"The clothing stores are on the second and third floors, we can start there."
"Alright. Mr. Fahad." Fahad turned toward the escalators. Maya followed.
A group of girls stood near the railing of the —second-floor walkway, leaning over just enough to get a clear view of the atrium below.
There were four of them, all holding shopping bags or phones, all talking and laughing among themselves. They had been absorbed in their own world.
Then one of them glanced down. And froze. She didn't say anything at first. She just stopped mid-sentence, her mouth slightly open, her eyes fixed on the figure below.
Her friend nudged her, annoyed at being interrupted — and then followed her gaze.
One by one, the other three went silent.
For a moment, none of them moved. They simply stood there, leaning over the railing, staring down at Fahad as he walked across the marble floor.
"Wait...is that...is that him?" The second girl squinted. She pressed her hand against the railing and leaned forward a little more.
As if getting closer would somehow confirm what her eyes were already telling her. "Oh my God. Oh my God. That's Fahad Sunayana. That's actually Fahad Sunayana."
The third girl — the one with the designer bag and the perfectly styled hair — let out a small, disbelieving laugh.
"No. No, it can't be. The Sunayana family doesn't come to places like this. They don't walk through malls. They have people for that. "
"It's him," the first girl insisted. "Look at him. Look at his face. That's him. That's definitely him."
The fourth girl, who had been silent until now, finally spoke.
"I've only ever seen him in business articles. In those fancy profiles they do on billionaires. I always thought the photos were edited.
You know — touched up, filtered, all that." She paused. Her eyes followed Fahad as he moved through the crowd.
"They weren't. They really weren't."
The second girl let out a breath. She pressed a hand to her chest as if checking that her heart was still beating.
"He's... he's even better looking in person. How is that possible? How is that fair? Some people get everything."
The first girl nodded slowly. "I know. I know. I feel like I need to sit down."
"You are sitting down. You're leaning on the railing."
"Then I need to sit down more."
The second girl let out a dreamy sigh. "Look at his jaw. I've never seen a jaw like that in my life."
"His eyes," the first girl whispered. "Look at his eyes. They're gray like storm clouds like — like something poetic."
"Stop, stop," the third girl said, laughing. "You're going to write a poem about his eyes. I can see that on your face."
"I might."
The escalator carried them upward — Fahad standing perfectly still on one step, his hand resting lightly on the black rail, his gaze fixed somewhere ahead.
Maya one step behind and to his left, small and silent, her gloved hands folded in front of her.
Neither of them looked back.
Near the fountain, the group of teenagers had not moved.
One of her friends — a girl with long braided hair and a bright pink jacket, leaned in close."That's him. That's actually him."
"Who?"
"Fahad Sunayana."
The boy beside her frowned. "Sunayana? Like the—"
"Like the Sunayana family. The biggest business family in the country . My father works for one of their subsidiaries."
The girl with the phone finally lowered it. "He's even better looking in person. I swear to God,
My mother is going to lose her mind when I tell her. She has been obsessed with that family for years, she says they're like Royalty. Actual royalty."
Near the jewelry store, the woman in the cream coat had not moved either. She was standing perfectly still.
Her friend — a woman in a red blouse, holding two cups of coffee — walked up beside her and followed her gaze. "What are you looking at?"
"That man. The one who just walked past. The tall one. Dark navy shirt. Gray eyes."
The friend squinted toward the escalator. "I don't see — Okay? So? Handsome guy in a mall. Happens."
"No. You don't understand. That was Fahad Sunayana."
The friend's coffee cups tilted slightly. "Wait. The Fahad Sunayana? The CEO? The one—"
"The one who's been on the cover of every business magazine for the last three years."
One of them the taller one, in a gray hoodie was scrolling furiously through his phone. "I found him. I found him. Look."
He shoved the phone toward his friend. On the screen was a photo — a formal portrait, Fahad Sunayana, twenty-three years old, in a dark suit.
The headline beneath read:
"THE YOUNGEST CEO IN THE COUNTRY'S HISTORY."
"That's him," the boy said. "That's literally him. I'm not making this up."
The four girl's eyes glued to the elevator. But they weren't looking at the elevator now. They were looking at her.
The first girl — the one who had leaned over the railing and nearly lost her balance, "Who does she think she is?"
The second girl glanced at her. "What?"
"Look at her. She's not even pretty. She's not even trying. She's wearing a plain black dress and gloves — gloves — in this weather.
And she's walking next to Fahad Sunayana like she deserves to be there."
The third girl let out a humorless laugh. "You're jealous."
The first girl's cheeks flushed. "I am not—"
"You are. And you know what? It's fine. We're all a little jealous. Look at her, she's walking through a mall with the most eligible bachelor in the country.
The most powerful bachelor. The one every girl in this city has dreamed about at least once. And she looks like she's going to a funeral."
"That's not a sad face," the third girl said. "She's just... there like a piece of furniture."
"A very expensive piece of furniture," the second girl murmured. "If she's with him."
The second girl sighed dreamily. "Maybe he likes simple girls. Maybe he's tired of all the glamorous ones throwing themselves at him."
The first girl frowned. "That's...quite dark."
The four girls exchanged a look — the kind of look that needed no words. Then, without a single one of them saying it out loud, they moved.
They followed. They kept their distance, drifting from storefront to storefront, pausing to pretend interest in window displays they didn't see.
"He's heading toward the east wing, that's where all the high-end stores are."
"Of course it is," the second girl whispered back. "Where else would he go?"
The first girl — the one who had called Maya 'not even pretty' — kept her eyes fixed on the small figure walking half a step behind Fahad. Maya walked beside Fahad without a word. Her dark eyes moved slowly.
She noted the cameras mounted near the ceiling. The emergency exits at the end of each corridor.
They're following us, Yama's voice drifted through her mind, lazy and amused.
Four of them. A jealous one, a dreamy one, a calculating one, and a quiet one.
Maya didn't respond.
The mall's east wing was different, the floor beneath their feet shifted from polished tile to pale marble.
The noise of the atrium faded behind them, replaced by a hush that felt almost reverent.
The storefronts here did not display prices.
Fahad moved at an unhurried pace, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone. Maya followed half a step behind. They passed several clothing stores.
Bright displays. Mannequins dressed in seasonal collections. Large signs announcing new arrivals and private sales .... Maya's eyes moved across them without lingering.
Fahad barely looked. As they passed another storefront, something caught his attention.....
He slowed, his gaze shifted toward the store beside them.
It was different from the others, it was the largest, though It wasn't the most brightly lit but there was something about it — a stillness that made it feel more important than the others.
The name above the door was a single word, written in thin silver letters. ÉLYSÉE.
He stopped in front of the store and turned to Maya. "This one."
"Alright,Mr. Fahad."
[TEN MINUTES LATER]
Fahad sat on the deep ivory sofa near the fitting rooms, one leg crossed over the other, his phone held loosely in his right hand. His thumb moved across the screen.
Unhurried as he scrolled through the file his assistant had sent him. Quarterly projections from the Singapore branch.
And right now, that was useful.
Beside him, the store manager stood with her hands folded in front of her, her name was Farida. She had managed ÉLYSÉE for eleven years.
Fahad Sunayana. The name sat in her chest like a coin she had swallowed. The eldest son. The CEO OF SUNAYANA GROUP.
I had seen him once before in a photograph. It had been a long time ago. Two years, maybe three. The one the business press called the quiet one.
He is younger than my nephew, she thought. My nephew who still calls me to ask how to boil rice.
And he runs half the city.
Mmm ... and The girl who had walked in half a step behind him, not a sister at first. Too different. Not the same way of standing.
Then she had watched him. Oh...., she thought.
She is his ..... Not in the way that phrase usually meant.
She was his the way something was yours when you had been searching for it for a very long time and had finally found it and were now terrified of losing it again.
I had seen that look before... She did not smile. She never smiled in front of customers, unless they smiled first. It was one of her rules.
Fahad scrolled past a page of numbers. Stopped. Scrolled back up,"How long."
Farida blinked. "Sir?"
"The fitting room, How long does this usually take."
"Ahh ..... Oh, sir, " She glanced toward the row of closed doors at the back of the store. "It depends on the client, sir. For most — perhaps ten to fifteen minutes. "
She was still talking. Then, the fitting room door opened. Fahad looked up from the phone on his knee.And then he stopped seeing anything at all.
Maya stepped out.She was wearing a silk shirt in a shade of navy blue so deep it seemed to hold the light rather than reflect it.
The fabric moved with her, catching the warm glow of the boutique's chandeliers and turning it into something quieter, something that belonged only to her.
The sleeves were full, falling just past her wrists. The collar framed her neck gently. Beneath the shirt, she wore black trousers, falling in a clean line to her ankles.
Her gloves covered her hands. Her glasses sat on her nose, the frames slim and delicate. The dark hair was pinned back with that plain silver clip.
And somehow— somehow the combination of all these small, understated things came together into something that was not understated at all.
Fahad did not blink. For a moment, his mind—simply went blank. Something inside him shifted.
She is my sister. My sister.I have a sister now.
Since when did I start thinking of her that way?
The thought felt strangely unfamiliar. He almost wanted to correct himself.
No .... No. She's just someone who came into our lives yesterday. Then why does that sound wrong? But she doesn't even look at us like family.
She called Mother Mrs. Sunayana. Father Mr. Mahim. As if there were a wall between them.
His jaw tightened slightly. She's my sister now whether she believes it or not.
The thought unsettled him more than the rest.
That's ridiculous. What am i thinking??
The saleswoman had gone very still. Her pen had stopped moving. Her mouth had opened slightly, then closed again.
Fahad closed the phone. "...That one. And every other piece in this style. Every color you have."
The woman's pen hovered over her notepad. "Sir? Every — sir, the collection has twelve pieces in this line."
"Then pack all twelve. The shirts. This cut. And the trousers. Whatever fits this..." He gestured vaguely at Maya. "All of it. Pack it."
The woman's composure — cracked — the brief widening of eyes that comes when a commission has just tripled in front of you.
"Of course, sir. Right away. I'll have our team—"
"Wrap each one separately."
"Yes, sir."
She turned and hurried toward the back of the store, calling softly to another staff member. Her heels clicked against the polished floor, faster now, almost eager.
"Mr. Fahad." Maya's voice was quiet. Fahad turned to look at her. "That's not necessary."
"It is necessary."
"It's not. You've already bought me one outfit. That's enough."
"It's not enough."
"Mr. Fahad—"
Fahad ran a hand through his hair—a rare gesture, almost unconscious.
"You came to our house last night with nothing but the clothes on your back and a schoolbag .
You didn't even bring the things a person keeps because they can't bear to throw them away."
He paused. His gray eyes held hers.
"I noticed last night. And this morning, you wore the same things. So yes. It is necessary."
The boutique was quiet.
The saleswoman had frozen halfway to the back room, pretending very hard not to hear anything.
Maya looked at Fahad. At the faint tension in his shoulders. "...But twelve pieces is too many."
Fahad did not answer. He simply turned his head toward the saleswoman — Farida, who was still frozen halfway to the back room with her notepad pressed against her chest
— and gave a small nod. Farida understood immediately. She disappeared into the back.
Maya watched her go. Then she looked back at Fahad. "Mr. Fahad."
He didn't look at her. He was scrolling through his phone again. Or pretending to. "You heard me. And you're ignoring me."
"I'm not ignoring you." His thumb moved across the screen. "I'm disagreeing with you."
"That's the same thing."
"You're direct," he said.
Fahad stood up.He adjusted his cuffs that same unconscious gesture he'd made a hundred times today — and looked at Maya. "Let's go."
"Alright, Mr. Fahad." She turned toward the door.
Fahad stood there for a second longer than necessary. Then, he followed her out.
[TWENTY MINUTES LATER]
The car pulled away from the mall and merged into the slow current of evening traffic. The city rolled past the windows in long, blurred ribbons.
Maya sat with her hands folded in her lap, her gaze turned toward the window. The glass —reflected her face faintly.
Then the car slowed.
It was the tallest building in the city. It dominated the block the way a mountain dominates a valley by presence. Dark glass climbed thirty-two floors toward the sky.
S U N A Y A N A G R O U P
The car turned into a private driveway lined with low hedges and sleek black bollards. A security barrier lifted automatically as they approached.
The driveway curved gently and ended beneath a broad stone portico. The car eased to a stop.
Maya reached for the door handle. She stepped out before Fahad could come around. Evening air met her.
The tower rose above her, until the topmost windows seemed to touch the fading sky.
Fahad stepped out of the car and closed the door behind him. He walked around to stand beside her. For a moment, he glanced at her — at the way she was looking at the building.
Near the entrance, a man was waiting. He was young — mid-twenties, perhaps — with neatly parted dark hair and a slim black tablet tucked under one arm.
He had been watching the driveway. The moment Fahad stepped out of the car, he started forward.
Then he saw Maya. And his steps faltered. Just slightly. Just for half a second.
Fahad noticed. "Assistant Rahat."
Rahat recovered instantly and stepped forward, bowing his head. "Sir. Welcome back."
Then he straightened — and his eyes moved to Maya. He had worked for Fahad Sunayana for four years.
He had never once been caught off guard. But now—She was small. The top of her head barely reached Fahad's shoulder.
And her hands were covered in gloves.Thin black gloves—the kind someone might wear in winter. But it was spring.
The air was warm and this girl was standing in the middle of a corporate plaza wearing gloves as though they were part of her skin. Rahat's eyes moved up to her face.
Her expression was completely, unnervingly calm. She was looking at everything—with a attention that made the back of his neck prickle.
He had seen that look before. In Fahad, during a negotiation. In Mahim.In a photograph of the late Sunayana patriarch that hung in the boardroom.
A man who had built an empire by seeing everything and revealing nothing.
Rahat realized, with a small jolt, that he had been staring. He lowered his gaze immediately and bowed again—deeper this time, more formal. "Miss. Welcome to Sunayana Group."
Maya inclined her head politely. "Thank you, Mr. Rahat."
Rahat blinked. Mr. Rahat.
In four years, no one had ever called him that.
He had been called Rahat. Assistant Rahat. Hey, you, by clients who didn't know his first name.
He straightened, slightly flustered and glanced toward Fahad. "Inside," Fahad said to Maya.
Maya nodded once. Then she turned and began walking toward the revolving doors.
Her small, gloved hands folded loosely in front of her —her steps making no sound on the polished stone.
Rahat leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice to barely a murmur. "Sir… who is she?"
Fahad watched the doors close behind her."My sister."
Rahat's eyes widened. His mouth opened.
"Your—sir, I didn't know you had a sis—"
"Neither did I."
Fahad walked forward without another word.
Rahat stood frozen for a second, processing.
Then he hurried after him, tablet clutched against his chest, mind already scrambling to rearrange everything he thought he knew about.