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Aaliya didn't know if it was the cold seeping through her coat or the weight of Faris's words that made the city feel unfamiliar. The neon lights that once felt alive and bustling now looked too bright, too harsh. They cast sharp shadows against the alleyways and corners she passed, stretching like claws.
Her hands were shoved deep into her pockets, her nails digging into her palms to keep her grounded. She wasn't going to let him get into her head. Faris wanted her to be scared — wanted her to give up.
She wasn't going to.
Adam needed her.
The streets were quieter than usual. She passed by a row of closed shops, the metal shutters pulled down and locked tight. The faint smell of roasted chestnuts lingered in the air from a vendor packing up his cart. Somewhere in the distance, she heard a car horn and the faint hum of a motorcycle engine.
Her feet moved faster. She didn't know where she was going exactly — only that staying still felt wrong.
The café had been a dead end. Faris wasn't going to help her.
But someone else might.
She remembered the name Adam had mentioned once, half in passing, when they were walking along the River after Iftar last Ramadan.
"If I ever get into real trouble, there's this guy. Tariq. He's... not exactly the friendly type, but he knows things. He hears things. Just... don't talk to him unless you really have to."
Aaliya never asked more after that. She hadn't thought she'd need to.
Now, she had no choice.
She found herself near the edge of Itaewon — a part of the city she didn't visit often. It wasn't dangerous exactly, but it had a different energy at night. The narrow streets were packed with tiny restaurants, bars, and late-night shops selling things she didn't recognize.
Her stomach tightened when she reached the alley Adam had mentioned. She wasn't sure how she remembered it, but the place felt right. It was tucked between a laundromat and a dimly lit convenience store, the kind with flickering lights and a bored-looking cashier.
The alley smelled like damp concrete and cigarette smoke. Her shoes scuffed against the uneven ground as she stepped inside.
It was darker than she expected.
Aaliya hesitated, then pulled out her phone to use the flashlight. The beam cut through the shadows, catching on a rusted metal door at the end of the alley.
Her heart pounded.
This was stupid. She knew it was stupid. But she knocked anyway.
Nothing.
She tried again, harder this time. Her knuckles stung against the metal.
Still nothing.
Aaliya swallowed hard, her throat dry. She didn't know what she expected — maybe someone rough-looking, maybe someone dangerous.
But when the door finally creaked open, the last thing she expected was a boy barely older than her.
He couldn't have been more than twenty-two. His hair was buzzed short, and his face was sharp — all angles and shadows under the dim light from the alley. His expression was blank, but his eyes weren't. They were calculating, flicking over her quickly like he was sizing her up.
"Who are you?" His voice was flat, no warmth, no curiosity.
Aaliya's voice wavered, but she held firm. "I'm looking for Tariq."
The boy didn't move. He stared at her a second longer before sighing through his nose. "He's busy."
"I don't care." Her voice came out stronger than she expected. "It's about Adam."
That made him stop. His expression didn't change, but his eyes narrowed — just a little.
"Come back tomorrow."
Aaliya shook her head. "I can't."
For a moment, he didn't say anything. Then, to her surprise, he stepped back and opened the door wider.
She didn't let herself hesitate. She stepped inside.
The room wasn't what she expected.
It wasn't a warehouse or an office — it looked more like an old storage space, half-converted into something livable. A beat-up couch sat against the wall, an ancient-looking TV balanced on a stack of crates, and a small desk was covered in papers, cigarette packs, and an old laptop. The air smelled like stale smoke and cheap cologne.
Tariq was exactly what she expected.
He was sitting on the couch, legs stretched out lazily, wearing a black leather jacket and ripped jeans. His hair was messy, and his face looked like he hadn't shaved in days. He didn't even look up when she walked in — just flicked his cigarette ash into an empty can.
"You're Aaliya," he said without a hint of surprise. "Adam mentioned you."
Her chest tightened.
"Where is he?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Tariq finally looked at her then, his dark eyes sharp and unreadable.
"That's a dangerous question."
Her throat burned.
"I don't care."
Tariq studied her for a moment longer, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"People don't just disappear," he said slowly. "They get taken. And if they get taken, it's because someone wants them gone."
Aaliya felt her stomach twist.
"Who would want him gone?"
Tariq didn't answer right away. He flicked his cigarette again, watching her closely.
"Maybe the same people who told you to stop looking."
Her heart froze.
"How do you—"
"I hear things." He leaned back again, stretching his arms out. "Word travels fast when Faris Al-Fayez tells a girl to back off."
The room felt colder.
"You know him?"
Tariq laughed, low and humorless.
"Everyone knows Faris." His eyes darkened. "The question is, do you know what he really is?"
Aaliya didn't answer. She couldn't.
Tariq smirked, but there was no amusement behind it.
"Careful, Aaliya. If you get too close to Faris... you might not like what you find."
Aaliya's throat tightened at Tariq's words.
"If you get too close to Faris... you might not like what you find."
Her pulse hammered in her ears, but she forced herself to stay still, her voice steadier than she felt. "I don't care who he is. I just need to find Adam."
Tariq tilted his head, studying her like she was some kind of puzzle he wasn't sure was worth solving. His smirk faded.
"You think it's that simple?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "People don't just disappear in this city without a reason. Especially not people like Adam."
Aaliya blinked, confusion twisting in her chest. "People like Adam? What's that supposed to mean?"
Tariq sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "Your friend wasn't as clean as you think."
Her stomach dropped. "That's not true. Adam isn't—he wouldn't—"
Tariq cut her off with a sharp look. "You're smart, Aaliya. But you're also naïve."
The room felt suffocating, the stale smell of smoke pressing in on her. Aaliya didn't want to believe it — couldn't believe it — but doubt crawled into her mind like a parasite. She hated it.
Tariq watched her carefully, like he knew exactly what she was thinking. "Adam was in deep. He owed people money — dangerous people. People Faris works with."
Her heart stammered. "Faris works with them?"
Tariq leaned back, crossing his arms. "Faris owns them. The clubs, the street runners, the deliveries. He doesn't get his hands dirty, but everyone answers to him." He paused, his voice darkening. "If Adam crossed the wrong person, there's a good chance Faris knows exactly where he is."
Aaliya felt like the air had been knocked from her lungs. The image of Faris, with his cold eyes and arrogant smirk, flashed in her mind. The way he spoke to her like she was a nuisance, like she was already a lost cause.
It made sense now — why he warned her to stop looking.
He wasn't protecting her. He was covering something up.
Her hands curled into fists. "Then I'll ask him myself."
Tariq's expression flickered with something — surprise, maybe, or pity. "You think he'll just tell you?" He laughed, low and humorless. "Faris doesn't do kindness, Aaliya. He's not your hero. He's not Adam's either."
"I don't need him to be a hero." Aaliya's voice was quiet but firm. "I just need the truth."
For a second, Tariq didn't say anything. He stared at her, his smirk gone, replaced by something that almost looked like respect.
Then he stood up.
"You're either brave or stupid," he muttered, walking to the desk. He pulled open a drawer, rummaging through papers before pulling out a small, folded slip. He tossed it onto the table.
"Club Roya," he said flatly. "It's Faris's place. He'll be there tomorrow night. But listen carefully — if you go, you're on your own. He's not the kind of guy you can just walk up to and demand answers from."
Aaliya picked up the slip. It was a gold-colored card with a black design — a crescent moon and a dagger etched into it. It didn't have an address. Just the name.
"Why are you helping me?" she asked quietly.
Tariq hesitated. His voice was quieter this time, more serious. "Because Adam didn't deserve this." He looked at her, something flickering in his eyes. "And maybe you don't either."
The night felt colder when Aaliya stepped back out onto the street.
She tucked the card into her pocket, pulling her coat tighter around herself. Her mind spun with everything Tariq said.
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He's not your hero.
Her throat burned. She didn't know what to believe anymore.
Adam wasn't perfect — she knew that. He had his reckless side, his secrets. But he wasn't a criminal. He wasn't a liar. He wasn't someone who would just vanish without a fight.
He wouldn't leave her behind.
Aaliya took a shaky breath, her eyes lifting to the skyline. The city lights blurred against the cold night air.
She had to find him.
Even if it meant facing Faris Al-Fayez head-on.
The next evening felt like it came too fast.
Aaliya stared at herself in the mirror, feeling like a stranger in her own skin. She wasn't the type to dress up — never cared much for makeup or fancy clothes. But Club Roya wasn't the kind of place she could walk into unnoticed.
She wore a long black dress, simple and modest, but sleek enough not to stand out in the wrong way. A hijab wrapped neatly around her head, a deep charcoal grey that blended with the shadows. Her face was bare, save for a touch of kohl around her eyes.
She barely recognized herself.
Her heart raced in her chest. It wasn't too late to turn back.
But then she thought about Adam. His laugh. His voice. The way he always told her she was stronger than she realized.
She swallowed the fear down.
When she stepped into the night, she wasn't Aaliya anymore. She wasn't the quiet girl who watched from the sidelines.
She was someone who wasn't going to stop until she found him.
The cab dropped her off a block away from the club.
The building was unmarked — dark and sleek, with a single red light glowing above the entrance. A line stretched along the sidewalk, but Aaliya walked past them, her pulse pounding. She wasn't here to wait.
The bouncer stepped in her path, but before she could speak, she held up the gold card Tariq gave her.
He stared at it for a moment, then stepped aside without a word.
Her stomach twisted as she stepped inside.
The club was darker than she expected, filled with low music and the hum of voices. Chandeliers hung low from the ceiling, casting dim, flickering light over plush leather seats and polished marble floors. People leaned close together, laughing, whispering, lost in their own worlds.
But Aaliya wasn't looking at them.
Her eyes locked onto the balcony above.
And there he was.
Faris Al-Fayez.
He sat at a table overlooking the room, his posture relaxed but commanding. He wore a dark suit, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. His jaw was sharp, his hair perfectly tousled — and his eyes... his eyes found hers almost immediately.
The smirk came back.
Like he knew she was coming.
Aaliya's stomach dropped.
For the first time since this started, she wondered if she'd made a mistake.
Faris leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His voice didn't carry across the room, but his expression said enough.
"You shouldn't have come."
Faris didn't move. He didn't need to. His presence filled the room without a word, like the weight of him had already settled over everything. His eyes stayed on her — unreadable, steady, and sharp enough to cut.
Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to hold his gaze.
She wasn't here to cower.
The club felt suffocating, the music pounding in her ears, vibrating in her chest. Conversations blurred around her — laughter, murmurs, the occasional sharp clink of a glass hitting a table. None of it felt real.
Faris leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the side like he owned the whole world. Maybe he did.
The smirk on his face stayed, lazy and indifferent.
Aaliya swallowed hard. Her feet felt rooted to the spot, but her mind screamed at her to move. Go to him. Get answers.
Her legs finally obeyed.
She stepped forward, weaving through the crowd. Her black dress brushed against strangers, but they hardly noticed her. She didn't belong here — she knew it, they knew it — but she didn't care.
Faris didn't take his eyes off her. Not once.
As she approached the stairs leading up to his balcony, a man stepped in her path. Broad shoulders, thick arms, a hard expression. One of Faris's men, no doubt. He didn't speak, but his meaning was clear.
She wasn't going any further.
Aaliya's voice came out stronger than she expected. "I need to talk to him."
The man didn't blink. "You're not on the list."
Faris spoke before she could argue. His voice cut through the noise like a blade. Smooth, low, and effortless.
"Let her through."
The man hesitated, but only for a second. He stepped aside, his gaze lingering on Aaliya for a moment too long. She ignored him.
Her feet felt heavier with each step up the stairs. The music faded behind her, muffled as she reached the balcony. Up close, Faris looked even more intimidating — sharper somehow, his features carved from something colder than stone.
His suit was crisp, but his tie was loosened like he couldn't be bothered to wear it properly. A silver watch gleamed on his wrist, catching the dim light as he tapped his fingers against the table, slow and rhythmic.
She stopped a few feet away from him.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Faris tilted his head slightly, his voice low and careless. "You're persistent. I'll give you that."
Aaliya forced the shake out of her voice. "I want to know where Adam is."
Faris didn't react. He blinked once, slowly. "Do you?"
Her throat tightened. "Don't play with me. Tariq said you know. If you're behind whatever happened to him—"
Faris's laugh cut her off. It wasn't warm or amused — it was cold and empty, like the idea of her blaming him was ridiculous.
"You think I'm behind it?" His voice dipped lower, smooth and quiet, but laced with something dangerous. "You're in the wrong place for accusations."
Aaliya's chest burned. She was tired of the cryptic answers, the half-truths. She took a step closer.
"I'm not leaving without answers."
For the first time, Faris's smirk faltered. His eyes narrowed — just a flicker, gone as quickly as it came.
"You're brave," he murmured, almost like it was a compliment. "Or stupid."
Her heart twisted, but she didn't flinch. "Maybe both."
Faris studied her for a long moment. The music throbbed faintly in the background, but up here it felt miles away.
Then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His voice lowered to a near-whisper.
"You think you're the first person to come looking for someone who owed more than they could pay?" He tilted his head. "People disappear every day. Adam's no different."
Her stomach dropped. The room swayed slightly, but she steadied herself.
"No." Her voice trembled, but she didn't stop. "He's not like that. He wouldn't just disappear."
Faris stared at her for a moment longer. Then he did something she didn't expect.
He sighed.
It wasn't dramatic or mocking. It was quiet — almost tired.
"You're wasting your time." His voice was quieter now, his gaze lowering. "Go home."
Aaliya's eyes burned. Anger boiled beneath her skin.
"I'm not going anywhere," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "Not without him."
Faris didn't answer immediately. He studied her again — not like he was amused anymore, but like he was trying to figure her out.
Then, without warning, he stood up.
He wasn't towering or bulky like the men downstairs, but his presence felt heavier than theirs combined. He didn't need muscle to be dangerous.
He stepped closer to her.
Aaliya's breath caught.
Faris leaned down slightly, his voice just above a whisper.
"People like you get eaten alive in places like this." His eyes lingered on her, dark and unreadable. "If you're smart, you'll walk out that door and never look back."
Aaliya's pulse thundered in her ears. She wanted to move. She couldn't.
Faris didn't wait for her to answer. He brushed past her, his cologne — something sharp and smoky — lingering in the air as he walked away.
Aaliya stared after him, her throat burning.
She wasn't done. Not even close.
Aaliya didn't move.
Her feet felt glued to the floor, her mind racing to catch up with what had just happened. Faris's words echoed in her head, low and quiet but carrying a weight she couldn't shake.
"People like you get eaten alive in places like this."
The cold finality in his voice wasn't something she could brush off. It wasn't a threat — it was a warning. One that felt more real than anything else that night.35Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡv0wGjD8vhi
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Faris took another step closer, closing the space between them with deliberate ease. The air around him thickened with the sharp, smoky scent of his cologne, a scent that seemed to invade every corner of her mind. It clung to the air like an unspoken promise, making her head spin with its intensity.
Aaliya instinctively took a shallow breath, and it felt like inhaling fire, her senses overwhelmed by his proximity. His presence was suffocating, yet somehow intoxicating. The way he stood there, so close, so sure of himself, unsettled her in a way she couldn't explain.
She wanted to step back. She wanted to retreat to the safety of distance. But her feet wouldn't move, as though they were frozen in place by the sheer weight of his presence.
Aaliya's pulse quickened, her skin prickling with the knowledge that he knew exactly what he was doing. His move was calculated, bold, and yet there was something about the quiet power in his stance that left her unable to look away.
Aaliya's mind raced, but the thoughts didn't come together—nothing seemed to make sense. She couldn't focus on anything but him, the way his presence seemed to consume the space, filling her senses until there was nothing left but him.
What was it about him? What was it that made her feel like this?
She'd been around people all her life, her whole world full of personalities, yet none of them had made her feel like this. None of them had unsettled her to the core. With Faris, it was different. It wasn't just his proximity or the weight of his words. It was everything about him—the intensity in his eyes, the effortless way he moved, like he had the world at his feet. And yet, there was something in the way he stood there, so still, so in control, that seemed to unnerve her more than anything.
It wasn't just his confidence. It was the quiet, brooding power he exuded. It was the way his presence seemed to stretch into the room, making the air feel charged, heavy, almost suffocating.
No one had ever made her feel this way. No one had ever dared to make her feel so... exposed. So... vulnerable.
With every ounce of willpower she could muster, she shifted her weight onto the balls of her feet. She stepped back—just one step, but it felt like an eternity. Her muscles screamed at her, but she didn't stop. Her gaze remained locked on the floor in front of her, refusing to meet his, as if doing so would shatter the fragile control she was fighting to hold onto.
The distance between them grew, and she felt a strange, hollow sense of relief—followed by an even stronger sense of loss.
What was it about him that made this so hard? Why did it feel like a victory to step away, and yet like the beginning of something she wasn't sure she was ready for?
Aaliya forced her legs to move, even though they felt like lead. She made her way down the stairs, her mind spinning in circles.
Her heart still hammered against her ribs, but her fear was starting to shift. It wasn't fear anymore — it was something Sharper.
Aaliya stepped back onto the main floor of the club, the music slamming into her like a wave. It was too loud, too fast, too suffocating — but she didn't slow down.
Her eyes scanned the room, searching for any sign of Faris. He was gone, of course. She should've known. Someone like him didn't stick around longer than necessary. He said what he needed to say and disappeared, like smoke.
Her jaw tightened.
If he thought one warning was enough to scare her off, he didn't know her at all.
TO BE CONTINUED-
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