Chapter 10
The city blurred outside the car window, sunlight catching on the glass bones of skyscrapers.
I leaned back, letting the leather seats cradle me. Sanaa sat in front, directing her driver with casual grace.
"You're really living like a Saudi princess now, huh?" Asvika muttered, eyes wide as we passed a row of designer boutiques.
Sanaa snorted. "Please. The only thing royal about me is my taste."
Then she went quiet—just for a second. I caught it in the mirror, a flicker of something raw beneath the gloss. I leaned forward.
"Why Dubai?" I asked gently.
Her shoulders tensed, only for a breath. "Vacation," she said too quickly. "Needed air. And retail therapy."
Yeah, sure, Sanaa.
But I didn't push. Not yet.
"Maybe I should try retail therapy too," Asvika said, and I shot her a look.
"Maybe when Mrs. Kahn disowns you," I said, chuckling.
Her place was unreal.
Gold accents. Marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows that opened straight to the marina.
It was like stepping into a Vogue spread.
Pastries on silver trays. Watermelon juice in tall glass pitchers. Silk robes on the beds. It all whispered: you're safe now.
"This is…insane," Asvika breathed, nudging me like I wasn't already stunned.
I turned to Sanaa. "You really did all this for us?"
She shrugged and flopped onto a velvet couch. "You deserve to be spoiled, baby. You've been through hell. I can see it."
I swallowed hard, rolling my eyes.
Sanaa brightened up, changing the subject. "We're hitting the spa first. You're getting a facial, a massage, and highlights, even if I have to drag you myself."
The second day in Dubai passed like a dream.
Sun-kissed mornings.
Beachside brunches.
Boutique strolls with shopping bags heavier than the guilt I refused to acknowledge.
Sanaa made sure I smiled—not just that polite, lip-pressed smile, but the real kind. The kind that made your face ache.
By sunset, we were back at the penthouse. Warm breeze, city glitter, and the kind of silence that didn't feel lonely.
Asvika? I barely saw her. She'd declared, "I'm not leaving Dubai without a Habibi," and disappeared soon after.
Sanaa dropped onto a lounge chair beside me, robe loose over her swimsuit, hair in a messy pineapple puff. "You've been quiet," she said, sipping from a cocktail.
I hesitated. "I keep getting these boxes."
She looked at me.
"From the House of Versace," I said.
As if I didn't belong there. As if my father didn't make Versace one of my middle names so even if I got married and dropped my surname, I would still be Versace.
Her brows lifted. "Your stepmother?"
I nodded. "I haven't opened any."
Sanaa set her drink down, eyes sharp now. "Maybe…maybe it's time."
I stared at her.
She knew. She'd known everything since that day. She was the first to take me in.
Sanaa didn't flinch. "What are you afraid of?"
I took a slow sip; gaze fixed on the skyline. "Nothing."
She snorted. "Right. And I'm heir to the Dubai Mall."
I smiled, but only a little.
Silence returned—thick and knowing.
Then she said gently, "Maybe it's time to stop running."
I didn't answer. Just gripped my drink tighter, like it could anchor me in a world I still didn't trust.
Sanaa didn't push. She just nudged her knee against mine. "But not tonight. Tonight, we get dressed, we dance, and we forget the world exists."
Forget?
I sighed, following behind her as we got ready to go out.
The club was alive. Not just loud, but pulsing. Breathing. A living thing.
I wasn't one for crowds, but Sanaa made me break my rules.
Which was probably why I didn't see her often.
Lights strobed like heartbeats. The bass wound around us like a pulse. Everything smelled like perfume and sin.
Somewhere in the city, Asvika was with some half-Italian, half-Turkish guy she met at the beach. Probably drunk on champagne and praise.
Sanaa looked like gold spun into a woman, black jumpsuit hugging her curves, ponytail swinging like a whip every time she moved. She was the life of the party.
But something about her felt…off.
She kept glancing over her shoulder.
Laughed too loud.
Drank too little.
Moved too stiffly.
I noticed.
I always noticed.
"Yo," I leaned in, brushing my curls away from my face. "You good?"
She blinked, eyes wide. "Huh? Yeah. Just hot in here, that's all."
I didn't buy it.
She bit her nails—and Sanaa never bit her nails.
I leaned closer. "Okay, what's wrong?"
"Nothing," she said too quickly. "Probably the tequila."
I raised an eyebrow.
A second later, she pulled her phone from her clutch, glanced at the screen. Her smile dimmed. Like someone turned down the brightness in her soul.
She stood.
"Where are you going?"
"Need to make a call," she said fast, already moving. "Back alley. Better signal."
"Alley? What is this, 2003?"
She threw me a look—not playful, not teasing. Just tired. "I'll be quick."
She slipped through the red velvet curtain.
I waited.
Two minutes.
Five.
My gut twisted. Something was wrong.
I stood up, ignoring the guy trying to flirt, and followed her out into the hallway. Then the alley.
The noise of the club faded to a heartbeat behind the wall.
Out here, it was quieter.
But not silent.
There were voices.
I pressed my back to the wall, crept closer.
"Really, Sanaaya? Dubai?" Male. Cold. Mocking. Familiar, though I couldn't place it.
"What? You thought we wouldn't find you?" Another voice, amused. "You insult the wrong people and think they won't come looking?"
"I don't give a damn who remembers," Sanaa snapped.
I edged closer, heart pounding in my throat.
Then the first voice again. Low. Icy. "You should've known better."
I dared to peek.
Sanaa stood surrounded by five men. Tall. Calm. Defiant. But her eyes—her eyes held fear, just beneath the steel.
I looked away before they saw me.
"You crossed me," the man said. "Lied. Ran. You should've stayed gone."
Sanaa's chin lifted. "You think my family will stay still? You should've stayed in hell."
And then—
BANG.
The gunshot shattered the night.
My breath caught.
My knees buckled.
I peeked again—just in time to see her body crumple.
Black curls spilled like ink across concrete.
No.
No.
Sanaaya Khalighi.
My Sanaa.
My sister in everything but blood.
Gone.
And then I saw him. And I felt a tick in my forehead.
Dominic.
The voice. The leader. The man she'd insulted.
Tall. Built like wrath. Eyes black as sin.
The same man I'd treated, once, in his own bathroom.
He holstered the gun like it was business. Turned to the others.
"Leave the body. Send a message."