Chapter 4 The monster with a code

Alina woke with the weight of silence pressing on her chest.

It wasn't just the room-it was Zayd. His words. His nearness. The way he made her feel things that had no business blooming in a prison.

She sat up slowly. No chains. No guards.

Just silk sheets and shadows.

And a single piece of paper on the table.

"Meet me downstairs. You said you wanted the truth."

– Z

She blinked. No lock on the door.

Was it a test?

A trap?

Or worse-a signal of trust?

She dressed in the black silk set laid out on the chair, hair brushed back, lips untouched. No perfume. No paint. Just her.

She would meet him as a woman, not a doll.

---

Zayd stood at the far end of the grand dining hall.

Gold chandeliers hung like frozen suns. The table was long enough to seat twenty, but there were only two chairs.

He didn't look up as she entered.

Instead, he poured a dark amber liquid into a crystal glass and set it at her place.

"You drink?" he asked.

"I will survive."

He smirked without smiling. "Good answer."

Alina sat, eyes wary. "Is this where you tell me I belong to you?"

"No," Zayd said calmly. "This is where I tell you who you really are."

She folded her arms. "Then talk."

Zayd didn't hesitate.

"Your real father is Rashid al-Khalid. Head of a syndicate called The Circle. A man who once ruled entire cities from behind mirrored walls."

Alina blinked. "That's not possible. My mother-"

"Your mother was a nurse in Cairo. She met Rashid when she patched his bullet wounds after a gunfight. He fell in love. She didn't. She ran. With you."

"You're lying."

Zayd reached into a drawer, pulling out a photo, weathered, cracked.

It showed a younger version of her mother holding a baby.

Beside her stood a man in a white thobe, dark eyes, arms crossed.

Alina recognised her own infant face.

Her breath caught. "Why... Why didn't she tell me?"

"Because she wanted to keep you out of his world. But that world found you anyway."

Zayd's voice dropped. "He kept tabs on you. Always."

Tears pricked her eyes. "So he didn't care enough to come get me?"

"He couldn't. His enemies would've used you."

"And now?"

"Now, he's dying."

Alina froze.

"Lung cancer. Final stages. He made me promise-if anything happened, I'd bring you to him."

"Why you?"

"Because I owe him a blood debt."

Zayd leaned in.

"Years ago, I was ambushed in the middle of a deal. Six men. All armed. I was twenty-two and arrogant. I should've died. But Rashid showed up, burned the entire place down. Saved my life."

"And now you're his messenger?"

Zayd smirked. "Now I'm the only one he trusts to protect you."

Alina's voice cracked. "And who protects me from you?"

There was a pause.

Zayd looked at her, truly looking.

Then he said, almost gently, "You don't need protection from me. You need understanding."

She laughed bitterly. "You're a kidnapper. A Don. A killer."

"Yes."

"And you're saying I should trust you?"

"No," he said, walking slowly toward her, "I'm saying you should watch me."

He leaned over her, one hand on the back of her chair.

"Watch how I protect myself. How I punish. How I never make the same mistake twice."

Alina tilted her chin defiantly. "And what mistake am I?"

Zayd's eyes burned into hers.

"You're not a mistake. You're a detour. One that might lead me straight to hell."

---

Later that evening, Alina was led into a room she hadn't seen before.

A studio. Filled with maps. Blackboards. Weapons on display. Monitors tracking cities across the world.

She recognised one of the names on the screen: Yusuf Rahman.

A warlord. Infamous. Brutal.

"That's the man who wants you dead," Zayd said behind her.

"Why?"

"Because your father once betrayed him. And now he wants revenge."

"By killing me?"

"By wiping the last piece of Rashid from this earth."

Zayd stepped beside her.

"He's already sent men. That night at the club-those weren't strangers. They were soldiers."

Alina wrapped her arms around herself. "So what now?"

Zayd stared at the monitor. "Now, we play dirty."

---

That night, Amir came with dinner.

She sat alone in the library, trying to process everything-Rashid, Zayd, Rahman.

And the growing voice in her head whispering: You don't belong to them. But you're not innocent either.

She had memories now.

Her mother was yelling at strangers on the phone.

Hidden money.

A locked box under the bed.

Secrets.

Her whole life had been a lie wrapped in comfort.

She took a deep breath and opened the folder Zayd had left for her.

Inside: passports, photos, timelines. All proof.

Then she saw it.

Her real birth certificate.

And a clause she didn't understand.

Upon the death of Rashid al-Khalid, full inheritance of assets, holdings, and syndicate power shall pass to his rightful heir: Alina Rashid.

Her blood ran cold.

---

Meanwhile, in Zayd's private chamber, Amir spoke low.

"You're making her your equal."

Zayd was silent.

"Are you sure?"

"She's stronger than we thought. She didn't run today."

"She slapped you."

Zayd grinned. "And you know what? I liked it."