All Chapters of Thread of Glass: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

145 Chapters

Chapter 91: Pretty Princess Story

Faiyaz stepped back inside after she went to bed. The terrace was quiet. The coffee cups still on the railing. The lemon cake on the counter with one slice missing — Riyana had negotiated a second piece at some point during the evening and nobody had been able to explain how. He stood in the kitchen for a moment. Then he picked up his phone and called Amer. It rang four times. “You’re still up,” Amer said. “How are you feeling?” “Like someone hit me with a car.” A pause. “Literally.” “You look better than you did this afternoon.” “Low bar, Faiyaz.” “You were conscious. I was relieved.” Amer laughed. Short. Then stopped because it hurt. “She seemed okay. When she left.” “She was.” “She always seems okay.” “I know.” A beat. “Did she cry?” Amer asked. “No.” “Did she almost cry?” Faiyaz looked at the cake. “Even if she did, we would never know.” “Okay.” The word of a man filing something he had been waiting to hear. “Good. That means something went

Chapter 92: The White Dress

Elena had been right about one thing. He needed to get out of the house. He had been sitting in his study since morning, the surveillance report open on his desk and Liyana's voice from the night before echoing in his head — "Daddy, u always look sad now." He got dressed. He drove. Michael’s report had come through at nine seventeen. She was at a venue on Sunset. He had been planning to go to Harris’s dinner on the west side. He picked up his phone. He changed the reservation. He told himself it was because he needed air. He did not examine the rest of it. The lounge was the kind of place his circle had frequented for years. Familiar. Loud enough to make thinking difficult. Harris was already there when he arrived, along with Daniel, Sam, and Isaac at the corner table. Eliza stood up and hugged him, saying nothing about the trial, which meant everyone had been briefed to remain silent. The booth went quiet for exactly half a second when Raiyan sat down. Not respectful, quiet.

Chapter 93: You Look Fine

He wanted to shake her. He wanted to demand why she had ignored him for eighteen hours while he stared at a blank chat screen like a fool. She looked like an angel and talked like a blade, and the contradiction was making his blood burn. "Why didn't you reply, Zoya?" She turned back to face the room, seemingly deciding that looking at him was a tactical error. "I was busy." "You weren't busy." "I was asleep." "You weren't asleep." She took a slow, unhurried sip of her rosé. "Are you surveilling my sleeping habits now, Mr. Mansoor? Should I be concerned?" "Why didn't you reply, Zoya?" She finally looked at him again. The full look — unfiltered and dangerous. "Why did you text me?" she countered. "I thought you were going to ruin my life if I didn't drop the case. Isn't that how the threat went?" He opened his mouth to argue. "Because if that's still the plan," she continued, perfectly pleasant, "I do have a full day tomorrow and I would appreciate knowing in advance." "That

Chapter 94: The Interruption

Faiyaz leaned against the bar with effortless ease. "Just Faiyaz is fine. We've shared enough history for first names." The corner of Raiyan's mouth moved. It wasn't a smile. "You came tonight," Faiyaz said. "I'll admit, I didn't expect that." "It's a small city." "It is." Faiyaz nodded. "Funny how often we end up in the same room." Raiyan said nothing. Faiyaz looked toward the ballroom. "She looks well." His voice stayed light. "Considering everything you've put her through since you came back." "I don't remember asking for your opinion." "You didn't." He rolled the empty glass once beneath his fingertips. "It's hers." A faint smile. "I just happen to carry some of it." Raiyan looked at him. "Interesting." He finally picked up the drink without tasting it. "You're remarkably confident for a man who's spent years waiting for another man's wife." Faiyaz smiled. "So you still call her that." "My wife?" "No." His smile widened almost imperceptibly. "Another man's."

Chapter 95: I Hold On To The Little Pieces Of What We Were

"I know." "Let me—" "Elena." He stopped. He looked at her. "Go back inside." She looked at his hand. At his face. "She's not worth this," Elena said quietly. Not cruel. Just — certain, the way she had always been certain about the wrong things. "She was never worth this." Something moved through his jaw. "Goodnight, Elena." He walked out. He was already in the car when his phone lit up. Amirah. Missed call. Then another. He looked at the screen. Then — Liyana. A voice note. He pressed it. Daddy. Small voice. Sleep-thick. She had woken up and found his room empty. *Where are you. Come back.* He stood in the parking lot with the napkin still wrapped around his bleeding hand and his daughter’s voice in his ear asking where he was. He called Amirah back. She answered on the first ring. *She woke up looking for you. She’s fine. I’m with her.* “I’ll be back before morning, “ he said. “Raiyan—” Before morning, he said again. He got in the car. He d

Chapter 96: Evan

In London, The Axis Tech Global Corporation London offices at seven in the evening had that emptied-out feeling, the skeleton staff, the hum of servers, the quiet a glass and steel tower gets once the weight of the day has lifted off it. Evan Carter sat at the head of the boardroom table alone. In front of him lay the signed term sheet. The Singapore infrastructure deal had been in negotiation for eleven months. Three previous attempts. Two collapsed at the final stage, once because of regulatory complications, once because the opposing party had walked away forty-eight hours before signing. Raiyan already had a lot on his plate. Evan had picked it up without announcement. He had not told Raiyan he was doing it. He had not asked for updated authority or revised mandate. He had simply looked at the file, understood what it needed, and spent eleven days doing what needed to be done. The term sheet was signed. The deal was closed. There was no celebration tonight. Evan picked up

Chapter 97: She Is Not My Problem

The latest file had been sitting on her desk since Friday morning. The first had been impossible. The second made impossible look ordinary. She pulled the folder toward her. Opened it. Read the first page. Everything was there. Witness statements cross-referenced. Environmental data going back eleven years. Community health records indexed by household. Internal compliance reports. Financial trails between Mansoor Corp subsidiaries laid out in a sequence so clean it looked less like discovery and more like someone had quietly emptied the company's archives into her hands. She turned another page. Then another. She sat back. She had built cases before. She knew what hers looked like — the gaps, the working notes in the margins, the three different versions of the same exhibit before she found the right framing. This had none of that. It had arrived complete. Whoever was feeding her this information wasn't helping her build a case anymore. They were dismantling

Chapter 98: Trial 3

He looked devastatingly handsome. That was the cruel part. Even drunk. Even being held up by another woman. “He’s fine,” Elena had said, her eyes traveling up the stairs with a slow, practiced patience. “Just a long night. He asked me to bring him home.” “And now he’s home.” Zoya had come down the stairs, step by step, her hand never leaving the rail. “I’ll take him. Thank you, Elena.” Elena had smiled — that smile that never quite reached her eyes — and left. Zoya had gotten him to the bedroom. She hated the lingering smell of Elena’s perfume on him. He’d laid on the edge of the bed. For one heartbeat, something moved behind his eyes — the version of him that used to look at her like she was the only thing in the room worth seeing. “Zoya,” he’d whispered. “Sleep, Raiyan.” “I need to tell you—” “Tomorrow.” She’d pulled the blanket up, her heart a jagged wreck against her ribs. “Sleep.” It’s nothing, she had told herself then. He came home. He always comes home

Chapter 99: The Irony

"You're asking this court to open a party's psychiatric file in front of a seated jury," the judge said, "and you didn't bring the case law with you today." "Your Honor, if the court would grant a short recess—" "California Evidence Code section 1014," Zoya said, before the judge could answer, "establishes psychotherapist-patient privilege as one of the most rigorously protected in this state — specifically because the alternative, the fear that private care could later be weaponized in open court, discourages people from seeking help at all." She looked at Harrison, not unkindly. "I have the citation memorized. I'd be happy to save the court the recess." The judge almost smiled. Didn't, quite. "Counsel," he said to Harrison, "do you have any authority establishing that a party's disclosed mental health treatment, absent a specific showing of professional deficiency, is independently admissible for the purpose you're arguing?" "We believe—" "Yes or no, counsel." A pause.

Chapter 100: Why Here

Chapter 100 He found her at the beach. He almost didn’t recognize her at first. She’d taken off her blazer, folded on the dry sand behind her. She was sitting at the edge of the water in just her white shirt — thin, soft, the kind of thing the armor got built on top of — and her loose tailored trousers, the hem dark where the water had reached her. Her hair was down, thick and loose the way it only got when she’d stopped thinking about being seen. She let the water come in and wash back. Come in. Wash back. Like she was trying to let something go with it. He stood there a moment. Just looked at her — the curve of her shoulders, the way she sat when she was almost going to break and wasn’t going to let herself. He’d been trying to forget this version of her. He walked toward her. She heard him before she turned. She knew the footsteps. “You should not be here,” she said. “Neither should you.” His voice came out lower than he meant it. Rougher. The voice of a man who’d driven h

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