"I do," Amira said. "But it's not just about her. It's about everything you don't say."
He exhaled sharply through his nose, as if she'd pressed on a nerve he'd tried to forget existed. "I've never been good at talking about things that hurt."
"Maybe it's time to learn."
His jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
They arrived at the penthouse. As soon as the door closed behind them, Amira slipped off her heels and folded her arms.
"Idris."
He paused mid-step, still facing away from her.
"Why did you fall for Naima in the first place?"
He turned slowly, and for the first time, she saw a crack in the wall of steel he always wore. Not a weakness—just something real.
"She made me believe I could be human," he said. "That I wasn't just born to inherit my father's mistakes or the company he built with blood."
"And now?"
"Now I know she liked the idea of controlling a man like me more than she ever cared about who I was inside."
Amira walked up to him, stopping a breath away. "And me? What do you see when you look at me?"
He raised his eyes to hers, and this time, there was no armor. Only raw, stripped-back honesty.
"I see the one person who reminds me I still have a soul."
A lump formed in Amira's throat. "Then don't shut me out."
"I'm trying not to," he murmured. "I really am."
She reached up and gently touched his chest. "Start by telling me about your father."
His breath caught, and for a moment, she thought he would resist again. But then, slowly, he moved to the couch and sat down. She followed, sitting beside him with quiet patience.
"My father was cold," he began. "Not abusive… not in the way that leaves bruises. But he made you feel like love was something you had to earn, and even then, never quite deserved. He taught me that control was safer than vulnerability."
Amira listened, her fingers brushing against his.
"When he died," Idris continued, "I took over the company because I had something to prove. To him, even if he wasn't there to see it. And to myself."
"What were you trying to prove?"
"That I could be better. Stronger. That I could fix everything he broke. But somewhere along the way, I stopped living and started performing."
Amira nodded slowly. "That's why you built so many walls."
"And then you walked in," he said, almost smiling. "And didn't knock. You just… stayed."
She gave a small, bittersweet laugh. "I guess I've never been one to wait for permission."
He reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Don't stop."
The night grew softer between them after that. Idris made tea—something Amira had never seen him do before—and they curled on the couch like two people rediscovering the safety of each other's presence. No more accusations. No more half-truths. Just silence, warm and healing.
But peace, Amira would learn, never lasted long in Idris Leventis's world.
The next morning brought a phone call that changed everything.
Amira was in the kitchen, frying eggs, when Idris's phone rang. He picked it up without checking the caller ID.
"Leventis."
Amira could only hear the tone from where she stood—not the words—but something in his body language shifted immediately. He stood straighter, lips thinned, eyes sharp.
"Yes," he said. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."
When he hung up, Amira set the pan aside. "What is it?"
"There was a breach in our internal system," he said. "Confidential data leaked. Financial records. Private communications."
Her stomach dropped. "Do they know who did it?"
"They think it was someone with access to old administrative credentials."
Her mind went immediately to Naima.
Idris saw the suspicion in her eyes. "It could be her. Or someone she paid."
"Why would she still come after you? She already sold her shares."
He clenched his jaw. "Because she doesn't like to lose."
Amira took a step closer. "Let me come with you."
"No," he said gently. "This is damage control. Legal. And it's going to get ugly."
"I can handle ugly," she replied.
He smiled faintly. "I know. But this time, let me protect you."
He kissed her forehead, then left.
Amira stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen, heart pounding. Something about this didn't feel like Naima alone. There was a bigger game unfolding, and Idris was in the center of it.
Later that day, while scrolling through a news blog for any whispers of the breach, Amira came across a small headline:
"Ex-Fiancée of Billionaire CEO Spotted Meeting with Rival Tech Executive."
Her eyes narrowed.
The man in the photo, standing beside Naima in a sleek grey suit, looked vaguely familiar. His name was listed below: Khalid Adebanjo, a known competitor who had once tried to merge with Leventis Corp but was denied.
Amira's stomach churned. This wasn't just personal—it was business warfare.
She picked up her phone and dialed Idris. He didn't pick up.
An hour passed. Two. Still no word.
She tried contacting Frank, his assistant, but he only replied with a curt message:
"Idris is in a closed meeting. Will get back to you shortly."
The anxiety clawed at her chest. Something wasn't right.
That evening, just after sunset, her phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.
"He's not who you think he is. Stop pretending you matter to him. Before it's too late."
No signature.
No context.
Just enough to make her blood run cold.
Amira gripped the phone, heart thudding in her ears. She stared at the message again, then deleted it—but the words branded themselves into her memory.
She wasn't going to be intimidated. Not by anonymous threats. Not by ghosts from Idris's past.
She opened her laptop, pulled up her old investigation files from her university days—back when she wanted to be a journalist—and started looking into Khalid Adebanjo. If Idris wouldn't let her into the fight, she would find her own way in.
This time, she wouldn't just be the woman by his side.
She would be the one watching his back.
Amira's fingers flew across the keyboard, her search narrowing in on Khalid Adebanjo's business ties, old press clippings, and anything that might link him to Naima. While she wasn't a trained journalist anymore, her instincts hadn't dulled. She knew how to follow the trail, how to read between the lines.
Her eyes caught on an old news article from three years ago: "Khalid Adebanjo's Acquisition Attempt Rebuffed by Leventis Corp." The piece highlighted a failed merger and noted a particularly harsh public statement issued by Idris himself. According to the article, Idris had called Khalid "a businessman with more ambition than ethics."
So this wasn't just rivalry—it was personal.
A few more clicks, and she found a photo from a charity gala last year. Naima, dressed in a sapphire gown, stood beside Khalid. Their smiles were polished, the kind worn for cameras and strategic appearances. But their proximity suggested more than business.
Amira leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowed.
"She's aligning with him," she muttered. "Using him to get back at Idris… or maybe something more."
A knock on the door pulled her attention.
She wasn't expecting anyone.
Cautiously, she moved toward the entrance, peering through the peephole. Relief flooded her when she saw Frank on the other side.
She opened the door. "Frank? What are you doing here?"
He looked stressed, his usual calm demeanor frayed. "I need to talk to you—privately."
Amira stepped aside. "What happened?"
Frank entered quickly, closing the door behind him. "The breach this morning… it was worse than we thought. Whoever did it accessed Idris's personal records. Bank accounts, communications… even private legal documents."
Her heart thudded. "What kind of legal documents?"
Frank hesitated. "Documents regarding a private settlement. Years ago. Connected to a woman named Lara."
Amira blinked. "Who's Lara?"
"She used to work under Idris's father. Filed a lawsuit after his death, claiming misconduct. Idris settled quietly. He never told anyone—not even the board."
Amira folded her arms. "Why would that matter now?"
"Because the settlement was buried. If it's leaked, it'll look like Idris was covering up a scandal. And Khalid's company has already started contacting the media."
Amira stared at him. "They're trying to destroy him."
Frank nodded grimly. "And they're not done. Khalid's aiming for a hostile takeover. He's buying up shares—quietly, through proxies."
The weight of it all settled heavily on her shoulders. "And Naima?"
"She's backing him. Financially. Strategically. She knows Idris's weaknesses better than anyone."
Amira's chest tightened. "He needs to know this."
"He already does," Frank said. "But he's isolating again. Pushing everyone out. I thought maybe… maybe you could talk to him."
Amira grabbed her coat. "Where is he?"
"He's at the office. Locked in the strategy room. Hasn't eaten all day."
Without another word, she hurried out, barely waiting for the elevator. The ride to Leventis Corp felt like it stretched forever. When she finally reached the top floor, the receptionist tried to stop her, but she breezed past.
She found Idris alone in the glass conference room, seated at the long table, files spread out in a disorganized mess. His tie was loosened, sleeves rolled up, and his eyes were red from staring at screens too long.
"Idris," she said gently.
He looked up. His expression softened, but only for a moment. "You shouldn't be here."
"And you shouldn't be handling this alone."
He closed a file, leaning back. "Frank sent you?"
"No," she lied. "I came because I'm your wife. And I'm not going to watch you destroy yourself."
He rubbed his face with both hands. "They've boxed me in, Amira. Every angle. The press will crucify me, the board is panicking, and if Khalid succeeds, the company my grandfather built will fall into hands that only want to strip it for parts."
"You're not alone," she said firmly. "And you're not powerless. You've beaten worse."
His eyes searched hers, as if looking for a truth he couldn't name. "I don't know how to fight someone like Khalid without becoming the man I swore I'd never be."
"Then don't fight like him," she whispered. "Fight smarter."
She placed her tablet in front of him. "I found something. Naima's last three properties were purchased through a shell company that shares a director with one of Khalid's offshore firms."
He stared at the screen. "This… this could expose them both."
"Exactly," Amira said. "We go public. But we do it our way. With facts. With receipts."
"And risk drawing attention to the settlement?" he asked.
She hesitated. "You might have to own that story. Come clean before they twist it."
Idris exhaled. "You'd stand by me, even if the world turns against me?"
"I already chose you, Idris. I didn't choose the headlines. I chose the man who holds my heart—even when he's a mess."
Emotion flickered in his eyes. "What did I do to deserve you?"
She smiled. "Absolutely nothing."
He let out a breathless laugh, the sound cracked but real. "You're incredible."
"I'm your wife," she said, cupping his face. "And you don't get to fight your battles without me."
He pulled her into a hug, burying his face into her shoulder. For a moment, they simply held each other.
Then he straightened. "Alright. Let's burn them down—with truth."
Over the next few hours, they worked side by side, organizing evidence, drafting statements, and mapping out the board's likely reactions. Idris was still the CEO—but Amira? She was becoming the compass.
At midnight, they took a break. He brought her coffee, and she handed him her half-eaten croissant.
"We're a mess," she said.
He chuckled. "But a powerful one."
Then his phone buzzed again.
A message from an unknown number.
"You're running out of time. If you don't back down, you'll lose more than your company. You'll lose her."
Amira read over his shoulder. "They're threatening me now?"
His expression hardened. "Not on my watch."
She took his hand. "Then let's end this. Together."