Arielle woke up to the filtered light seeping through the curtains of the guest wing in Kairo’s mansion. The room was quiet, only the faint hum of air conditioning breaking the silence. For a moment, lying still under the heavy duvet, she let herself imagine that she had dreamed everything—the confrontation at the ancestral house, her mother’s cold admission, the blunt words that stripped away what little she had clung to about family loyalty.
But reality never gave her mercy. The truth was still there, echoing in her ears, playing in her mind every time she blinked. Her mother had known. Her mother had buried the scandal without hesitation. There had been no tremor in her voice, no ounce of guilt, no sign of grief for Celine. Only business. Only politics.
Arielle forced herself to sit u
