23. Faiz
CHAPTER 23
FAIZ
T he steering wheel is a cold, unyielding thing beneath my hands as I drive, each turn bringing me closer to the home that no longer feels safe. The roads are just asphalt and paint, but they’re like veins leading straight to the heart of my anger and hurt. I was falling for Tara, truly falling. But now, plummeted into betrayal, I question every glance, every touch. Did she ever even care? Or was it all for a check?
Was that her plan along? To gather information on me so that she could sell it to the highest bidder?
It’s not merely what she did to me that hurts. It is also what she did to Ali. Didn’t I tell her just last night that I will reveal his existence when the time is right? Did that mean nothing?
Apparently not. Perhaps, when we were kissing in the shadows at my parents’, she had already revealed all to the news outlet. She was merely continuing to play her part so that I wouldn’t become suspicious.
Of course I can’t know for sure. I cannot truly know anything when it comes to her. There are so many unknowns, all of them plaguing me like the little devils they are.
My thoughts run rampant, wild horses with sharp hooves trampling all the good I thought Tara and I were growing. It’s ludicrous to imagine that Tara, with her thoughtful words and measured tones, could sell out my son for payment.
But what else can explain it? This isn’t the woman I thought I knew; that image has shattered, leaving me with the brutal truth that I can’t trust anyone other than the select few who were already in my circle.
I should have known better. Should have done better. But I let a beautiful face twist my logic.
Finally, the familiar gates of my palace loom before me, a barricade against the world, yet not impenetrable. The vultures are here — photographers and journalists, their cameras hungry for a scrap of scandal. Ahmed’s broad frame is a bulwark amid the chaos, his voice booming commands that fall on deaf ears. I should feel gratitude for his loyalty, but it’s suffocated by the rage that boils in my veins.
“Enough!” My voice cuts through the cacophony as I step out of the car, just outside the gate. “Have some decency! Leave us alone!”
They don’t hear me — or choose not to. Cameras click, questions barrage me like shrapnel. I want to shield Ali from this, from the ugly truth that the world can be cruel and intrusive. That sometimes people you trust betray you for their own gain.
Ahmed, along with our guard Omar, pushes them back. I take the opportunity and jump back into my car, knowing that if I stay out here I will do something regretful. As much as I would love to smash a few cameras or even toss a journalist over the hedges by their shirt collar, I’ve brought enough shame to my family for one lifetime.
My family.
That is a whole other component to this debacle that I have yet to deal with. I haven’t even spoken to my parents yet, haven’t dared to check my phone, though of course they have seen the news. They are no doubt busy beating back their own publicity disaster.
The gates close behind me, a temporary reprieve from the assault. Parking, I march toward the house, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.
As I shut the door behind me, the clamor of the crowd fades into a distant murmur, but it’s quickly replaced by another kind of noise — the incessant buzzing of my phone. It vibrates against my leg, and I regret not having turned it off.
I don’t need to look at the screen to know who’s calling — my parents with their concern, my brother with his questions, old friends seeking gossip, rivals likely reveling in my misfortune. Each ring is a weight added to my shoulders, another reason why I want to build a bubble around this palace and stay in here forever.
There’s a sound behind me, and I already know who it is. Ali goes not to me, though, but to the window. His small face presses against the glass, eyes wide with wonder rather than fear. He turns to me, and I can nearly hear the gears turning in his head as he attempts to make sense of what is happening.
“Father, why are all those people shouting at our house?”
I kneel beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder, feeling the solid reality of his small frame — a reminder of what’s at stake. “They’re just curious about the palace, Ali. It’s not every day they get to see such a beautiful place.” My words dance around the truth, painting over the cracks with half-lies.
“But they look angry,” he observes, his brow furrowing as he tries to reconcile the two images.
“Sometimes, people don’t understand things, and it makes them… frustrated,” I say, choosing my words carefully. One day, I’ll tell him everything. Right now, though, he’s too young. Far too young. “But we’re safe here, you and me. That’s all that matters.”
Ali nods, accepting the explanation with the trust only a child can give. He returns to his observation post, his little forehead once again pressed against the cool glass, leaving a smudge on the pane.
I stand, watching him watch the world, the tempest of betrayal still raging within me. Tara’s face, once a source of warmth, now casts a shadow over every corner of this palace. The pain of her deceit is a splinter lodged deep in my heart, throbbing with each beat, a constant reminder that nothing can truly shield you from betrayal.
But I push that aside, lock it away where Ali can’t see it, because it’s him I need to protect, him I need to be strong for. The lies and the hurt are mine to bear, not his. And so, I draw a breath, straighten my spine, and prepare to face the siege, a king in a crumbling castle.
“I have something for you,” I tell him.
His face lights up. “What?”
“Go check in the gaming room.”
He sprints across the floor, and I run behind him, glad for Amina sending in the rush order this morning. I wanted something to distract Ali from the day, should it get hairy for him, and I hope this small effort has done enough.
“What is it?” He searches the game room.
“This.” I pick up the new video game — one I’m sure he’ll love — sitting next to the console. He snatches the case from my hands and darts toward the console.
I help him get the game set up, then watch him on a few rounds of the first level. I’m not really seeing anything he is doing, though, my thoughts everywhere else. I’m well aware that I can’t hide out in my house forever. I should call my lawyers. My publicist. Make plans to control this PR disaster.
And what of my broken heart? Who will mend that? Who will put the pieces back together?
My gaze drops to the floor, knowing that task is solely up to me. Tara’s actions have left me crushed, the lowest I’ve ever been — directly after experiencing the high of my life. How does a person even move on after something like this?
The sound of someone in the doorway makes me turn around. Amina is there, doing her best to hide the worry on her face. She raises her eyebrows at me, silently asking me to talk. I sigh, knowing that I can’t hide from her forever, and push myself to standing.
Ali doesn’t even notice me stepping into the hallway, so engrossed is he in his new game.
“Faiz…” Amins twists her hands. “Who could have done this? I don’t?—”
“I already know. It was Tara.”
Her eyes widen in shock. “Tara? No… She wouldn’t?—”
“Wouldn’t what?” My words come out harsher than intended. “Betray us? Leak information to the press?” I shake my head, trying to dismiss her misplaced faith. “We thought we knew her, but clearly we didn’t.”
“Faiz,” Amina sighs, her hand reaching out as if to touch my arm before she thinks better of it. “Sometimes people surprise us, yes, but not always in the way we think.”
Her words hang between us, an unspoken plea for reason. But reason left the building the moment those headlines splashed across every screen in the country, dragging my son’s existence into the limelight.
“Surprises are luxuries we cannot afford right now,” I say. I have a disaster on my hands here and no clue of how to properly deal with it.
Amina nods, her expression unreadable, and excuses herself, leaving me alone with my turmoil. I pull out my phone, the screen still lit with a flood of missed calls and messages. With a sigh, I get to work.
My lawyer answers on the first ring, his voice steady and professional. “Faiz. Glad that you’re finally calling me back.”
“This was a misunderstanding,” I bark into the receiver, pacing the length of the hallway.
There’s a pause. “Is it a misunderstanding?”
“Does it matter?”
Another pause. “Understood. It was a misunderstanding. There is no secret son.”
His words make me wince, but it’s the phrase of my own design. I am the person who brought us to this place, and it doesn’t matter whether I like it or not. This is the way that things must be.
“You do know this won’t make things disappear,” my lawyer continues. “We need to strategize?—”
“Then strategize,” I say. “Yes, we will strategize. For now…” I sigh. For now, I have a hundred other phone calls to make.
“Very well,” he finally says. “We’ll handle it.”
Next, I dial my publicist, my grip tightening around the phone as it connects.
“Faiz, darling, you’re everywhere! We need to control the narrative,” she chirps, her usual exuberance grating against my frayed nerves.
“Then control it,” I demand, my voice resonating with an authority born of desperation. “I want peace. I want quiet. Do whatever it takes.”
“Of course,” she assures me, though there’s a hint of reprimand in her tone. “But you know that’s not how it works. The world wants to know about the prince’s secret son.”
“There is no secret son,” I say. “Release a statement saying that.”
“It’s a lie?”
“Sure. Someone made up the story for money. For attention.”
“Faiz, you’re asking for the impossible,” she says, a note of pity seeping through. “The source had too many details… But don’t worry, we’ll spin this. We always do.”
I hang up, my heart pumping adrenaline, the futility of the situation settling like chains around me. The whole world is talking, and no matter how much I wish it otherwise, there’s no shutting out the noise — not when it’s clamoring right outside my door.
If only things had worked out differently. If only Tara…
I close my eyes, allow myself a moment to dwell in the what-ifs and might-have-beens. My chest tightens with a pang of longing so acute it feels as though someone has reached inside and gripped my heart.
It’s absurd to miss her, isn’t it? After what she’s done. But the heart rarely follows reason, and mine aches for a woman who, I now realize, I never truly knew. The Tara I had been falling for — could she have been nothing but a facade?
I need to be strong. I can’t break down. Not in front of Ali or my staff, anyway. They need me to lead them, to remain upright through all of this.
I retreat to my study, shutting the door behind myself. Just a few minutes alone and then I can return to it all. The phone buzzes again, demanding attention, but I ignore it. Instead, I focus on the cool leather beneath my fingertips as I lean against my desk, the view of the garden beyond my window reduced to streaks of color bleeding into each other — a beautiful, blurred mess.
In this moment of solitude, I yearn for the simplicity of connection without consequence, for a time when love was not a luxury overshadowed by personal gain. Tara could have been my respite from the relentless demands of my birthright, but now she represents the ultimate risk: vulnerability in the face of public scrutiny.
I must choose the path of isolation once more, for Ali’s sake. The boy needs stability, not the chaotic aftermath of a scandalous romance. And so, with a heavy heart, I resolve to bury any remnants of my affection for Tara, to lock away the part of me that still hopes for a different ending.
One day soon, I will sit with Ali, and I will tell him the truth. But until then, I steel myself against the barrage of emotions, against the longing for a love that could have been, and I brace for the impact of the world’s judgment. Because in the end, the crown demands sacrifice, and my first allegiance is to my son.