Vows Written In Silence

PROLOGUE: ROAD TO EDINBURGH

Rain hammered the windshield as Zoya drove toward Edinburgh, unaware that she had already run out of time.

She checked the rearview mirror, her breath coming faster than she wanted. She looked down and realized her grip on the wheel had gone painfully tight, her knuckles white.

The headlights were still behind her. Too close. Too steady. Every time she looked, they were there.

Her thumb stopped over one name.

Raiyan.

The name stayed on the screen for three seconds too long.

She moved past his name.

She called Mei.

No response.

Faiyaz

She hit call.

Ring.

Ring.

Nothing.

"Come on.." she breathed.

*The number you are trying to reach is currently out of reach.*

"No—" The word caught in her throat.

She slid to Evan's contact.

Before she could press call, her phone buzzed.

Daniel. Her mother’s security chief.

She answered immediately. “Daniel, I’m being followed. I’m almost—”

“Zoya, get out of the car. Right now.” His breathing was uneven, his words rushed together as though he hadn’t stopped running. “They found you. The man who threatened the estate—”

A gunshot tore through the phone.

“Daniel?” Her voice cracked. “Daniel!”

Nothing.

The line stayed open.

Rain hissed through the speaker.

She looked up.

The truck was still there.

Closer.

It had followed her for miles. Every turn she took, it followed. Every time she thought she’d gained distance, it was there again, filling the mirror until there was nowhere left to look except straight at it.

The truck surged forward.

It slammed into the back of her car so hard the steering wheel ripped sideways beneath her hands.

Her car shot across the muddy shoulder.

It rolled once before slamming back onto its wheels with a force that knocked the air from her lungs.

For a long second she couldn’t move.

The engine ticked somewhere in front of her.

Rain drummed against the shattered windshield.

She looked down instinctively. The seatbelt had dug painfully across her stomach. Both hands flew there before she even realized she was crying.

The driver’s door groaned as it shifted.

A faint smell of gasoline filled the car.

Someone walked toward the car.

Zoya lifted her head.

The man stepped out of the rain and stopped beside her window. He raised the gun with calm, practiced certainty.

She wrapped both arms around her stomach, protecting the only thing that mattered.

“Please…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Don’t hurt them.”

The man behind the gun didn’t move.

He only stared at her.

….

CHAPTER 1

Two and a half years later.

The study door opened quietly, and Nelson stepped inside without a sound, stopping the moment he saw them.

Raiyan looked up.

Neither man spoke for several seconds.

Liyana was still asleep against his chest, one tiny hand tangled in his shirt.

"She refused everyone tonight," Nelson said softly, careful not to raise his voice above the sound of her breathing. "Kept asking for you."

Raiyan glanced down at his daughter, his fingers moving slowly through her hair. "I know."

"I'll take her upstairs when you're ready," Nelson said, already reaching for the light switch out of habit before stopping himself.

Raiyan looked at the files spread across the desk, then back at Liyana.

"Not yet." His hand stayed where it was in Liyana's hair.

Nelson nodded.

"Mrs. Mansoor called," he said, stepping further into the room. "She said Miss Elena and Miss Amirah will be here before noon. I'll bring them straight to the manor."

"Good," Raiyan said, not looking up. "She'll want to stay here."

"She will," Nelson replied, a small, knowing edge in his voice.

"She'll ask for Miriam," Raiyan said.

"Miriam already knows," Nelson said, allowing himself the ghost of a smile.

Raiyan nodded once. His voice stayed calm, but the tension in his jaw made it clear this was not a request.

"Don't let her leave Liyana's side." Raiyan glanced over his shoulder, his expression leaving no room for misunderstanding.

"She won't," Nelson said simply.

After a brief silence, Raiyan said, "The recipes," his thumb pausing mid-stroke through Liyana's hair.

A faint smile touched Nelson's face. "Already with Miriam."

"She won't eat if they taste different," Raiyan said quietly, more to himself than to Nelson.

"I know," Nelson said, and something in his tone suggested he'd watched this exact worry play out more than once.

The room fell silent again.

After a moment, Raiyan spoke without looking up. "If she cries when I leave."

Nelson watched him for a beat, weighing how honest to be. "She probably will."

Raiyan gave a small nod, the kind that cost him something to give.

"I'll tell her what I always do." Nelson's expression softened. "Daddy always comes back."

Raiyan looked at him then, something loosening behind his eyes for the first time that morning.

"Thank you," he said, quieter than anything he'd said all conversation.

Nelson inclined his head. "She knows you'll come back, sir."

He slipped quietly from the study, closing the door behind him.

The room settled into silence again. His thumb drifted slowly through Liyana's hair. He didn't move for a long time.

The file nearest his hand came open beneath his fingers. He read the first paragraph, and by the time he reached the bottom of the page, he realized he hadn't understood a single sentence.

⸻

Geneva was already awake beyond the terminal glass.

Raiyan walked through arrivals the way he always did, unhurried.

Michael caught up with him before they reached the car.

"Sir," Michael said as he caught up beside him.

"What changed?" Raiyan asked without slowing.

"The plaintiffs filed a substitution request," Michael said.

"For counsel?" Raiyan narrowed his eyes.

"Yes." Michael hesitated. "And it was approved this morning."

"Who took over?" Raiyan asked, glancing at the file.

"Sir…" Michael cleared his throat. "Lead counsel on the Mansoor Corp case is now Ms. Zoya… Ms. Zoya Al Fayez."

The name should have been just a name.

It wasn't.

Raiyan stopped.

Eleven minutes since landing. Two briefs reviewed. One call declined. He hadn't had his morning coffee yet.

Michael pushed forward anyway. Raiyan did not want comfort. He wanted information.

"Sir, from what I found, Ms. Fayez has taken on some powerful families the last two years. Won every time. She hasn't lost a single case yet."

Raiyan turned his head just enough to look at him. Michael held his ground, barely. For one second, just one, his eyes flickered, something private crossing behind them before he shut it down, gone almost before it registered. Then the corner of his mouth pulled up. Not a smile. Something colder than that.

"Let her." A dry, uneven chuckle escaped him. "Well. There's a first time for everything."

*Zoya.*

A name he had buried so deeply, he almost believed he had forgotten it.

Two and a half years later, it still has power to stop him.

He turned and walked on.

Armaan leaned two centimeters toward Michael. "Was that—"

"Don't," Michael said, and they followed.

His phone rang before they reached the car. He pulled it from his jacket, and the screen lit up bright enough that Michael stopped talking mid-sentence and Armaan looked up from his tablet.

The photo always changed something in people. No one looked at Liyana and saw the man everyone else feared.

They saw a little girl, barely two years old, caught mid-laugh. Dark wavy hair going in every direction, one sock missing, hazel eyes bright with a happiness that belonged only to her.

Raiyan answered before the second ring. The cold, controlled tone he carried with everyone else softened the moment he heard her voice.

“Hey, baby girl.”

What came back through the phone wasn't a response. It was a weather system.

"DADDYYYYYYY—"

He stopped walking. One hand went to his temple, brief and automatic. "Hey." Softer now, an entirely different register. "Hey, I'm here. Right here. Tell me what happened."

"You went AWAY." The accusation landed like she'd been saving it up for hours. "You went away when I was sleeping and I waked up and I looked and I looked and you weren't ANYWHERE—"

"I know." His voice softened another shade. "I know, baby."

"I don't LIKE work, Daddy." She sniffed loudly. "I don't like work…" A small pause while she searched for the right words. "I just misshh you."

"I know you don't." The words came almost as a whisper.

From somewhere behind her, a woman's voice, smooth and controlled: "She hasn't eaten. I've tried everything."

"Lily." His voice found the frequency that always worked on her, gentle but certain, and the crying softened; she was listening. "Tell me what you had for breakfast."

A small sniffle, wet and dramatic, the kind performed as much as felt. "...nothing?" A guilty pause followed, the sound of a two-year-old visibly deciding whether honesty was worth the consequences. "Yes... milk and eggs."

“Did you eat the eggs?” he asked gently.

A beat, the sound of small fingers picking at something, a blanket thread, a sock, whatever was within reach. "...Some."

"How many is some?" He almost smiled.

The pause of someone doing arithmetic they didn't want to do. "...One. But Daddy—" She rushed ahead before he could respond, voice climbing in urgency. "It was a big one."

The corner of his mouth moved. He caught it. Pressed it flat. "What about the toast?"

"The toast was dirty."

Elena's voice cut in over the line, brisk, even, already anticipating the complaint. "I've adjusted the toaster."

"Good." Some of the tension left his shoulders.

"Lily." He smiled despite himself. "Look at me."

"No," she said, miserably. "I can't look at you if you're not here."

"Okay." He leaned lightly against the terminal glass. "Then just listen. When have I ever not come back?"

A long pause, very serious, the pause of a two-year-old treating this like the biggest question she'd ever been asked. "...Never," she said quietly.

"Right. Never. So what does that mean?" he said.

She went quiet for a second, working it out. "...You're coming back?"

"I'm coming back," he said.

"Pinky promise?" She asked with a hopeful voice.

He could hear her holding her breath. "Pinky promise."

A small exhale, the sound of a child deciding to believe him.

"Daddy?" she asked him softly.

"Yes," he answered.

"How many sleeps?" She asked, calculating.

"Two."

Silence followed, the long, devastating silence of a two-year-old counting on her fingers and not liking the answer. "That's SO many," she whispered.

"It's really not," he said.

She pouted. He could hear it in her voice even without seeing her face. "It IS. That's two whole nights, Daddy. Two nights and you won't be there for ANY of them."

"Everyone else will be there," he said.

A pause.

"No one sings the song right." A pause, aggrieved. "They do the slow part fast."

Raiyan said nothing. He was standing in a private terminal in Geneva, an empire with his name on it, a legal case building across two continents, and he was losing a debate about song tempo to someone who weighed twelve kilograms.

"Two sleeps," he said. "And I'll sing it so slow you'll fall asleep before the second verse."

A sniff, then a small considering silence. "...Okay," she said finally, small voice, real voice, just her now, no performance, no drama, a two-year-old who missed her dad in the only way she knew how, which was completely.

“Good girl.” A smile settled quietly into his voice.

“Daddy?” she asked after a small pause.

“Yes?” His answer came immediately.

“I love you the most in the whole world.”

He stood in the terminal, and his chest went warm and full the same way it always did when she said that.

"I love you the most in the whole world," he said back.

"You love me the most, Daddy," she corrected, gently but firmly, satisfied, as though they'd both arrived at the right answer together.

Then, from the background, Elena's voice again, quiet and even. "Say goodbye, Daddy is busy, sweetheart."

A small sound of protest. "Bye, Daddy." A pause. "Come back quick."

"Quick as I can." He waited until she hung up first.

The call ended. He stood there for three seconds, then slipped the phone in his pocket.

"Michael."

"Sir." Michael shifted the folder beneath his arm.

"Full case history on the opposing counsel—" Raiyan looked up from the file.

“Yes, sir.” Michael flipped open another file.

Michael opened another file. "The lawsuit is only one part of it. Three anonymous complaints reached the regulators this week. Two institutional investors have delayed renewing their positions. Yesterday, confidential financial figures were leaked to the press."

Raiyan was quiet.

"Individually," Michael continued, "none of this would concern me." He glanced at the file in his hand. "But all of it happening within days of Ms. Al Fayez being appointed lead counsel." He let the sentence hang. "It's too much to dismiss as coincidence."

Raiyan's expression didn't change.

"You think someone's coordinating this?" He finally looked at Michael.

Michael cleared his throat. "I think someone is applying pressure from more than one direction."

Silence.

"Whether the lawsuit is the objective," Michael said, closing the folder, "or just the distraction, I don't know yet."

Raiyan adjusted his cuff, an old reflex.

"Find out." The order landed quietly.

Raiyan walked toward the exit. Three steps from the door, that was when he saw them.

A couple stood near the seating area. The woman talked with two coffees in hand, and the man simply listened.

He realized he’d stopped walking.

It wasn’t the couple.

It was the woman standing less than ten feet away.

For two and a half years he’d imagined this moment a thousand different ways. None of them looked like this.

And for the first time in two and a half years, Raiyan forgot where he was.