Layla walked fast, her abaya billowing around her ankles, the book Amira had returned clutched tight in her hands. She didn’t look back, but she felt him. The man across the street. Watching. Waiting.
Her heart wasn’t racing. Fear wasn’t an option. Instead, rage coiled in her gut, thick and steady.
Ali Kadir had finally figured it out.
She should’ve known it wouldn’t take them long. The bodies she left behind weren’t exactly discreet, even if the cops were too fucking incompetent to connect the dots. Ali’s men, though? They had resources. Power. And now, they had a target.
Her.
Layla inhaled deeply and pulled out her phone. She tapped Omar’s number and pressed it to her ear.
He picked up on the second ring. "Layla?"
"We have a problem."
Silence. Then, his voice dropped. "Where are you?"
"Outside the school."
"Go home. Now."
Layla gritted her teeth. "I’m not running."
"You are if I fucking tell you to."
She exhaled sharply. "I’ll meet you there."
A beat of silence. Then, "I’ll be waiting."
She ended the call and shoved her phone into her bag.
Across the street, the man was still there. Still staring.
She almost smiled.
"Come find me then, motherfucker," she thought.
And then she turned and walked away.
---
Al-Hassan Estate
Omar was waiting for her at the door.
No tie. Shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing his forearms. His face was calm, but his eyes—dark and unreadable—were watching her like a hawk.
The moment Layla stepped inside, he shut the door behind her and locked it.
"Who?" he asked. No greeting. No pretense. Straight to business.
Layla shrugged off her coat. "One of Ali’s men. He was outside the school, just standing there. Watching me."
Omar exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "They know."
"Yeah."
A muscle in his jaw ticked. "Then they die."
Layla smirked. "That’s the plan."
Omar turned, striding toward the living room. "Come."
She followed.
The room was dimly lit, the only sound the crackle of the fireplace. Omar poured himself a glass of water, took a slow sip, then finally looked at her again.
"You’re sure they only sent one?"
Layla nodded. "For now."
Omar stared at her, then set his glass down. "I’m putting more security on you."
Layla’s brow furrowed. "I don’t need security."
He stepped closer, his gaze heavy. "I know what you can do. But this isn’t some random street thug, Layla. It’s Ali fucking Kadir. He doesn’t send men to scare you—he sends them to fucking kill you."
Layla folded her arms. "Then let them try."
Omar muttered something under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. "You’re a fucking headache, you know that?"
She smirked. "So I’ve been told."
He exhaled, eyes flicking to the window. "I should’ve handled Ali a long time ago."
Layla tilted her head. "So why didn’t you?"
Omar’s expression darkened. "Because my father wanted peace."
Layla scoffed. "Your father is retired. You’re in charge now."
Omar’s lips pressed together.
She stepped closer. "Are you afraid of war, Omar?"
His eyes snapped to hers. "Afraid?" A slow smirk curled his lips. "No, habibti. I just prefer to let my enemies think they’ve won before I slit their fucking throats."
Layla hummed. "Poetic."
Omar watched her, his gaze trailing over her face. Then, suddenly, he asked, "Are you ready to die for this?"
Layla didn’t hesitate. "I already have."
Silence.
Then Omar nodded once. "Then we plan."
---
Meanwhile – Ali Kadir’s Hideout
Ibrahim stepped into the room, his expression grim. "She’s onto us."
Ali leaned back in his chair, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "Of course she fucking is."
Ibrahim hesitated. "And Omar?"
Ali smirked. "He’s got his guard up. Which means he’s going to make a mistake."
Ibrahim folded his arms. "This is dangerous."
Ali’s eyes gleamed. "I like dangerous."
Ibrahim sighed. "We should wait. Plan this properly."
Ali’s smirk widened. "Oh, we’re waiting, Ibrahim. We’re waiting for the perfect fucking moment."
He took a slow sip of whiskey, then set the glass down.
"And when that moment comes?" His eyes darkened. "We gut the fucking bitch."
**How was it? Hope you liked it**
By khadijah Drammeh ❤️
