Chapter 11
Silence wrapped around the alley like a curse.
The moment the car engines faded, the men vanished into Dubai's neon-lit night like ghosts returning to the underworld.
One…two…three…I counted to twenty, maybe thirty. My breath rattled in my chest like a loose screw. My knees trembled.
Then I ran.
The heels of my boots hit the ground too hard, too fast. My lungs burned, my throat already closing. I rounded the corner—
And there she was.
Sanaaya Khalighi. My Sanaa.
I immediately started sobbing as I stared at the crimson pool beneath her like a silk scarf. Her curls were soaked in it, spread like a halo. Her chest moved in weak, stuttering rises and falls.
"Sanaa?" I dropped to my knees, not caring that I already bruised them, voice cracking like glass. "Sanaa! Look at me!"
She turned her head. Just a little. Blood trickled from the corner of her lips. Her lashes fluttered. Her eyes found mine, and a glimpse of light in her eyes.
Tears slid down her cheeks. Not sobs, just…silent, falling, like rain in a storm that had already passed.
"No, no, no—" My hands hovered before I finally pressed them to her wound, useless, trembling. "This isn't how it goes, Habibi. You're not supposed to leave me. I came to Dubai for you. For you. To be with you."
I bit my lips, the tears flowing uncontrollably. "Oh, fuck! Sanaa y-you don't get to leave me!"
She coughed, body shaking. Blood flecked her lips. "V-versace..."
"I'm here," I sobbed, pushing her hair back, cradling her head like I could hold her soul inside. "I'm right here, so get up…please, you're scaring me."
Her hand found mine—weak, cold, shaking. Her perfectly manicured nails were chipped.
"Avenge me," she whispered, voice thinner than breath. "Go back home. Take your rightful place. Make them all pay. All of them."
My tears dripped onto her face. "Please don't say that. Please don't—"
Her lips trembled. "You d-deserve the w-world. Don't let them win. Don't forget your crown, Habibi."
"No. You were supposed to see me take it back." I bent over her; forehead pressed to hers. "Not like this, not alone—"
She made a soft sound, a laugh, maybe. Or a sob. Or both. Blood pooled on her lips, her perfectly white teeth-stained crimson.
I snuggled her close to me, leaving no space between us, just like when we were kids, just like always. I could feel the weak grip of her hand on my arm.
And then, in the quietest voice I'd ever heard, she whispered, "I love your perfume, you smell like home, Habibi."
Her body went limp in my arms.
Thud.
It was as if the world stopped. I could no longer hear the noise from the club nor the cars. I gasped.
"No. No. No—"
I held her tighter, screaming now. Screaming into the night that didn't care. My voice cracked, broke, shattered. I rocked her, staining my skin, my soul, with her blood.
She was gone.
My Sanaa.
My sister in everything but blood.
Time didn't exist anymore.
I don't know how long I stayed like that. Eventually, I could feel her body getting cold. With trembling hands, I fumbled for my phone with blood-slick fingers. Dialled Asvika.
She answered after one ring, already laughing. "Girl, I was—"
"I need you," I choked out. "Now. The alley. The club. She's—she's—Sanaa-"
My voice broke. I couldn't say it.
I could hear the shuffling of feet; she was already moving. "I'm coming. Hold on. Wait for me, Ara."
I kept nodding vigorously like she could see me.
Then I called the Khalighis. The number she gave me once, for emergencies only.
This was more than an emergency.
I didn't remember what I said. Just that I was crying, babbling, begging for them to come.
I stayed with her. Until help arrived. Until the flashing lights blurred my vision. Until I couldn't cry anymore. Until my arms ached from holding her in the same position.
Until everything went black.
"If you sleep too much, it'll no longer be a beauty sleep. It’ll be the sleep of death. Wake up, Versacee."
Her voice was playful. But my heart cracked open at the sound.
I blinked and found myself in our old, shared Airbnb. The one with the sheer curtains and the ugly beige sofa we used to hate. And Sanaa was there, curled up at the edge of the bed like she'd never left. Like she hadn't just bled out hours ago in my arms.
"Sanaa?" I whispered.
"Mm?" She tilted her head, smirking. "You were going to hibernate all week, weren't you?"
I stared at her. At her skin. Warm. Alive. Her caramel eyes. Her voice. Her presence.
It didn't feel like a dream. It felt like home.
"You look like hell," she said, stretching. "But I mean, who looks good after sleeping through heartbreak? C'mon. We've got stuff to do."
I didn't move.
She stood, barefoot, wearing that same silk robe I bought for her last birthday. Her feet padded across the soft wooden floor, and she opened the door like we weren't in some strange space suspended between memory and something else.
Suddenly, we were on the beach. It made no sense. The sky looked bruised, sunset bleeding into twilight, and the water lapped gently like it was holding its breath.
Sanaa ran ahead, the wind catching her robe like wings. She turned back to grin at me.
"You've got to stop blanking out," she called. "Tomorrow's going to be heavy."
I frowned. "What's tomorrow?"
Her smile flickered. "You know what it is."
My chest tightened.
"Sanaa…" My voice cracked. "What's going on?"
She didn't answer right away. Just walked up, slow this time. She looked at me. Really looked.
Then she said, softer…"You've got to do it, V. You've got to make it right. For me."
"No." I shook my head. "No, no, no—stop. Don't say that."
"You know what I'm asking for."
"Stop it."
She stepped closer, brushing her thumb under my eye.
"Real queens don't cry in couture," she said gently. "They burn empires in heels."
I stared at her, the breath knocked clean from my lungs. "But…but Sanaa, you're dead."
Her expression didn't change. Her hand lingered on my cheek.
"You think I don't know that?"
My legs gave out, and I dropped to my knees in the sand. The weight hit me like a wave. The blood. The gunshot. Her head falling limp. Her body on mine. The silence after.
"You left me," I whispered. "You said you'd stay."
"And now I need you to finish what I couldn't," she said, kneeling beside me. "Wake up, Versace. Wake up and make it hurt."
They flew her body to Tehran for the funeral.
I didn't speak the entire journey. Didn't eat. I didn't sleep. Just sat in the private jet, draped in one of her shawls, the scent of her perfume clinging to the fabric like a bruised memory.
Asvika sat beside me, holding my hand in silence. Aahil met us at the airport. His eyes were red too.
The Khalighis buried her in the Khalighi Cemetery. Hundreds came. Everyone who ever loved her, admired her, or envied her. There were flowers. Music. Speeches.
I stood near the grave and said nothing.
My words had died with her.
Days passed.
I remained in Tehran with her family; I didn't move from her room.
I slept in her bed, curled up like a ghost haunting what remained of her.
Her photos stared at me from every surface.
Her laugh echoed in every hallway.
Her voice lived in my head.
They tried everything: food, gentle talks, time alone. Nothing worked.
The only person who got a word out of me was Asvika.
"You need to eat something," she said softly one night.
I didn't look at her. "Why? She's not hungry anymore."
She didn't argue. Just curled up beside me and held me until I cried again.
The Khalighis gave me a box three days later.
"Sanaa left this for you," her mother said, eyes full of tears. "She said to give it to you if anything ever happened."
I frowned with teary eyes, "What do you mean by that? Did Sanaa know something would happen? Why didn't she tell me?"
I took it with shaking hands.
Her mother just tucked my hair behind my ear and went out.
Inside was a necklace, a gold chain with a small charm. A perfume bottle. Inside was the exact scent I always wore.
And a letter.
‘You're the strongest person I know. You saved me once. Maybe now it's my turn to save you. Don't give up. Not on yourself. Not on your throne. Not on love. Not on revenge.
You have wandered for a while now. It’s time to return home.
Don't forget your crown, Habibti.
Make them regret ever touching what's yours.
Make them burn, Habibi.’
My tears blurred the words. But I read the letter ten times.
And then I stood.
Flashes of his face in my mind. He shot her. He killed Sanaa.
That bastard.
The bastard who I treated his wounds in his bathroom. I folded the last of my clothes.
It's been two weeks since I came to Tehran. I stared at Sanaa's bedroom one last time, the brown colours of warmth. I sighed, closing the door shut as I went downstairs.
"Oh, finally!" Mrs Khalighi said as I flashed her a fake smile.
I was dressed up, bags packed. I stared at the meal in front of me. Sanaa would always try to make these for me, but burn them to a crisp.
I dropped my fork, unable to eat it.
"I'm going home."
They froze. Their heads snapping in my direction.
"To London?" Aahil asked. I looked at him, my eyes were void of emotion. Yet he knew what home I was talking about.
I shook my head. "No. Home. The real one. Where I'm from. Where I belong."
The Khalighis exchanged glances. Asvika's eyes widened.
"You're not ready," she whispered. "Ara, you haven't even—"
"I'm ready," I said, my voice like steel.
Who knows? If I waste too much time, I may never be able to avenge Sanaa.
Because the girl who came to Dubai? She died in that alley with Sanna.
The girl sitting here?
She was something else entirely.
Something my stepmother would be proud to welcome.