I ran in silence, hope held tight,
But shadows found me in the light.
Glass shattered, hands like steel,
A fate too cruel, a pain too real.
No cries, no plea, just whispered prayer,
As darkness led me back to where
A ghost from past and fire untamed
Stood waiting there—he spoke my name.
*By unknown*
Chapter 45
"You look better today," Madam Maria remarked as I struggled with breakfast. "Make sure you finish your food and get plenty of rest. In time, everything will blow over, and things will be back to normal."
I offered a strained smile, my spoon hovering over the half-eaten plate of eggs and toast. She meant well, but her words felt empty. Nothing would ever be normal again—not after everything that had happened.
I glanced at the clock. Catherine and I had agreed to leave the house by 10 a.m., and it was already a few minutes past. My fingers drummed against the table. Had she changed her mind? Left without me? The thought tightened my chest.
But then, just as doubt crept in, Catherine appeared at the door, her expression unreadable.
"Zeynep, you said I should let you know the next time I go to see the designer," she said, her tone carefully casual. "I'm on my way there now."
My breath hitched. The signal.
I shoved my plate aside and rose to my feet, my heart pounding. "I'll go with you."
"Where are you going?" Madam Maria exclaimed. "Have you forgotten what we said about lying low? What is this sudden interest in seeing the designer?"
"I won't be long, I promise," I said, already reaching for my purse. I didn't dare look at her face, afraid my guilt would give me away. Without another word, I hurried out before she could protest.
Behind me, I heard her call after Catherine. "Don't be late! You two shouldn't stay out late. You both know why."
Catherine ignored her mother and walked ahead, her pace steady and determined. She carried only a small handbag—nothing to indicate she was going far.
"Don't walk too fast. Try to act normal," she muttered as we approached the gate. "We don't want them to suspect anything."
Even though my stomach churned with nerves, I nodded, forcing my legs to move at a measured pace. The guards at the entrance barely glanced at us as we stepped out.
Outside, my instincts screamed at me to run. But I forced myself to walk. Slow. Normal. Controlled.
"I still don't get why we aren't moving faster," I whispered, my frustration bubbling to the surface.
"Relax," she said with a smirk. "We're taking an Uber to the train station."
My eyes widened. "Uber?"
"Yes, Zeynep. You think this is a movie where we run through alleys and underground tunnels? We take an Uber to the train station, then a private car to the place you'll be staying. No public bus, no unnecessary stops. Once in Detroit, my friend will arrange a flight to Atlanta. From there—"
I opened my mouth to argue, but a familiar, doleful voice stopped me in my tracks.
Amanda.
She had been lurking near the ranch more often these days, either crying or singing. Today, she sat on the ground, rocking a bundle of fabric in her arms, her lips moving in a hushed lullaby. The sight sent a shiver down my spine.
Catherine sighed beside me. "She really lost her mind after her daughter's death."
My throat tightened. Catherine was too young to remember, but I did. I remembered Amanda laughing with the minister one day, only to wander the streets the next, her face hollow with grief.
If there was one thing we had in common, it was that fate had dealt us both a cruel hand.
"Let's go," I urged, grabbing Catherine's hand.
We picked up our pace, leaving Amanda behind as we neared the junction where a silver Toyota Corolla waited. Catherine had booked it under her friend's name. The driver, a middle-aged man in dark shades, barely acknowledged us as we slipped into the backseat.
"Where to?" he asked.
"The train station," Catherine answered smoothly.
I exhaled, sinking into the seat. Maybe—just maybe—we could pull this off.
But just as the car began to roll forward, tires screeched against asphalt.
A black Hilux skidded to a stop in front of us.
Four men jumped out.
Burly. Armed.
They didn't need the guns and clubs they carried to look terrifying—the sheer force of their presence was enough.
"Get down from this car!" one of them barked, pounding on the trunk.
I froze. My heart slammed against my ribs.
This wasn't a random attack.
They had come for me.
But how?
The driver cursed under his breath, reaching for the gearshift, but before he could reverse, one of the men lifted a club and brought it down hard against the windshield.
Glass shattered.
I screamed, flinching as tiny shards pricked my skin. My hands fumbled for the door handle, my breath ragged.
A heavyset man yanked the door open and grabbed me before I could react.
"I've found her," he called out, his grip ironclad.
Catherine gasped, her eyes wide with terror.
"Run!" I screamed at her.
For a split second, she hesitated. Then she turned and bolted.
My stomach twisted as I watched her disappear into the street, blending into the scattering bystanders.
But I wasn't as lucky.
The man holding me was built like a wrestler. He hoisted me up and tossed me into their van like I weighed nothing, slamming the door shut behind me.
I didn't scream.
Didn't beg.
Instead, I clenched my fists, whispering under my breath:
"Hasbunallahu wa ni'mal wakeel."
Allah is sufficient for me, and He is the best disposer of affairs.
But when I lifted my head and looked out through the small window, my heart sank.
I knew this road.
They weren't taking me back to the house.
They were taking me to the ranch.
And as the van screeched to a halt in the long driveway, I saw him.
Standing at the entrance, his arms crossed, his face dark with fury.
Ibrahim.
His piercing gaze locked onto mine, unreadable yet seething.
And that was when I knew.
I was trapped.
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