Layla was still lost in the beautiful trance of the glittering chandelier when Emad's voice suddenly reached her ears.

And he wasn't speaking politely, he was nearly shouting.

"Where the hell are you lost?" he snapped, his brows furrowed in irritation. "Come. We have to greet Uncle."

Layla blinked, startled, immediately pulled out of her thoughts.

"Uncle?" she repeated in confusion.

Emad looked at her as if she had just said the stupidest thing imaginable.

"You don't know what occasion you're attending?"

Her stomach dropped.

"No..."

He stared at her for a moment, disbelief written all over his face.

"Woman," he muttered, almost exasperated, "it's the birthday party of Sheikh Malik Al Saeed. The King of Dubai. Yahzaan's father."

The colour instantly drained from Layla's face, her eyes widened in panic.

"What?" she whispered breathlessly. "But...but I didn't bring anything! I didn't know this was his father's birthday party."

"No?" Emad deadpanned.

Layla's panic worsened.

"Oh God..." she muttered under her breath. "Can I... can I just not go to them?"

"No," Emad replied immediately.

"But..."

"You have to go," he said firmly. "If you don't, security will start getting suspicious seeing you standing around awkwardly like you're plotting something."

Layla looked horrified.

Emad groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose before taking a slow breath.

"It's fine," he muttered. "I brought a gift. I'll say you're my cousin from distant relatives, Now come."

Layla swallowed nervously and nodded.

By the time Emad handed her the gift box, her palms were slick with sweat, trembling so badly she nearly dropped it.

She followed behind him with hesitant steps.

And when she reached the table, not just her hands but her whole body were trembling uncontrollably. She took a deep breath and steadied herself, then lifted her eyes.

For a moment, she froze... because standing beside the older couple was Yahzaan.

And beside him... A beautiful woman.

The woman was stunning, draped in elegance and jewels. For a moment, Layla couldn't take her eyes off her beautiful face, and the way she stood far too close to him, that was showing they had known each other for too long.

And the moment Yahzaan noticed Layla looking at them a slow smirk formed on his lips.

A smug one.

For a few seconds, he maintained eye contact with her, then he turned back toward the woman, continuing the conversation as if his wife were not standing right in front of him.

Layla lowered her eyes instantly.

She didn't feel anything... nothing at all. All she wanted was to leave this suffocating place as soon as possible.

Wanted this night to end.

Wanted to get away from this table as quickly as possible.

As Emad approached the older couple, he greeted the older man respectfully.

"Uncle."

Then he greeted Yahzaan's mother.

"Aunt."

And that was when Yahzaan's mother's eyes landed behind him.

"Oh, Emad!" she gasped dramatically, immediately rising from her seat. "You brought a woman with you!"

"Yeah, Aunt..."

"Who is she?" Yahzaan's mother interrupted excitedly, already hurrying toward Layla.

Before Emad could explain, before he could even properly speak, the older woman clapped her hands together excitedly.

"Oh my God, I'm so happy for you, Emad!" she exclaimed. "You finally found a woman to settle down with!"

Both Emad and Layla's eyes widened in horror.

"Aunt..." Emad began quickly.

But she kept going.

"Emad has never brought a woman with him before!, Never! Not once! So he is very serious about you" she said holding Layla's hand.

Layla panicked and tried to explain.

"No, he's not..."

But once again she was interrupted.

"I'm so happy!" the older woman beamed. "He finally found someone to spend his life with!"

Then she turned toward Yahzaan.

"See, Yahzaan?" his mother teased. "At least now I'll get grandchildren from someone. Not like my son, who refuses to listen to his poor old parents and marry."

Then she shifted her attention back to Emad.

"So? When's the wedding?"

The entire table froze.

Before Emad could answer, could clearly the misunderstanding, the sharp sound of glass shattering echoed across the table.

Everyone flinched.

All eyes turned toward Yahzaan.

He stood completely still.

His breathing sharp.

His jaw clenched so tightly it looked painful.

The champagne glass in his hand had shattered entirely.

Broken shards fell to the floor.

Jagged pieces remained lodged in his palm.

Blood dripped slowly between from his fingers on the expensive carpet beneath him staining it crimson.

But Yahzaan didn't feel it.

Didn't even blink.

Because his dark, furious eyes were locked solely on Layla.

Feeling the weight of his angry gaze on her she looked up but her face was void of any expression.

With a blank expression she looked at his face, then her eyes went to his bleeding hand.

And then, without a word, she lowered her gaze.

That simple reaction, or rather, the lack of one, made something dark flare inside Yahzaan.

His rage intensified instantly.

Because that was not the reaction he wanted.

Not even close.

He had invited her to this ridiculous party for one reason and one reason only

He wanted to see her jealous.

Wanted to see her affected.

Wanted proof that she cared.

That she wanted him.

That seeing him near another woman bothered her.

But instead, she looked at him with nothing.

No jealousy.

No anger.

No pain.

Just emptiness.

And somehow that hurt his pride far more than he wanted to admit.

He clenched his jaw harder, because all he could think was...

She didn't care.

She didn't care if he flirted with another woman.

She didn't care if he got hurt.

Didn't care if he bled.

Didn't care if he stayed alive or died.

Hell...

Maybe if he dropped dead right now, she would celebrate.

The thought made his blood boil even more.

The pain in his bleeding palm meant nothing compared to the uglier ache blooming inside his chest.

And that made him angrier.

Because Yahzaan wasn't used to this feeling.

Wasn't used to wanting someone who looked at him like he was unbearable.

Wasn't used to craving attention from someone who gave him none.

Women wanted him.

Women chased him.

Women fought for scraps of his attention.

Yet here stood his own wife, looking at him like his existence did not matter to her in the slightest.

As the people around him erupted into panic, rushing toward him in alarm, fussing over his bleeding hand and calling for help, Emad moved quickly.

He knew enough.

He knew Yahzaan well enough to recognize that dangerous look in his eyes.

Without wasting a second, he grabbed Layla firmly by the arm.

"Come."

Before she could protest, he dragged her away from the crowd, weaving through the sea of people until they reached the dessert section at the far corner of the hall, where only a few guests lingered.

The second they stopped, Layla pulled her arm free and looked back nervously toward the commotion.

Her face was pale.

"I want to go home," she said softly, almost shakily.

"Yeah, you do," Emad deadpanned immediately.

Layla blinked in confusion.

Emad rubbed a hand down his face, already looking exhausted.

"Believe me, I also don't want to stand here play bodyguard and chauffeur all night, but here we are."

Her brows furrowed in confusion.

Emad exhaled sharply.

"Taking you home requires your husband's permission," he said flatly. "And judging by what we all just witnessed..." He glanced back toward the crowd surrounding Yahzaan. "That psycho looks one breath away from committing murder."

Layla frowned. "Why would he do anything like that?"

Emad slowly turned his head toward her.

And just stared.

He stared at her so long and so blankly that Layla began shifting awkwardly under his gaze.

He looked at her as if she had suddenly grown two heads.

Or perhaps had lost the last functioning braincell she possessed.

"You seriously don't know?" he asked, disbelief dripping from every word.

Layla looked even more confused.

Emad stared at her for another long second before letting out a dry laugh.

"Incredible, Absolutely incredible."

He muttered and then he sighed deeply, looking toward the ceiling as if asking God for patience. If his phone had not rung at that exact moment, Emad probably would have continued staring at her in disbelief and perhaps even applauded her ignorance.

But before he could say another word, the sharp vibration of his phone cut through the air.

His expression immediately shifted.

The humor vanished from his face.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the ringing phone and pressed it to his ear.

"Yeah?"

Layla watched him quietly, her brows furrowing as his face turned serious almost instantly.

He listened silently for a few seconds.

His jaw tightened.

Then all he said was one word.

"Okay."

He lowered the phone slowly.

And suddenly whatever little calmness he had moments ago disappeared.

Without explaining anything, Emad grabbed Layla firmly by the arm again.

"Come."

Before she could even ask what happened, he was already dragging her through the crowd, his pace hurried and tense.

Layla stumbled slightly trying to keep up, panic beginning to rise in her chest.

"What... what happened?" she asked nervously.

But he didn't answer, didn't even look at her.

His face had gone completely unreadable.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

He dragged her out of the grand hall, through the hotel lobby, and straight toward the entrance where the car was waiting.

Within moments, Layla found herself being ushered inside the backseat.

The door shut behind her.

And Emad remained outside.

He didn't get in.

He just stood there beside the car, pacing back and forth restlessly.

He looked uncomfortable.

Uneasy.

Almost anxious.

Layla sat frozen in the backseat, her fingers twisting together nervously in her lap.

She didn't understand what was happening.

Didn't know why his entire mood had changed so suddenly.

But she didn't ask, she stayed quiet, completely quiet.

Because right now...

She knew better than to ask questions.

So she simply sat there silently, her heart beating nervously in her chest, watching Emad pace outside the car like a man waiting for a storm to arrive.

Her stomach twisted into tight knots.

Her hands rested stiffly in her lap, fingers trembling faintly against the fabric of her dress.

Something felt wrong.

No...

Everything felt wrong.

The air itself felt heavy, suffocating, thick with tension she could not explain but could feel pressing down on her chest.

Then suddenly...

The back door of the car was yanked open with enough force to make her jump.

Her head snapped up in alarm.

And before she could even process what was happening, a furious pair of lips crashed against hers.

Layla gasped into the kiss, her entire body freezing in shock.

Yahzaan.

The scent of him surrounded her instantly.

His hand came up and gripped her face firmly, almost desperately, holding her in place as if he feared she might disappear if he loosened his hold even slightly.

And then he kissed her harder.

Deeper.

Not soft.

Not gentle.

There was nothing tender about this kiss.

It was brutal.

Possessive.

Angry.

The kind of kiss that felt less like affection and more like a man trying to prove something he himself didn't understand.

His lips moved against hers with an intensity that stole the very air from her lungs, his thumb pressing hard into her cheek as his grip tightened.

Layla's heart pounded wildly against her ribs, panic and shock rushing through her veins as her hands instinctively flew to his chest.

But Yahzaan didn't stop.

Didn't slow.

He tilted her face further upward, deepening the kiss even more, consuming her breath, her space, her thoughts until all she could feel was him...

His anger.

His frustration.

His jealousy.

All of it pouring into that single devastating kiss.

His breathing was harsh against her skin, uneven and heated, as though he himself was barely holding himself together.

And when he finally pulled back...

His dark eyes burned into hers, wild and furious, yet holding something deeper beneath the rage.

Something raw.

Something almost wounded.

His hand remained tight against her face as if he physically could not bring himself to let go.

And when he spoke, his voice came out low, rough and dangerously controlled.

"Do you enjoy driving me insane, Layla?"

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End of the chapter🤍

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