. . .

. . .

~

"The most merciful person is the one who forgives when he is able to take revenge." —Hussain ibn 'Ali (RA)

~

A gift bearing an invitation perched on a bouquet of roses arrives at Zameer Co. In an elegant script, the invitation requests Zoya's presence at the launch party of Paki Enterprises.

Upon reading it, Zoya snortsaloud and tosses her hair over her shoulders. Sameer tenses in front of her.

"Idiots," she mutters.

"Who is it from, Ms. Zoya?"

"Paki Enterprises."

"Will you accept the invitation?'

Zoya turns it over in her hands, eyeing it absentmindedly. "Of course. Mr. Zaki wants a show . . ." She trails off. "So I'll give him a show."

Sameer clears his throat. "What do you mean?"

She snorts again and throws the invitation onto her desk, where it falls next to the gift and the bouquet of roses. The gentle white petals threaten to snatch her into a disturbing memory, but she quickly looks away. "It's business, baby." She begins counting off on her fingers. "Obviously, he wants to rub his company's success in our faces after seeing our launch party in Pakistan all over the news. He's still angry that we broke off the partnership and he's been braced to fight since I told him off the other day. Why give him the satisfaction of not showing up? Oh, we'll be there." Settling down in her seat, she waves lazily at the gift and the bouquet. "Get these out of my sight."

Sameer nods and does as he is told. Zoya is left staring at the space where the gift had been. White roses.

Suddenly, she begins to fall down the rabbit hole of her memories.

He holds the bouquet out to her. Zoya takes it, nods a thanks, and stands there unsurely.

Stepping closer, he raises a hand towards her cheek. The deeply colored, unnaturally red cheek. She flinches, and his jaw clenches. "Don't I get some compensation for that gift?" His voice drips with false sweetness, and he watches her expectantly with a glint in his eyes.

"What compensation?"

He steps closer. The roses fall out of Zoya's hands.

A knock on the door jolts her back into her senses. She shakes her head quickly, adjusts her posture, and takes a deep breath. "What?"

Sumaiya enters, hesitating by the doorway. "Ms. Zoya, I wanted to run through some designs with you."

Leaning in her chair with her relaxed posture makes it seem as if she has all the time in the world, but Zoya says, "Does it look like I have the time for designs right now?"

"Um . . . I met Sameer outside and found out you'll be attending the launch party for Paki Enterprises, so — "

Suddenly, it seems as if a lightbulb flickers over Zoya's head. "You!" she exclaims. "Oh my God, yes! Come here."

Confusion is plastered across her face. "Yes, Ms. Zoya?"

"Yes. This is perfect. Zoya Zameer, you are one incredible human being." Zoya kisses her own hand while Sumaiya simply watches with raised brows. "You're my plus one to the launch party."

"Your plus one? But — "

"So I need a striking dress. It has to be really simple, but let it make a statement." She gestures wildly with her hands. "And your dress needs to be simple, too. That way, it won't be obvious why I'll be parading you around."

"Parading me around? But I — "

"It's in one week. Zaki will be expecting some of my staff there, but that's not important. I'll select who's going with me later. The point is, you're with me."

Sumaiya furrows her brows. "Ms. Zoya, I can't guarantee that I'll be available."

"Excuse me? You work here. I don't pay you for nothing. You need to be available at all times whenever I need you."

"I understand, but I'm not an on-call doctor — "

"You'll be there." It's a curt statement, and Sumaiya presses her lips together. "Have the design for my dress ready by tomorrow. We'll go over some pointers then. Adios."

With that, Zoya gestures at her dismissively and, after waiting for a perplexed few seconds, Sumaiya turns and leaves.

. . .

A week later, Zoya turns to the three employees who rode with her in the back of the limo. They're all spaced apart and watching her anxiously. "Zaki Ahmed is a despicable man, and he will stop at nothing to humiliate his rivals in public. But he has a way of doing it that, I'll give him credit, makes his victim look like the oppressor." Ignoring Haroun's frown, Zoya turns to Sumaiya. The employee looks exquisite, clad in a long, simple blue gown paired with a deeper blue hijab. "Stay by me at all times. Do you understand?"

She nods.

"Good." Zoya's gaze falls on Haroun, who seems to be deeply uncomfortable already. He has seemed worried ever since Zoya mentioned the launch party. His expression is one of deep contemplation and concern. "Be distant, but be polite so that they still admire you. If anyone compliments you or the company, smile and don't say too much. Those are just insults and challenges disguised in pretty words. Besides, you won't have to do much to make people like you." She smiles.

Sumaiya fidgets next to her.

"And lastly . . . " Zoya turns to Farhan and immediately grimaces. He opens his mouth indignantly. "Just . . . stay out of my sight. You're only here for his comfort." She nods in Haroun's direction.

They're almost inside when Haroun stops suddenly. "Wait," he says, as if he finally realizes something. Turning to Zoya and Sumaiya, comprehension dawns on his face. "Sumaiya worked with Paki Enterprises before." His voice is slow and careful.

"Yes."

"And Zameer and Paki Enterprises have been long-time rivals."

"Correct."

Worry lines his features. "Is that why you brought Sumaiya here, Ms. Zoya?"

For the love of Allah, please stop being so damn observant. "Sweetheart, you're being vague. What do you mean?"

"Ms. Zoya, I . . ." He trails off and presses his lips together, probably refraining from saying something disrespectful.

"It's business, baby," she replies flippantly. "Either you're an asset, or you're a liability."

"Or human," he says, distressed.

"What's going on?" Farhan interrupts, clueless. Sumaiya doesn't say anything, either not wanting to make a scene or wisely choosing to remain quiet.

The rest of the staff heads inside.

Haroun continues as if he hasn't heard his friend. Which — for him — signals his extreme distress. "And . . . it's not fair to parade her around and make a spectacle of her in the name of business."

Even though Zoya knows Haroun would probably defend any person in Sumaiya's position right now, it still causes her blood to boil to see him defending her. Knowing that Zoya would never be the only person whose honor he would protect. "Sweetheart, I run the corporate world. I know how to do my job."

"Will someone tell me what's going on?" Says Farhan.

"Please shut up," Zoya snaps at him. Despite the dread beginning to settle in the pit of her stomach, she turns away from Haroun.

At the entrance of the hall, a man and a woman speak to each other in hushed tones. When the man sees Zoya, he clears his throat and straightens up, and the woman turns in the opposite direction and disappears.

Weird.

Once inside, Zoya loops her arm through Sumaiya's and glances at the marvelous hall. Cocktail party tables are artfully placed every ten feet and people mingle about, chatting animatedly. Men in suits and women in flowing dresses laugh and slide compliments into their conversations, artfully extracting information about the opponent's company. Because nobody here is friends. Or acquaintances. Everyone is the competition. Everyone is fair game.

At the entrance, two men greet them and Zoya giggles, acting flustered and fluffing up her curls. One of them smiles in response, but the other simply stares at her.

"Ms. Zoya Zameer? Mr. Zaki has reserved a special seat for you," the first man says, pointing to the front of the hall.

"Thank you." She walks in that direction, blowing him an air kiss and watching in satisfaction as his cheeks turn from pale to crimson.

"Can I ask you something if you don't mind?" Sumaiya says uncertainly.

"Roll right on."

"Do you enjoy that?"

"Enjoy what?"

"Getting a reaction out of people like that?"

Zoya swivels her head to her. "Of course I do."

Sumaiya looks surprised by this blunt answer. "How come?"

A lifetime of neglect trains you to make sure no one ever neglects you again. "'All's fair in love and war.'"

"So . . . you love all men?"

Zoya almost chokes on her own spit as she bursts into laughter. "No, sweetheart. All men are war."

Perhaps even more baffled by Zoya's ambiguity, Sumaiya shakes her head. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. It's not my business."

"Correct." Zoya throws her a sugary smile.

By now many of the guests have noticed Zoya's arrival and are casting her glances and coming up to greet her enthusiastically. Moments later when they are alone, Sumaiya turns to Zoya. "Ms. Zoya, I know why you brought me here."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes."

"And why — pray tell — have I brought you here, sweetheart, other than for you to accompany me as my plus one?"

"Because I'm an asset." Zoya raises her eyebrows at the dejected tone of her voice. "I've worked at Paki Enterprises, and I'm the perfect person to throw around in their faces. I'm the perfect piece to play in the game." Her eyes shine with tears, and for the first time in a long time, a strange tugging sensation nags at Zoya. Something disturbing.

Damn you, Haroun, my jaan. You and your impeccable observations.

Zoya doesn't even bother denying Sumaiya's words."Well, why have you come with me if you knew what you were going to be used for?"

Tears well in the employee's eyes and she tries very hard not to blink, but can't stop a fat teardrop from trailing down her cheek. She hastily wipes it away.

The tugging sensation intensifies.

But Zoya makes the mistake of looking away, and her eyes fall on Haroun across the room. He's watching the two women carefully, his brow creased with distress.

For some reason, this infuriates Zoya.

She turns back to Sumaiya and sighs, observing her nails. "There are people," she hisses.

Sumaiya nods quietly, trying to rub away her tears harshly before anyone catches sight of her. Or worse, before the cameras do.

"Control yourself," Zoya commands.

Sumaiya simply takes a deep, shaky breath and stares into Zoya's eyes, expression strangely steady and resolute despite her breakdown.

"I asked you why you came if you knew your use."

She still doesn't reply, simply looks away, lips trembling. The sight irks Zoya.

Just then, Zaki approaches them, and Zoya watches as Sumaiya takes a deep breath and plasters on an expression of professional courtesy.

"Ms. Zoya Zameer!" he says animatedly, as if he's forgotten their last meeting and the spitfire that had erupted between them. "Well, well, well. You made it after all." He eyes her dress. "Looking marvelous as always."

I want to punch you in the throat and claw your eyes out. "Thank you, Mr. Zaki. You don't look too bad yourself." She tugs Sumaiya closer to her. "This is a product of my lead designer, Sumaiya. But you're probably familiar with her already." Her voice is laced with contempt and scorn, all strange feelings having disappeared.

Zaki smiles through his teeth. "Of course." He nods at Sumaiya. "Good to see you again." She nods quietly in return.

"How wonderful it is to see you here!" he exclaims loudly to Zoya. "I feel like we haven't had a proper conversation in a long time!"

Proper conversation. Zoya is distinctly aware of the photographers having turned their cameras towards the two business rivals. She grins. "It's wonderful to see you as well."

"Please, allow me to introduce you to my staff." Mr. Zaki leads them to their reserved table. Zoya quickly glances behind her to check on Haroun but does a double take when he is nowhere in sight. And Farhan is busy conversing with a businessman, hands moving around animatedly.

Idiot. He had one job.

Zoya searches the room for Haroun, but he is nowhere to be found.

"It's such a pleasure finally meeting you, Ms. Zoya. I'm Hamza." Zoya breaks out of her investigative glances when a man stands and approaches her. Something about his face disturbs her. He's clean, well groomed, and combed to perfection. Yet something is off-putting, because as soon as Zoya looks at him, her heart begins to beat rapidly.

It's the beard, she realizes. This man looks just like him. He looks like —

Sumaiya nudges Zoya, and Zoya jolts back to her senses. "Pleasure's all mine," she grits out.

At the table, everyone introduces themselves and begins chatting animatedly. Since Sumaiya is familiar with some of these people already, she makes easy conversation. One particularly upfront woman asks Zoya about her domestic abuse project, and everyone at the table turns to them. Zoya resists the urge to claw Hamza's eyes out when he turns to her.

Relax, she chides herself. It's not him.

Zoya begins talking about her domestic abuse project, carefully revising her mental script. Mr. Zaki watches her contemptuously, and she wants to hurl her glass of water in his face.

As she speaks, she surreptitiously glances around for Haroun, becoming more antsy with every passing minute. Where could he have gone? She sees everyone else. All the guests. The woman who was whispering at the entrance earlier is heading outside. But where is Haroun?

Maybe he needed a break from the environment and went outside to get some fresh air. This does not lift Zoya's spirits in the least. It worries her to think of Haroun — with his good will and good nature, too innocent for the cutthroat business world — standing in the midst of all these predators like easy prey.

"I think it's fascinating that you took on this project," Hamzamarvels, breaking Zoya out of her anxious thoughts. "It will really boost your company's name."

Zoya's fists clench in her lap. "Of course. However, that was not my sole intent."

"Oh, we know all about your intent," Zaki says with a dismissive wave of his hand. It's a casual statement, and he grins at her afterward as if they are old-time best friends, but Zoya knows it's a dig.

"Do you, now?"

"Of course."

"Enlighten me, Mr. Zaki." There is a threat hiding under her playful tone.

He walks towards her with a glass of soda in his hands and opens his mouth to speak. But when he takes his next step, his dress shoes slip on the table's cover.

It all happens so fast. One moment he's smirking at Zoya with all the confidence of a predator who's caught his prey, and the next he's flying backward, collapsing onto the marble floor. The soda spills onto his crisp suit, dark black tainting his clean white button-down. The glass rests sideways on the floor.

For a moment, everyone in the hall turns in shock. Then, Zoya breaks the silence with peals of hysterical, uncontrollable laughter. Once she starts, she can't stop, even as she realizes that every pair of eyes and cameras in the hall has turned to focus on her. Even when Sumaiya nudges her and murmurs something incomprehensible. Zoya clutches her stomach and doubles over in laughter.

Hamza is no longer smiling at her, his eyes reproachful and critical. For some reason this irks Zoya, and she finally quiets down. She hiccups, pressing her fist into her mouth to stifle the laughter threatening to pour out.

Zaki Ahmed is no longer smiling smugly at her. Instead, he scowls, shaking off his employees' hand when he tries to lift him up. He's shed the facade of playing nice, casting aside the mask of false friendliness.

"Sorry," Zoya says, her lips still curved in a smilee. "Are you alright?"

Before anyone else has a chance to react, a shrill voice echoes around the hall and footsteps thud towards the crowd.

"Help!" someone screams. Zoya scrutinizes the woman running into the hall, and realizes that it's the same woman whom she had seen when they first entered the hall. She looks far from composed — her hair is a mess, lipstick badly smeared, mascara running down her face. Her shirt hangs loosely off one shoulder, as if it was used to drag her around.

She begins to sob. "This man is trying to harass me!" Crying out, she points to the entrance.

Where none other than Haroun Suleiman stands.

His eyes widen, and for a moment they lock with Zoya's. There's a clear message in them. I didn't do anything.

Gasps and murmurs break out all across the hall. The attendees' eyes flicker from the woman to Haroun, who stands there mutely, his tie haphazardly hanging from his neck. Several men rush towards him furiously, attempting to grab him, but security releases him from their clutches.

At the far end of the hall, Farhan stares at the scene unfolding before him, mouth open in a wide O. He pushes forward.

Zoya elbows her way past the throng of guests and sweeps towards the commotion, Sumaiya following closely behind. Upon approaching the woman, Zoya says, "Woah, woah, woah, excuse me? What did you just say?" Her heart is thumping frantically.

"This man tried to harass me!" she shouts. "I was heading outside for some fresh air and he came out and attacked me from behind! He grabbed my shirt and pulled me to him and — and —" Unable to complete her sentence, she shakes with raucous sobs and falls to her knees. Some women approach her and help her stand, consoling her.

Zoya is unable to control the laugh that bubbles from her lips. For the second time, confused gazes turn to her. "You're insane. That man would never harm an ant, never mind a woman. You're mistaken," she says firmly. Turning to Haroun, she silently wills him to look up at her and when he does, his eyes harbor the same urgent message: I didn't do it.

Zoya scoffs internally. As if you need to prove that to me, Haroun Suleiman.

The sobbing woman collapses against the women holding her up. "No, I'm not! He tried to harass me and I barely just got away." She continues to sob hysterically, and Zoya resists the urge to roll her eyes. Yet her heart begins to beat more frantically.

Why would this woman accuse Haroun of such a vile thing?

She turns back to him. Anyone with eyes would be able to tell that he didn't take any part in this vile act.