It wasn't thunder. It wasn't some explosion. Just silence. Deafening, pressing silence.
Layla knew something was wrong before she even stepped out of the room. Something in her chest — like pressure, or instinct — like her bones already knew the truth before her mind did.
She went downstairs barefoot. The tiles were cold. She didn't even realise her fingers were trembling until she reached for the doorknob of her father's study and missed it the first time.
The door creaked.
And there he was. Kamal. Sitting. Not visiting. Not waiting.
Sitting in her father's chair.
Her heart dropped. Mouth went dry. Her voice was somewhere in her throat, stuck.
"Where's Ayah?" she asked. The words came out wrong. Like she was choking.
Kamal didn't look at her. Didn't blink. Just casually placed his fingers on the edge of the desk. "Gone."
Layla didn't understand. She blinked once. Twice. "Gone where?"
He finally looked at her. "Dead, Layla. He died tonight. A heart attack. That's what the paramedics said."
No panic. No emotion. Like he was reading the weather.
Her mother stood nearby, holding her own arms like she was trying to keep herself from falling apart. Her lips trembled. Her eyes red. She didn't speak.
It didn't make sense. Her father was fine this morning. They had dinner. He was even laughing at something Irfan said. She remembered. She remembered.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Layla snapped, louder now.
Kamal leaned back. "Look, I know this is hard, but things move fast. The company — the house — all of it has to be stabilised. Your father wasn't in a good place financially. I've stepped in. I had to."
She stared at him. The words didn't make sense. They just—bounced off her.
He slid a folder across the desk. "There's a new will."
"No. No, you're lying."
"I'm not." He didn't flinch. "You can verify it. Legal team already did."
She opened the folder with trembling hands. The words on the page danced. Her eyes skipped lines. But she saw the signatures. His signature.
Her father's.
Transferred shares. Transferred house. Transferred everything.
Gone.
"You forged this," she whispered.
"I didn't."
"You killed him."
Kamal stood up. His voice low. "Don't say things you'll regret. I'm the only reason this family isn't on the street already. And guess what — that changes tonight. You have until sunrise."
"No. No, you can't—"
"Try me."
There were guards outside. Police. Real ones. Probably paid. Probably didn't care.
Layla clenched her fists. Her chest burned. She looked at her mother, still frozen. Irfan wasn't there. Thank God.
"You won't get away with this," she said, each word heavier than the last.
Kamal just smirked.
He walked past her without another word.
By the time they were standing outside, bags hastily packed, dawn was bleeding into the sky. The mansion gates closed with a hard metallic slam.
Layla didn't cry. Not yet.
But inside, something cracked. Something important. And it didn't heal.
Not that night.
Not ever.
She looked at
the house one last time.
And then she made herself a promise:
This wasn't over.