⚠️ Trigger Warning: This chapter includes mentions of suicide, self-harm, and drug use. Please take care while reading.
We were halfway to Marindvor when Imran said, "So. How'd the meeting go?"
I didn't answer at first. Just stared out the window, watching Sarajevo shift past us—steel and stone and memory.
"I take it you didn't charm the room?" he added.
"I got through it," I said.
"That bad?"
I exhaled. "Let's just say your sister didn't exactly roll out the welcome mat."
Imran laughed. "She gave you the look, didn't she?"
"She gave me about four of them."
"Which one hurt the most?"
"The one where she ordered me to rework her shipment sequence and have it live by Friday—then told me to draft a backup schedule by Thursday."
He winced. "Oof. Classic Lamija. Efficient and mildly terrifying."
"She gave Emir my slot."
Imran blinked. "Emir?"
I nodded, jaw tight. "Client-facing work. She threw me under Jasmina like I needed onboarding."
I leaned back, the frustration creeping up again. "I've worked beside you for years, Imran. I know the company inside out—the systems, the shortcuts, the politics. And she handed me off like I was still figuring out how the printer works."
"You pissed?"
I didn’t answer.
Imran smirked. "You’re pissed."
"I'm better than Emir."
That shut him up.
Even Imran didn't have a comeback for that.
I shook my head. "She's your sister. I get it—she's brilliant. Sharp as hell. But she's not the only one in the room who knows what they're doing. I’ve handled the things you couldn’t touch. Quietly. Completely. The things your father couldn’t afford to have blow back. I've earned my seat. I'm not a rookie"
Imran didn’t argue.
Because he couldn’t.
I leaned back, watching the highway curl beneath us. "She doesn’t know who I am. She sees a name on a transfer order. Another executive file. She doesn’t see the rooms I’ve cleaned to keep hers clear."
"That’s not fair," Imran said. "She doesn’t know what you’ve done—because we made sure she didn’t."
"Exactly."
He looked over, brows raised. "And now you’re mad she doesn’t treat you like a weapon?"
I didn’t say anything.
Because he wasn’t wrong.
But I didn’t like hearing it.
He exhaled. "She’s not punishing you, Ayub. She’s pushing you."
I looked over. "You want to tell me the difference?"
"You think she hands power out like party favors? She’ll fight you. Every day. Just to make sure you don’t stop swinging."
"Then she picked the wrong opponent."
Imran grinned. "You say that like you’re not halfway in love with her already."
I didn’t blink. "There’s nothing halfway about it."
Imran paused, then smirked. "But hey—Jasmina's nice."
I gave him a look. "She's too nice. And she flirts."
He tilted his head. "And that's a problem?"
"After the way your sister looked at me?" I muttered. "I don't have the bandwidth for... soft confusion. Not when she's in the room setting things on fire."
Imran burst out laughing. "My sweet little sister has had you wrapped around her finger since day one."
I snorted. "There's nothing sweet about Lamija."
"Really?" he grinned. "Because from where I was standing, it looked like she had you flirting for your life."
"She demoted me. In front of the team."
"So naturally, your response was to look her dead in the eye and say, 'If you want me to stay, just say so.'"
"I was trying to claim some ground," I muttered.
"You claimed something alright. She's going to set you on fire by Thursday."
I gave him a dry look. "I didn't even say it that dramatically."
"You didn't have to. The way you said it? Selma stopped breathing."
I rubbed a hand over my jaw.
"And then," Imran continued gleefully, "you dropped the Emir line like it was nothing. 'The spot beside you isn't his'? That's not just claiming ground, Ayub. That's kicking in the damn door."
I didn't answer.
Mostly because he wasn't wrong.
It hadn't even been a full day, and I was already off balance.102Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLou8amxqKm
Trying to keep up.102Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡM1cELuwHA7
Trying not to look too hard.102Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGh9KH2jW75
Trying not to want what I couldn't afford to chase.
I let the silence stretch between us after that—let it settle, heavy and unspoken.
A few minutes later, Imran turned the wheel sharply, pulling us off the main road.
We rolled to a stop outside a chain-link fence.
Marindvor.
Imran killed the engine. "Alright. Back to business."
I stepped out and looked around—old warehouse, cracked cement, steel framing still strong.102Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡq8l1Vji5Zv
The bones of something that could become more.
"This it?" I asked.
"Used to be a textile plant. We’re turning it into a gym."
I blinked. "For who?"
"Talha."
That made me pause. I turned fully toward him.
"He's not going to leave the docks on his own. He'll break himself before he ever asks for help. But if we build this—if it feels like an investment, not a handout—he might take it."
I nodded, slow. Took in the building. Cracked concrete, rusted siding. Sturdy bones beneath it all. "How'd you get Husein to sign off?"
"I didn't," Imran said.
That got my full attention.
"Lamija and I bought it. Quietly. No paperwork on the company grid. Just us."
I looked at him. Really looked.
"You think he’s going to take it?"
"He has to."
That was the truth. Raw and sharp.
He nodded. "Babo doesn't know about it—and he can't, Ayub. We've been watching this lot for months. As soon as the lease expired, we moved."
"She went in on it?" I said before I could stop myself.
"Of course," Imran said. "She'd fight a bear for him."
And she has. Over and over again. That was Lamija. Fire in her veins and no brakes on her loyalty.
Imran was quiet beside me for a beat too long.
Then he said, "While I was in Vienna last week, they ran drug tests at the docks."
I stilled.
"Talha failed," he said. "Oxy. No prescription on file."
My stomach dropped. "Ya Rabbi. Does your father know?"
"No," Imran said. "Lamija handled it before it got to him. Called the family doctor. Got the script backdated and pushed through the system."
"She covered it?"
"She said Talha told her it was for pain. Ribs. Shoulders. Whatever he bruised last time."
I let that sit for a moment.
"He lie?" I asked.
Imran didn't answer right away. "Probably. Or maybe not. The problem is, he lies so much I don't think he even knows where the truth starts."
He rubbed a hand over his jaw. "Lamija believed him enough to make the call. Or maybe she didn't. Maybe she just didn't want Babo to get involved."
I nodded slowly, the weight of it pressing down between us.
We both knew what Talha was like when he was cornered.102Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuB0OtWuP2D
And what he was like when he was unraveling.
One made him dangerous.102Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡq1mVQ3nCat
The other made him reckless.
Neither version ended well.
"You think this gym fixes that?"
Imran paused. For once, no joke followed. Just a flicker of something tired around his eyes.
"If this gym doesn't work—if Talha spirals again—I won't forgive myself."
I didn't say anything. Just nodded.
The last time Talha spiraled, he was fourteen. He'd been a ticking time bomb for weeks—fighting at school, coming home wired with anger... and then silence. Days of it. He shut down on us completely.
Then came the call from his parents.
He was in the hospital.
There were ligature marks around his throat. He stuttered when he spoke. He still has that stutter, ten years later.
He tried to hang himself. Wrapped a belt around the shower rod in their bathroom.
After that, he push us all away. Shut down every attempt to reach him. But Imran and Lamija held on. Didn't let him disappear. They pulled him back slowly, inch by inch.
I don't think Imran forgiven himself for Talha's first spiral.
That was the thing about Imran—when he said it like that, you understood he meant every word. No armor. Just truth.
And this gym? It wasn't just a project.
It was a second chance.
"I think it gives him a choice," Imran said. "Something that's his. Legal."
“So why did you bring me here. You want me to handle the plans?”
Imran gave a dry laugh. “You don’t do plans.”
He leaned back, eyes scanning the empty lot before landing on me again.
“There’s a zoning issue,” he said. “One of the land use officers flagged it—suddenly it’s marked for protected renovation. Heritage site.”
I raised a brow. “It wasn’t flagged three months ago.”
“No. Because three months ago, no one knew we were buying it.”
I already knew where this was going.
“Who?”
“Old name. Greedy hands. Thinks a few government favors make him bulletproof. The Begović name on the buyer file didn’t scare him. Like he forgot who runs this city."
That told me everything.
Imran didn’t want negotiation.
He wanted silence.
“I want him cleared,” he said. Voice calm. “No appeals. No threats. I want him out of the way so fast he doesn’t remember why he was in it.”
I didn’t blink.
“Done.”
“I don’t need details,” he said, softer now.
“You won’t get them,” I replied.
Because that was how it worked.
He gave the target. I made the shot.
What followed wasn’t a conversation—it was consequence.
And Lamija would never know.
She’d walk into that gym one day, all fire and ambition, and never realize what had been buried under its foundation.
I took another long look at the space. The sun had started to drop just enough to cast long shadows across the cracked cement. In the quiet, I could almost hear the echo of what this place could become.
Heavy bags. Sparring gloves. Chalk dust. Laughter. Sweat. Order.
Not the chaos of the docks.102Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyil21NOXS8
Not the dark corners Talha disappeared into.102Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ63Q8O7Uk9O
Not the bruises he brushed off with half a joke and a shoulder roll.
I pictured him walking through those doors.102Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhjYBDtEj7S
Saying nothing.102Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIpPNMVJ2Ss
Just looking.
I imagined the way his jaw would tighten when he realized this wasn't a rescue—it was a responsibility.
"He won't say thank you," I muttered.
Imran grinned. "Wouldn't know what to do with it if he did."
The wind shifted slightly, carrying the smell of distant street vendors. A reminder that the world kept moving even when people like Talha stood still.
"You're serious about this?" I asked.
Imran gave me a sidelong glance. "Deadly. This isn't charity, Ayub. It's strategy. He's family. And if we want him to survive the long game, we can't keep letting him play short rounds."
I nodded, slowly.
"You ever think about what happens if it doesn't work?" I asked.
Imran didn't hesitate. "Then we try something else. We keep trying until it does."
I looked over at him. "You always make it sound simple."
"It's not," he said. "But we've been complicating things for so long, sometimes simple is the only way forward."
Then Imran said, “She was hard on you.”
It wasn’t a question.
I didn’t look at him. Just smirked slightly. “She thinks she’s sharp.”
“She is sharp.”
“She thinks I’m dull.”
Imran glanced over. “She thinks you’re safe.”
I let that sit. Let the weight of it press down like a hand on the back of my neck.
“She pokes,” I said finally. “Like I’m something she can manage.”
Imran laughed. “You don’t look like you mind.”
I rolled my jaw, slow. “It’s cute. Watching her try.”
“Cute,” he echoed. “You know you sound like a man about five seconds from putting someone on their knees.”
I didn’t respond.
He grinned. “She treats you like the quiet one. You really gonna let her keep thinking that?”
I shrugged. “It’s easier. Being overlooked.”
“For now.”
“For now,” I agreed.
Imran leaned back on his hands. “It’s gonna get worse, though. She knows you want her. You suck at hiding it.”
I kept my eyes on the horizon. Still. Quiet.
Then said, calm as ever,102Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwGYYWS2iCQ
“I want her to realize she’s been petting a predator.”
Imran exhaled a low whistle. “Ya Rabb. I should’ve left you in finance.”
I smirked. “Too late now.”
I stood, brushing cement dust off my pants. "You coming?"
"In a minute."
I left him there, letting the weight of it all sit on his shoulders.
As I headed back toward the car, one thought landed hard:
This wasn’t about being seen.
It never was.
It was about control. Precision. Leverage.
Let them think I’m the shadow.
Let her think I’m the quiet one—easy to dismiss, easier to manage.
Because when this place opens…
When the bags hang, and the lights hum, and Talha walks through those doors like he owns the air in his lungs—
I’ll be where I’ve always been—just behind the line.
Watching the angles.
Holding the threat at the door.
And making damn sure no one ever gets close enough to hurt them.
Not while I’m still breathing.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It's Monday.
Ayub went to a team meeting, got demoted, and then got sent to intimidate someone into zoning approval. All before lunch.
He’s fine.
He’s brooding, beautiful, probably armed with at least three contingency plans, and yes—still mad that Lamija treats him like a quiet intern instead of what he actually is: her father’s personal sniper with a PhD in silent obsession.
She’s giving “welcome to the team.”102Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJqqhODPQYK
He’s giving “I’ve buried threats for you.”
And Imran? He’s just watching it all unfold like a proud big brother-slash-chaos connoisseur.
This chapter carries a lot.102Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡErIfPcgBIY
Grief that lingers. Loyalty that hurts.102Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡblyhgNGTNz
And the kind of love that tries—over and over—to save someone who won't let you in.
Thanks for being here. Be gentle with yourself. And with the ones who go quiet.
-Ash&Olive
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