Chapter 21 · Chapter 21

His voice did not rise. In the stillness of the private wing, with the heavy cedar doors sealed from the outside behind us and the quiet murmur of the outer courtyard deadened by stone, it carried the weight of an unyielding pact.

"You think the five years belonged to the majlis," he said, his gaze fixed entirely on mine. He stood tall in his crisp white thobe, stripped of formal bisht, his posture steady without the need for defiance.

"You think your uncle sitting at the center of the hall, tallying debts and contracts, held the final word over what happened that night. They wanted a scapegoat or a confession. They wanted a name to write into their ledger to close the scandal before the families demanded blood."

I kept my chin lifted, though my pulse beat hard against the collar of my dark silk abaya. "You let them believe you were the one who held the key. You took the blame without uttering a single denial, Nawaf. You let them cast you into the perimeter of the council, while I had to leave Riyadh entirely just to breathe.