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Do you remember that tattoo I showed you? It represents a door from heaven, and yes, I know you understand what I’m saying. It’s the meaning of Rayyan’s name...I just wanted to tell you the truth now because I’m so tired of lying.
Rayyan could not believe the sheer amount of malice invested in the words, with the date and time stamps showing that Cecile had sent the message out of the blue, almost as if she simply wanted to hurt Hyacinth on a whim.
And to think, Hyacinth blamed herself for being so twisted when in truth, it was Cecile whom evil had transformed into something completely unrecognizable.
I’m so sorry about what happened to Anisah. But please don’t use this as a chance to make a play for Rayyan’s sympathies. He’s the only one I have left, Hyacinth.
The message, sent on the day of Anisah’s abduction, was the last straw. Cecile goddamn knew how afraid Hyacinth would have been at that time, and yet she had forced Hyacinth to endure her pain alone.
And he had let her, Rayyan realized with sickening self-loathing, because he had not known any better.
“Rayyan?”
He slowly lifted his gaze to hers.
She was pale and trembling in her wheelchair, and all he could think of was whether her injury was even real, or had that, too, been a lie.
The world started spinning too fast as Cecile watched the sheikh rise to his feet, and she thought madly of what to say, having seen her phone in his hand and knowing exactly what he could have gleaned from it.
I have to keep him with me at all costs, she thought feverishly. I have to. I have to. I have to.
But then she heard the sheikh say, “She never stopped hating herself for hurting you.”
All thoughts of defending herself, every lie she planned to speak, everything just faded, and she didn’t even think of stopping the sheikh from walking away as Rayyan’s words forced the truth on her, and she could no longer look away.
She never stopped hating herself for hurting you.
Because the truth was – she had always known, deep inside, she and Rayyan could never go back to the past, and forcing him to stay with her had been no different from chasing after a shadow of her dreams.
But Hyacinth –
Do you see this? It moves up here, and the same goes for the other side.
Their friendship had been real –
And that, my dear Mrs. B., is how smiles are born.
Cecile’s head hung low as she started to weep.
I’m so sorry, Hyacinth. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
Twenty-Three
Betrayal Rocks Foundation of Royal Family of Ramil!
What was supposed to be a normal gathering – or at least as normal as these glamorous royal events could get – in celebration of Sheikh Rayyan Al-Atassi’s 32nd birthday came to a rather shocking and abrupt end with guests being asked to leave as law enforcement swept in to remove the corpse of Joanna Chatti, a colleague of Professor Anisah Kahveci, wife of Sheikh Tarif Al-Atassi. Chatti is believed to have been either one of or in contact with the masterminds behind the failed coup against the palace a few years back.
It is also believed that Chatti was responsible for the foiled abduction of Kahveci and that her murder was to prevent Chatti from turning state witness.
The discovery of Chatti’s corpse in an undisclosed part of the palace was made by FBPC co-hosts Hyacinth Kahveci and Marwan Bseiso. Although largely unconfirmed, it is believed that the pair had, in the course of their work, come across certain evidence that led the two to suspect the palace’s security was severely compromised.
Bseiso was most recently seen attending a press conference organized by the palace to answer questions from the media. Meanwhile, Hyacinth Kahveci has remained unavailable for comment.
Tarif glanced up as his wife entered their bedroom, and his lips twitched at the irritated expression on Anisah’s face. “Let me guess.” His voice was dry. “Rayyan managed to find a way to corner you again?”
“He gatecrashed my lecture, and he insisted on being the one to drive me back to the palace. He’s like a fly I can’t shake off,” Anisah said waspishly even as she let her husband pull her down, her slim body fitting between his thighs. A small sigh of contentment slipped past her lips as she snuggled against his chest.
“He loves her,” he said softly. “You know that, don’t you?”
Anisah refused to answer and focused instead on the wonderful way her sheikh started massaging her scalp.
“Do you truly not want them to end up together?”
“It’s not a matter of what I want,” she muttered. “I just can’t make myself forget how he made her cry...”
“I made you cry,” Tarif pointed out reluctantly.
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
No, Anisah thought. It wasn’t. She was just being stubborn about the whole thing, and they both knew it.
