Chapter 3: The Drive Home

The night outside The Glass Room feels newly invented. Rain hovers in the air but doesn’t fall, caught between obedience and hesitation. The Maybach door opens, and Amira steps into leather that still remembers her shape from before. The city begins to slide backward. Soft, soundless, submissive. Inside, silence folds around her like an expensive secret. The faint hum of tires over wet tarmac becomes rhythm, not noise. The scent of oud lingers, threaded with citrus and smoke. Khalid sits beside her this time. No partition, no driver’s voice. Only presence.

“You looked afraid,” he says, tone calm as architecture.

“Confessions surrounded me.”

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