Chapter 31 · Chapter 31

The morning sun cut through the tall, arched windows of the northern estate, casting long, sharp beams across the intricate weave of the carpets. By mid-morning, the formal majlis had filled to capacity.

The family elders sat lined along the perimeter walls, their stiff white thobes immaculate, gold-trimmed bishts draped over their shoulders in solemn attendance.

The heavy air held the dense, resinous drift of burning Oud rising from a silver mabkhara in the corner, mingling with the sharp cardamom steam of fresh gahwa poured silently from a tall dallah.

I remained standing near the northern arch, my abaya draped cleanly around me, the black shaila framing my face. No one told me to sit, and I did not ask. In this room, where every whisper carried the weight of ancestral alliances and commercial honor, my presence was an unyielding point of tension.

The whispers that had followed me through the corridors—that Lady Huda was the last one seen near the courtyard before the ledger vanished—still hung in the cautious glances directed my way.

Salman entered from the inner vestibule without a sound.