All Chapters of Thread of Glass: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

CHAPTER 2 — WEAPONIZED CAFFEINE Six years earlier. Heathrow Private Terminal. He'd been on his phone the whole walk, three decisions ahead, half here and half already in the next meeting, while Evan trailed behind reminding him they had twenty minutes before the Axis Global board meeting. Raiyan wasn't listening. He never listened when he was working. He turned the corner without looking up, and someone walked straight into him. Cold coffee went across his shirt, trousers, and shoes before the empty cup hit the marble between them. The terminal kept moving around him, suitcases rolling past, a boarding call droning overhead. Even Evan stopped walking. He looked at Raiyan, then cursed under his breath. "Raiyan—" he started carefully. Raiyan didn't answer. He was too busy staring down at himself, trousers, shoes, the ruined shirt, ice sliding down onto polished marble. Evan looked from the coffee to Raiyan, closed his eyes for exactly one second, and offered the woman a sil

CHAPTER 4 — IN YOUR DREAM, ZOYA Los Angeles. Pale morning light filtered through the blinds, cutting across the ceiling. Zoya's heart was still hammering when she opened her eyes, her breathing shallow, her face damp and cold. Riyana was draped half across her back, both small arms locked around her neck, cheek buried in Zoya's hair. She must have climbed into the big bed sometime during the night, found her mother in the middle of another nightmare and performed the quiet rescue she had somehow taught herself to do before falling asleep again. Zoya reached up and covered one of those little hands with her own. Two and a half years, and apparently her subconscious still had arguments it refused to lose. Outside, Jack barked once from the porch. Somewhere downstairs a door opened, then closed again. The house was waking up around them, but Zoya stayed where she was for another minute. Riyana did not wake gradually. She never did. One second she was completely asleep and the next

The next morning, her junior associate appeared in the doorway with one hand resting against the frame. “Ma’am. Mr. Zayed Al Mansoor is here. He wants to see you.” “Harrison’s office confirmed Mr. Mansoor requested to speak with you directly,” the associate added. Zoya didn’t look up from the file as her pen kept moving across the page. “Fine. Five minutes.” Her junior nodded, but Zoya made Zayed wait twenty minutes anyway. She didn’t need twenty minutes. She just wanted him to wait. Capping her pen, she set it beside the folder and stood up. On her way out, she paused by her associate’s desk, lowering her voice so it barely carried. “Log his arrival. Time, parties present. I’ll dictate the substance afterward.” The associate straightened instantly and nodded. “Of course.” Zoya continued down the corridor without another word, pushed open the conference room door, and closed it quietly behind her. Zayed Al Mansoor stood by the window. Two and a half years ago, she had cal

That night, Raiyan was back in the study. Harrison was on a video call, Michael sat across from him with his tablet open, and the defense file had been spread across the desk for the better part of an hour. Harrison had already gone through the motions, the witness list, and the first week of evidence before he leaned back in his chair on the screen. “There’s something else.” Raiyan turned a page. “Go on.” “Al Fayez.” His hand stopped for half a second before continuing. Harrison noticed. He was too experienced not to, but he had also been doing this long enough to know when not to comment. “I’ve gone through her cases,” he continued. “Not the summaries. The actual filings. Motions, depositions, hearing transcripts. She’s good.” Raiyan said nothing. “Better than she should be for the amount of time she’s been doing this,” Harrison added. “She doesn’t chase every argument available to her. That’s what concerns me. Younger lawyers usually want to prove they’ve found everything.

Judge Whitmore called a fifteen-minute recess. Zoya was halfway into the corridor before she nearly walked straight into Eleanor. She stopped short, and for a second neither of them said anything. "Mrs. Mansoor," Zoya said finally. Something changed in Eleanor's face. "Mrs. Mansoor?" She repeated it like the title had cost her something. "You used to call me Grandma." Zoya held her gaze, fingers tightening around the file in her hand. "A lot has changed." "Yes," Eleanor said quietly. "It has." Amirah appeared a few steps behind her, but neither woman looked away. Eleanor glanced at the files in Zoya's arms. "What else do you want from us, Zoya?" Zoya tried to keep her expression calm. "Please don't make this personal. I'm here because forty-two families asked me to be." Eleanor looked at her for another second before Zoya gave a small nod. "Take care," Zoya said, and walked away before Eleanor could answer. Adrian was waiting near the water station with two cups. "Please te