CHAPTER 5 The Trap

Karem was sitting in the center of the living room like he owned the place because he did, he owned everything, and he wanted us to know it. He was dressed in a tailored suit, his silver hair perfectly combed, his hands resting on the head of an ornate cane, and he looked like a man who had just finished a leisurely dinner and decided to drop by for a visit. But his eyes told a different story—they were cold, calculating, sweeping over me like I was a bug he was deciding whether to crush.

Behind him stood two men, bodyguards, the kind that didn't blink, and next to him, perched on the edge of the couch like she belonged there, was a woman I didn't recognize. She was young, maybe my age, with dark hair and sharp features, wearing expensive clothes that probably cost more than my mother's entire hospital stay, and she looked at me like I was an inconvenience she'd rather not deal with.

"Hazel," Karem said, his voice smooth and warm, the kind of voice that made you forget he was a monster, "I've been waiting for you."

I felt Damien tense beside me, his hand tightening on mine, and I could feel the fear radiating off him even though his face showed nothing.

"Father," Damien said, his voice flat and controlled, "you didn't tell me you were coming."

"Didn't I?" Karem smiled, the expression not reaching his eyes. "I must have forgotten."

Damien stepped forward, positioning his body between me and Karem, and I watched his shoulders square like he was preparing for a fight he knew he couldn't win. "We need to talk," Karem continued, "privately."

"Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of her."

Karem's smile didn't waver. "How domestic."

"I mean it."

"I'm sure you do." Karem turned his cold eyes on me. "How are you, Hazel? I hope my son is treating you well."

I didn't speak—I couldn't, my voice trapped somewhere in my throat, and the woman beside Karem laughed, a soft dismissive sound that made my skin crawl.

"She's shy," she said. "How charming."

"Who is this?" Damien asked, his voice ice.

Karem gestured toward the woman with a casual wave of his hand. "This is Victoria. She's an old friend of the family."

"Friend?"

"Something like that."

Damien's jaw tightened, and I saw the calculation behind his eyes as he tried to read the room, tried to figure out what he was walking into, but Karem was already ahead of him. "Victoria and I have been discussing a business opportunity," Karem said, "one that involves you, Damien."

"What kind of opportunity?"

"The kind that requires a wife."

The words hit me like a physical blow, and I felt my stomach drop as I realized what he was saying, what he was offering, what he was taking from me.

"A wife?" Damien's voice was sharp, incredulous. "She has a wife. I am her husband."

"Yes, well," Karem said, his smile never wavering, "contracts can be broken, especially when they involve the wrong person."

Damien stepped forward, his hand leaving mine, and I felt the absence of his touch like a wound. "Father, I don't know what game you're playing, but—"

"I'm not playing a game, Damien. I'm making an offer." He glanced at Victoria, who smiled like she'd already won. "A better offer."

Victoria's smile widened, and she looked at Damien like he was a prize she'd already claimed, a possession she was about to acquire. "Let me explain," Karem continued, settling back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. "Victoria's father is a very powerful man. He's interested in a partnership, but he's old-fashioned—he wants his daughter married to someone with a proper name."

"And you thought I would just agree?"

"Of course not, which is why I brought a compromise." Karem reached into his jacket and pulled out a folder, tossing it onto the coffee table with a casual flick of his wrist. "Proof," he said simply.

"Of what?" Damien asked, not picking it up.

Karem smiled, a cold predatory expression that made my blood run cold. "That your wife's father didn't just lose his company—he was murdered."

The room went silent, the air thick and heavy, and I felt the blood drain from my face as his words sank in.

"That's a lie," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

Karem looked at me, his eyes cold and almost pitying, like he was about to deliver a blow I couldn't recover from. "Is it, Hazel? You always thought your father disappeared because he was ashamed, but that's not what happened, is it?"

I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but stand there as the world tilted beneath my feet.

"Your father didn't run away," Karem said, each word a knife. "He was killed, and my son knew about it."

I turned to Damien, searching his face for denial, for outrage, for anything but the guilt I already knew I'd find. He wasn't looking at me—his face was pale, his hands shaking, and I felt something inside me shatter.

"Damien," I said, my voice cracking, "look at me."

He didn't.

"He knows, Hazel," Karem said, his voice almost gentle, mocking. "He's always known."

"Damien," I said again, the tears burning behind my eyes, "please."

He finally turned, his eyes meeting mine, and I saw it—the guilt, the shame, the truth I'd been running from since the moment I signed that contract.

"Tell me it's not true," I said, my voice breaking. "Tell me he's lying."

He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and I watched as the words died in his throat. "I can't," he finally said.

I don't remember when I started shaking—it must have been then, because the next thing I knew, I was standing across the room from him, the coffee table between us like a barrier I'd built with my own hands.

"You knew," I said, my voice trembling with rage and hurt, "all this time, you knew."

"Hazel—"

"You knew my father was murdered. You knew who killed him. And you didn't tell me."

"I was trying to protect you—"

"Protect me?" I laughed, a hollow broken sound that echoed off the walls. "You were trying to protect yourself."

"No."

"You were afraid of him." I pointed at Karem, my hand shaking. "You've always been afraid of him—that's why you never told me the truth."

Damien stepped toward me, his hands outstretched, his face desperate. "Hazel, please, let me explain."

"Explain what? That you lied to me? That you let me believe my father abandoned us when you knew he was dead?"

"I didn't know for certain—"

"But you suspected." I felt the tears finally spill over, hot and angry. "You suspected, and you didn't say anything."

He opened his mouth, closed it, and there was nothing left to say, nothing left to do but stand there in the ruins of everything we'd built.

Victoria was watching us with a faint, almost amused smile, and Karem was leaning back in his chair like he was enjoying a performance he'd been waiting to see. "This is what happens when you trust the wrong people, Hazel," he said. "You get trapped."

I looked at him, really looked at him, and I thought about everything he'd taken from me—my father, my mother's health, my childhood, my peace of mind—and I realized with a cold certainty that I couldn't do this anymore. I couldn't be in this room, I couldn't be in this marriage, I couldn't be with him.

I walked toward the door, my steps steady even as my heart shattered.

"Hazel—" Damien's voice was sharp, desperate, but I didn't turn around.

"If you walk out that door—" Karem began.

"Then I'll be free."

"You'll have nothing."

I stopped, turned back, and I let them see the fire burning in my eyes. "I already have nothing," I said, my voice steady now. "I had nothing when I came here, I had nothing when I signed that contract, and the only thing I had was hope—and you took that from me."

Karem's smile widened, and I knew he was enjoying this, savoring my pain like it was a fine wine. "Where will you go?" he asked. "You have no money, no family, no future."

I thought about it, thought about the answer, and I gave him the only truth I had left. "My mother," I said. "I still have her."

"You think she'll want you back? A woman who married the enemy's son?"

I didn't answer—I didn't have to—and I walked out the door, letting it close behind me with a soft click that felt like the end of everything.

I made it halfway down the hallway before I heard footsteps behind me, and Damien's hand caught my wrist, pulling me back.

"Let go of me," I said.

He didn't.

"Hazel, listen, I know you don't believe me, I know I've given you every reason to walk away, but please, just let me explain."

"You had your chance to explain."

"I was afraid."

"Everyone's afraid, Damien, but you had a choice—and you chose the wrong thing, over and over."

"I was trying to protect you."

"Don't," I said, my voice breaking again, "don't pretend this was for me—this was about you, your guilt, your fear, your need to control everything."

He let go of my wrist, his face pale and drawn, and I could see the defeat in his eyes. "You're right," he said, "I was afraid, I am afraid, but that's not why I kept the secret."

"Then why?"

He looked at me, his eyes raw and honest and stripped of everything, and I saw the truth in them even before he spoke. "Because I knew that if you found out the truth, you'd leave me, and I couldn't bear the thought of that."

I stared at him, not knowing what to say, not knowing what to feel, and I let the silence stretch between us until I couldn't bear it anymore. "Goodbye, Damien."

I walked away.

I made it to the elevator, pressed the button, and waited as the doors slid open. I stepped inside, and I thought I was free, I thought I was finally done with them, but I only made it to the elevator before my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out, my hands trembling, and I saw the message from Karem—a photo of my mother's hospital room, empty, her bed made, her belongings gone, and a single line: "You left. So I took something too. Come home."

The elevator doors started to close, but I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but stare at the photo as the world collapsed around me. I knew, with a cold certainty that settled into my bones, that I wasn't going anywhere—because Karem had taken the one thing he knew I couldn't live without.

My mother.

I thought I was free, I thought I was walking away, but I didn't realize Karem was already ahead of me because he didn't just play games—he won them, and he'd just made his move.