Hanadi charged into the room, her steps stumbling in a staged frenzy before Akram and Hadeel could even reach the threshold. She threw herself over her father's bed as he struggled for his final breaths, clutching his trembling hand and sobbing loudly:
— "Do you see, Dad? Do you see what Akram did? He brought his wife right to your door... no respect for my pain or the sanctity of death. He's here to humiliate me in front of you, as if telling me your promise means nothing!"
The old man's face went ghostly pale. His eyes flickered with a sharp, pained sorrow as they landed on the doorway, where Akram stood with Hadeel right behind him, composed and unnervingly calm. The father tried to speak, but only a choked rattle escaped his throat:
— "Akram... why, my son...?"
At that exact second, the monitors hooked to his body erupted in a frantic beep, signaling a dangerous spike in his heart rate. Akram rushed toward the bed, panicked:
— "Uncle! I didn't mean—I just—"
Hanadi cut him off with a hysterical scream, physically shoving him away from the bed:
— "Get away from him! Haven't you done enough? Are you and her here to finish him off? Get out! I don't want to see either of you!"
She shot a venomous look at Hadeel, who was watching the scene with piercing, analytical eyes. Hadeel wasn't flinching; she was reading between the lines of the tears. She saw how Hanadi's eyes darted toward the heart monitors—checking for the "success" of her provocation.
Doctors and nurses swarmed the room, pushing everyone out into the hallway. Akram stood in the corridor, leaning his head against the wall in total despair. That's when Hanadi moved in, trembling with calculated fragility, collapsing against his chest in a perfectly timed "weak" moment.
— "If anything happens to my father, I'll never forgive myself for letting you come... and I'll never forgive you, Akram," she whispered through her sobs.
Hadeel stood two paces away, watching Hanadi's fingers grip Akram's shirt with a death stare. She realized right then that the war had moved from the living room to the soul. Hanadi was willing to emotionally sacrifice her own father just to reclaim her grip on Akram.
Coldly, and without even looking at Hanadi, Hadeel addressed Akram:
— "Akram, the man is in God's hands now. Tears won't save him, and theatrics won't change the truth. I'll be waiting in the cafeteria. I'll leave the 'grieving daughter' to her duties."
Hadeel gave Hanadi one last look that made the blood freeze in her veins—a look that said clearly: "I see right through you, and the game is just beginning."
The tension in the hospital corridor was suffocating. Through the small glass window of the ICU, they watched the medical team hovering over Hanadi's father. After a few agonizing minutes, the frantic beeping of the heart monitor slowed down into a steady, rhythmic pulse.
The doctor stepped out, wiping his forehead. "He's stable for now, but his heart is extremely fragile. He can't handle any more emotional shocks. He's asking for Akram... but please, only one or two people at most. He needs absolute quiet."
Hanadi didn't waste a single second. She turned to Akram, her eyes glistening with a desperate, calculated vulnerability. She grabbed his arm, her voice a sharp whisper:
— "Akram, please... you heard the doctor. My father is hanging by a thread, and he's asking for you. He needs to see us together, just the two of us, to find peace before it's too late. Please, tell Hadeel to leave. Her being here is a ticking time bomb for his heart. Don't let him die with a broken spirit because of this... conflict."
Akram felt the walls closing in. The guilt was like lead in his chest. He looked at Hadeel, his eyes pleading for understanding, but the words were stuck in his throat. He couldn't risk the man's life, but he couldn't face the coldness in Hadeel's gaze either.
Hadeel didn't wait for him to speak. She saw the trap Hanadi was weaving—an attempt to isolate Akram and play on his conscience without anyone there to challenge her lies. Hadeel stepped back, a chillingly calm smile playing on her lips.
— "Don't stress yourself out, Akram. I'm leaving. Go in and play your part in this 'family reunion.' But remember... I'm not leaving because I'm defeated. I'm leaving because I refuse to breathe the same air as a liar."
She turned on her heels and walked away, her footsteps echoing with a haunting confidence. She knew the fight wasn't over; it was just moving to a darker phase. As she reached the hospital exit, she pulled out her phone, her eyes flashing with a new, secret resolve.
Hadeel unlocked the door to their apartment, the silence inside feeling heavier than the chaos she had just left at the hospital. The moment the door clicked shut, the icy mask of the "strong wife" shattered. She allowed the raw, wounded woman inside her to finally surface.
She collapsed onto the bed, her body trembling as hot tears finally escaped, tracing bitter paths down her cheeks. She buried her face in the pillow, seeking a moment of peace, but instead, a sharp, familiar scent pierced through her senses.
It wasn't Akram's scent.
She froze. Her breath hitched as she inhaled the lingering notes of a cologne she knew all too well—a scent that used to mean something else, but now felt like venom. It was Majed's perfume. The realization hit her like a physical blow, turning her grief into a chilling mix of disgust and terror. The pillow didn't smell of home anymore; it smelled of the man who had become her greatest nightmare.
He couldn't tear his eyes away from the screen. Majed was completely captivated, his lips twisting into a depraved, self-satisfied smile. Through the lens of the microscopic camera hidden behind the frame in the bedroom, Hadeel was fully visible. She walked in after a long shower, wrapped only in a large white bath towel. Her hair, still damp and tied up loosely, highlighted her long, delicate neck and shoulders.
Every move she made was laid bare. As she began to look for clothes to change into, oblivious to the intrusion, the towel loosened, exposing the subtle curves of her back and limbs. Majed's breathing grew heavy, a sick mix of victory and twisted lust surging through him.
"Perfect," he whispered, his finger tapping the screen where she appeared on his phone. This wasn't just about the body he had always desired, or about breaking Akram's pride. It was about possession. Now, he had her. Every private detail, every moment she thought was secure, was captured for him to use, to admire, or to destroy. He felt a rush of adrenaline as he thought about Hanadi's text message demanding a "deafening" scandal. He was about to deliver something far more powerful than she could have imagined.
Majed leaned back on his sofa, the room dark except for the eerie glow of his phone screen. He hit "replay" for the tenth time, his eyes wide and glazed with a dark, suffocating lust. He wasn't just watching; he was consuming her.
He zoomed in, tracing the screen with a trembling finger. He was captivated by her slender, athletic frame—the way her skin glistened with leftover droplets of water. His gaze lingered on her legs, long and toned, reminding him of a high-end runway model, moving with a grace she didn't even know she possessed in her private moment.
But it was when the towel slipped further that his breath truly hitched. The camera captured the delicate, firm curve of her breasts, revealing her soft, rose-pink nipples that stood out against her pale skin from the chill of the room. Every detail was high-definition, raw, and devastatingly beautiful. To Majed, this wasn't just a video for a scandal anymore; it was a masterpiece of his own sick obsession. He felt a surge of twisted power knowing that while Akram was busy playing the "hero" at the hospital, Hadeel's most intimate secrets were already in his pocket.
Majed's grip tightened on his phone until his knuckles turned white, his imagination running wild with the possibilities. The high-definition glow of the screen reflected in his dark, hungry eyes as he watched Hadeel move across the room.
"I wish I had you between my hands right now," he hissed into the empty room, his voice thick with a mix of obsession and malice. He could almost feel the phantom sensation of her damp skin under his fingertips and the warmth of her body that he had been craving for so long. To him, she wasn't just a woman anymore; she was a prize he had finally cornered.
The thought of her being so close yet so oblivious to his gaze drove him to a fever pitch. He imagined the look of pure terror—and then broken submission—on her face if he were to walk through that door at this very second. While Akram was busy playing the devoted son-in-law at the hospital, Majed was already mentally claiming what he believed was rightfully his. He leaned closer to the screen, his thumb tracing the curve of her lips on the display, a demonic smirk spreading across his face. The "scandal" Hanadi wanted was coming, but Majed was starting to realize he wanted Hadeel all to himself first.
Majed didn't waste another second. He dialed Hanadi's number, his voice low and vibrating with a sinister urgency.
— "Keep Akram with you for as long as possible. Don't let him leave that hospital. I'm making my move right now."
On the other end, Hanadi's eyes flashed with a cold, desperate triumph. She didn't ask questions; she didn't need to. The thought of Akram and Hadeel together was a poison she was willing to do anything to neutralize.
— "Consider it done," she whispered, looking toward the ICU door where Akram stood. "I'll do whatever it takes. He won't be heading home tonight. Not to her. Just finish what you started."
She hung up, a dark smile playing on her lips as she prepared to weave her next web of lies to keep Akram by her side, while Majed set out to violate the one sanctuary Hadeel thought she had left.