Chapter 4 A New Game begins

Two days after the gala, Amina woke up to find an envelope slid under the bedroom door. It wasn't Zayn's style-he preferred to speak directly. Her fingers trembled slightly as she bent down to pick it up.

Inside was a single piece of paper.

Amina Yusuf,

You were never meant to rise.

Back off, or the past will bite harder.

– Anonymous.

Her first instinct was fear.

Her second was fury.

She walked into the living room, holding the note. Zayn was already dressed, sipping black coffee, reading a business journal like nothing in the world could touch him.

When she dropped the letter in front of him, he scanned it without lifting his eyes.

"Cowards write threats," he said calmly, folding the paper and tossing it into the fireplace. "We don't respond to them."

"But someone is trying to scare me."

"Which means you're doing something right."

Amina stared at the burning note as it turned to ash. That used to be her-that fragile, scared girl who used to cry behind cold prison walls. But not anymore.

She was a storm now.

---

Later that day, Zayn took her to a property outside the city.

It was a dusty, run-down warehouse in a forgotten corner of Dar es Salaam, overgrown with weeds and shadowed by time. Rusted chains hung from doors, broken glass littered the floor.

"What is this place?" she asked.

"The site of your rebirth."

He unlocked the main door, revealing the inside. Graffiti. Broken furniture. Rotting wood. But Amina saw past it. The space was huge. Powerful. Waiting.

"This used to be a gemstone refinery," Zayn said. "Now, it'll be the base for your foundation. A centre for women who've been through what you have-prison, betrayal, poverty. You'll lead them."

She turned to him, stunned. "You want me to run this?"

"No. I want you to own it."

Her throat tightened. "Why me?"

"Because your scars are powerful, Amina. People follow pain that turned into purpose."

Her fingers brushed against a dusty window. "It'll take work."

"I'll invest whatever it takes. But the name, the mission, the leadership-that's all you."

That night, she stood alone in the empty building and closed her eyes.

For once, she didn't see her cell walls.

She saw a future.

---

The next week, news broke online: "Amina Yusuf Launches Women's Redemption Foundation."

Photos from the gala circulated again, but this time with more respect than gossip. Suddenly, Amina's face wasn't just attached to scandal, but strength.

She sat for interviews. Appeared on local TV. Women came forward with their stories. Some cried when they met her, holding her hands, whispering, "You gave me hope."

And through it all, Zayn remained in the background-her silent pillar.

But the silence wouldn't last.

One evening, Amina returned home to find Zayn in his office, hands clenched around a folder.

He looked up slowly, jaw tense.

"What is it?" she asked.

Zayn handed her the folder without a word.

Inside were surveillance photos.

Idris.

Jamal.

And Zayn's lawyer.

All seated at a table.

Plotting.

"Why would your lawyer meet them?"

Zayn exhaled. "Because he was never mine. He's been feeding them information about you. About us."

Her stomach flipped. "So what now?"

"We counterstrike."

Zayn's version of a counterstrike was cold, clean, and effective.

By morning, the traitor's law license was suspended. Amina posted a vague quote on social media: "A snake always exposes itself before it bites."

The internet went wild.

---

But the real storm came three nights later.

She received a phone call from a blocked number.

She almost didn't answer.

Almost.

"Hello?"

"You talk too much."

Amina froze.

"You think your new husband can protect you from the fire that's coming?" the voice hissed. "We buried you once. We'll do it again."

Then the line went dead.

Zayn called a security meeting immediately.

Two guards were placed outside their apartment. Surveillance was upgraded. Amina was given a panic button for emergencies.

She hated every second of it.

"This feels like I'm back in a cage," she said.

Zayn stepped close, tilting her chin up. "It's not a cage. It's a shield. You're not alone anymore."

She searched his eyes. "Why do you care this much?"

He hesitated. "Because... I know what it's like to love someone and lose them to betrayal."

Amina's heart skipped. "You were in love?"

He nodded once. "Her name was Layla. We built a life together. Then she sold me out to my rivals. I lost everything."

"What happened to her?"

"I let her go. But I never forgot."

Amina touched his hand gently. "I'm sorry."

He looked at her, voice raw. "I promised myself-if I ever found someone like me, someone broken but strong-I'd never let them fight alone."

And that night, Amina cried.

Not from fear.

But from the unfamiliar warmth of being protected.

---

Weeks passed.

The foundation opened its doors.

Women came. Hurt, fragile, silenced. And left stronger. Louder. Braver.

Amina gave speeches. Hosted workshops. Partnered with NGOS.

She was becoming a symbol.

But revenge still burned in her chest.

She began tracking Jamal herself. Digging into old contacts, blackmailing the right people, and bribing the wrong ones. Zayn watched her with a mix of admiration and concern.

"You're getting dangerous," he said one night, watching her paste photos on her wall like a detective.

She glanced over her shoulder. "You like it."

He smirked. "I love it."

Then pulled her in for a kiss.

It was hot. Fierce. The kind that burned away doubt.

They weren't just lovers.

They were conspirators.

---

Finally, she found Jamal's current address.

A private villa by the coast.

He had no idea she was coming.

She dressed in black. Sleek pants. Low boots. Her hair was tied tightly.

Zayn offered to go with her.

But she said no.

"This is something I need to do alone."

He didn't argue.

He only handed her a small device. "If anything goes wrong, press it. I'll come."

At midnight, Amina stood outside Jamal's gate.

Heart pounding.

Blood rushing.

She buzzed.

The security camera turned.

Then clicked open.

He remembered her face.

And he was about to regret it.