Chapter 32 · Chapter 32

The morning sun broke across the northern limestone walls of the estate, casting long, sharp shadows through the courtyard below. In the private wing, the silence was neither fragile nor defensive; it was heavy with the certainty of what had already taken place behind the double-bolted cedar doors.

A discreet knock sounded at the outer threshold of the suite—two measured taps, spaced with formal deference.

I sat at the dark console, the folds of my deep obsidian abaya already falling smoothly over my shoulders, the edge of my silk tarha adjusted with deliberate care. Majed stood near the arched window, his plain white summer thobe crisp and uncreased, his expression settled into an impenetrable stillness. He did not ask who waited. In this house, only one protocol commanded such precision at the third hour after daybreak.

"Enter," Majed said, his voice quiet, slicing through the cool air.

The heavy door parted an inch. Nasir, the chief steward whose family had overseen the reception halls of Al-Rashid for two generations, remained standing on the stone border outside.