Chapter 2

LAYLA POV

"Are you sure... it's me, not someone else?"

Because it didn't make sense. It couldn't be me. I still had years left. Years.

"Yes," he said calmly. "I am sure it is you."

"You are Layla Abdul Rahman, right?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," I said, my fingers trembling slightly.

"So it is you. It came as a surprise to us as well," he continued. "But the court has ordered your release."

My heart beats harder.

"The court?" I repeated faintly.

"Yes. It seems someone powerful interfered in your case."

Someone... powerful? My brows furrowed.

"But, I don't know anyone like that, sir," I said honestly.

Not anymore. Not after everything.

"That," he said, leaning back slightly, "I do not know."

He pushed a paper toward me.

"Sign this."

My eyes dropped onto the document. The words blurred slightly. My hand hesitated for a second, before I slowly picked up the pen. Was this real? Or was this another cruel illusion? Still... I signed. Because whether it was real or not, I had no choice but to follow it.

My name-Layla Abdul Rahman. The same name that had been dragged through the mud. The same name they labeled a murderer.

"You can go," he said.

Just like that. You can go. The words echoed in my mind strangely. Go where? To what? I turned slowly and walked out of the office, my steps almost mechanical.

"Follow me to the front desk," the guard said.

I nodded faintly and followed. Everything felt distant and unreal. Like I was watching myself from somewhere else. I never thought I would leave this place. Not like this. Not so suddenly.

Who did this? Why now? If they had the power, why didn't they help me before? Why did I have to suffer for three years? We reached the front desk.

"You'll change into this," one of the officers said, handing me a set of clothes.

"They were brought for you."

I stared at them for a moment. The new clothes are clean and soft. Unlike anything I had worn in years. My fingers brushed against the fabric slowly. Someone, really prepared this. I changed quietly.

The familiar prison uniform left my body, and for a moment, I felt exposed. Like I didn't belong in these clothes anymore.

"You can go," they said.

Just like that. No insults. No harsh tone. Only curious looks. That alone felt strange. I walked forward slowly. Toward the gate.

Each step felt heavier than the last. And then... I stepped out. The sunlight hit me instantly. It was bright, warm, and blinding. I flinched slightly, my eyes squeezing shut as the light overwhelmed me. It felt too strong, like something I wasn't used to anymore.

I blinked slowly, adjusting to the outside world. Freedom. The word didn't feel real, it felt strange. I looked around slowly, my heart still uncertain. This wasn't how I imagined leaving. There was no joy, no excitement. Only confusion and questions.

Maybe... Maybe the person who got me out was here. Watching and waiting for me. I took a step forward, then another. Hope slowly rising inside me.

But the moment I reached the gate. Everything changed. It changed so fast that I couldn't comprehend what was happening. There were flashes, voices and noise.

"So you're finally out!"

"The news is true!"

"Layla! Over here!"

"Do you admit to the murder now?!"

"Who helped you get released?!"

"Are you still under investigation?!"

The lights. The shouting. The crowd. My body froze instantly and everything went blank. My breath caught in my throat.

The air felt thick, heavy, like it refused to enter my lungs. My chest tightened painfully, rising and falling too fast, too shallow. My throat burned as if it was closing in on itself.

I was suffocating.

My vision blurred, the world around me tilting slightly as the ground beneath my feet no longer felt steady. The flashes from the cameras burned into my eyes, leaving behind white spots that danced in my vision.

"I... I can't..."

My lips parted, but no sound came out. The voices didn't stop. They grew louder. Closer. Sharper.

"Murderer!"

"Confess!"

"You killed her!"

"Did you kill your sister?!"

"Was it for the inheritance?!"

Each word struck me like a blow, dragging me back-back to that day. Back to the accusations. The cold stares. The way they looked at me like I was something filthy.

My fingers curled weakly at my sides as my body swayed. This can't be happening... not again. I can't fall apart like this.

My head spun, dizziness crashing over me in waves. The crowd pressed closer, suffocating me further. I could feel bodies brushing against mine, hands reaching, grabbing, pushing.

Everything was happening too fast. Too much. I couldn't think. I couldn't see. I couldn't escape it. And then. A sudden force from the crowd slammed into me from the side.

My body jerked violently, balance slipping completely from beneath me. A soft gasp escaped my lips as I stumbled forward, my feet failing to catch me. I was going to fall.

The ground rushed up toward me, cold and unforgiving. My heart dropped with it, a sharp fear flashing through me as I braced for the impact. But it never came. A hand caught me, firm, strong and steady.

It wrapped around my arm with a grip that didn't hurt, yet held me with undeniable strength, pulling me back before I could collapse. My body collided lightly against something solid, warmth seeping through the thin fabric of my clothes.

For a moment, everything stilled. The noise faded. The chaos blurred into the background. All I could feel was that hand. Warm. Grounding. Unfamiliar... yet strangely familiar at the same time.

My breath hitched sharply as I struggled to steady myself, my chest still rising and falling unevenly. My fingers instinctively gripped onto the arm that held me, as if it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.

Who... My thoughts were slow, scattered, trying to piece together what had just happened. The hand tightened slightly, not in force, but in support. As if making sure I wouldn't fall again.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry, my heart still racing uncontrollably against my chest. The world slowly began to come back into focus, though the noise remained distant, muffled, like I was underwater.

The flashing lights, the shouting, the crowd was still there. But somehow... none of that mattered in that moment. Because all I could feel was the presence beside me.

I forced myself to stand properly, my legs still weak beneath me. My body trembled slightly, but I managed to regain a bit of balance with the support holding me.

My breathing was still uneven. But I wasn't falling anymore. Slowly, hesitantly... I lifted my head.

My eyes followed the arm that held me, my gaze traveling upward inch by inch, my heart beginning to pound again, but this time, not from fear. It was something else. Something deeper. I couldn't explain it. A strange tension settled in my chest.

My fingers tightened unconsciously.

And then.

I looked up.

Only to see the face of the person I never thought I will ever meet again.

Chapter 3

LAYLA POV

"Rayyan..."

His name slipped out of my lips like something fragile. Like something I had no right to say anymore.

How is this possible? My breath caught halfway in my chest as I stared at him. For a moment... everything around me disappeared. The suffocating pressure and the crowd. All of it faded into nothing. All I could see was him.

My fingers tightened unconsciously against his arm, my body still slightly leaning into him from where he had caught me. My heart began to pound again, but this time not from fear, it is for something I had buried for years. What is he doing here?

My gaze traced his face slowly, almost hesitantly, as if I was afraid he would disappear if I looked too away. He looks different now, he is more colder and sharper. The softness I once knew was gone, replaced by coldness and distance.

This can't be. Please... don't tell me. My breath hitched slightly. He is the one that got me out of prison. Before I could even process that thought, his voice cut through the air.

"Soldiers, secure this place and maintain order. Don't let the media come close."

His tone was calm while commanding them. The kind of voice that didn't ask but expected to be obeyed. And they moved... instantly.

Men in uniform surrounded us, stepping in front of the crowd, pushing the reporters back, creating distance. Their presence was strong, controlled, disciplined.

I froze. My eyes shifted from them, back to him. How...? How can he command soldiers like this? Then it hit me.

He must have become someone powerful. Of course, Rayyan would never remain ordinary. He had always been like this. Someone who stood above others without even trying.

And now... Now he stood in front of me like someone I didn't recognize. Yet I knew too well.

"What are you still doing in my arms?" he said suddenly.

"Do you enjoy it?"

The words hit harder than they should have. My breath caught as reality snapped back into place.

I immediately pulled away from him, almost too quickly, my body reacting before my mind could catch up. My fingers slipped from his arm as I took a step back, creating distance between us. Distance that felt... necessary. Distance that hurts.

"As-salamu alaikum..." I said softly, lowering my gaze slightly.

The words felt strange on my tongue. Familiar... yet distant.

"Wa alaikum assalam," he replied with no warmth in tone, just a response, a flat and controlled one.

"It's been long..." I added, forcing a faint smile that didn't reach my eyes.

Seven years. Seven years of silence. Seven years of separation. He didn't respond, nor even a glance. He turned and walked away. Just like that. Like I was nothing.

Something in my chest twisted painfully. The same way it did years ago. He took a few steps before stopping. Then he looked back. His eyes met mine.

"Will you move and follow me," he said, his voice carrying that same sharp edge, "or are you still waiting for someone?"

A slight pause. Then.

"Prefer your husband... oh sorry, he is now your ex."

The words landed slowly and deliberately. Like he wanted me to feel every part of it.

"Maybe you prefer to stay with the media and answer their questions," he added.

The noise behind us grew louder again, reporters still trying to push forward, shouting over each other, calling my name. I ignored them. My focus remained on him.

"Are you the one that got me out?" I asked.

The question came out quieter than I expected. But it carried everything. Confusion. Doubt. And something I didn't want to name. He didn't even hesitate.

"Here is not the time to answer your fucking question." His voice dropped, sharper than before.

"If you prefer to stay here, then I'm leaving."

And just like that. He turned and walked away again. No explanation. No answer. For a second... I didn't move. Then the noise behind me surged again.

"Layla!"

"Murderer!"

"Answer us!"

I forced myself forward, my steps quickening as I followed after him. I wasn't going to stay there. Not alone and surrounded by the media.

He walked ahead without slowing down, his stride steady, controlled, as if he didn't need to check whether I was following or not.

As if he already knew I would. We reached a black car parked a short distance away. The moment he opened the door. A reporter rushed forward, pushing past the soldiers just enough to shout,

"Sir! Major General, are you the one that got Layla Abdul Rahman out of prison?"

"What is your relationship with her?!"

"Did you abuse your authority?!"

The questions came one after another. Rayyan didn't even look at them.

"I don't have anything to say to the media," he said coldly.

Short and Final. He entered the car without another word. I followed immediately after him. The door shut.bAnd within seconds. He drove away.

He drove steadily, both hands firm on the steering wheel, his posture straight, unchanged in discipline, yet different in a way I could not fully explain.

The low hum of the engine filled the silence between us, steady and constant, like the only thing keeping the moment from completely collapsing into something heavier.

No words were utter. No questions were asked. Just silence. But it wasn't empty and suffocating.

I turned my head slightly, looking out of the window, forcing my gaze onto the passing streets. Buildings blurred past, people moved freely, life continued like nothing had happened, like the last three years of my life had not been stolen from me.

Freedom. I was out. Yet... it didn't feel real.

My fingers tightened slightly in my lap, curling into the fabric of my clothes as I tried to steady the storm rising inside me. On the outside, I remained calm.

But inside, nothing was calm. Everything was in chaos. When did Rayyan become a soldier?

Not just a soldier... a Major General at that. The title alone carried weight, authority and power. Within just seven years of being apart, he had risen to that level.

Seven years. I swallowed slowly, my throat dry. So much had changed. He had moved forward. Build something. Become someone. And me?

I had lost everything. My family. My name. My freedom. And then... I went to prison. The word echoed bitterly in my mind. While he climbed higher, I had been buried deeper.

The silence in the car stretched further, pressing against my chest. I could feel it between us, thick, unspoken, filled with everything we were not saying.

There were too many questions. Too many things left unresolved. They pressed against my mind one after another, refusing to stay quiet.

Was he the one who got me out? If yes, why now? After everything, after all these years... Why now? Did he still hate me?

His cold tone earlier. The sarcasm. The distance. It was still there. Nothing had softened. Or maybe... it had hardened.

Did he also believe I killed Noor? That question felt heavier than the rest. Because if he believed it.

Then nothing between us could ever be the same. As if it was the same. A faint breath left my lips as my thoughts continued to spiral.

How is his family? Do they also hate me now? Another thought followed, quieter but sharper. Is he married?

I didn't know why that one stayed longer. Maybe because I wasn't sure if I wanted to know the answer. Slowly... I turned my head away from the window.

My gaze shifted toward him. Careful. Hesitant. Like I wasn't sure if I had the right to look. But I did.

And once I did... I couldn't look away. He was still the same. And yet... completely different. His features were sharper now. More defined. Time had carved something stronger into him. His jaw was set, tight, his expression unreadable, his focus fixed on the road ahead.

He just concentrated, no distraction. There was something else too. Something harder to name. An aura. Authority.

It wasn't forced. It wasn't shown off. It was just there, natural and unquestionable. My chest tightened faintly as I continued to watch him.

He was still Rayyan. The same man I once was. I cut the thought off before it could fully form.

My fingers shifted slightly, my hand resting tighter against my lap as I forced myself to breathe steadily.

Say it. Ask him. The question had been sitting in my chest since the moment I stepped out of that prison gate. Since I saw him. Since everything stopped making sense.

But my lips didn't move. Not yet. My gaze lingered on him a moment longer, tracing the side of his face, the slight tension in his expression, the silence he held so firmly.

Did he not want to speak? Or was he waiting for me to? My heart beat a little faster. The air in the car felt heavier with each passing second.

If I didn't ask now... I wouldn't ask at all. My fingers loosened slightly, then tightened again. A small breath left me. And finally.

"Are you the one that got me out of prison?" I asked, my voice quiet but steady, my eyes fixed on him as he drove.

For a second, nothing changed. The car didn't slow. He still didn't look at me.

Then.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened. The air in the car shifted and was filled with tension. Like I had just asked a question I wasn't ready to hear the answer to.