Chapter 86 : Meeting with ShadowByte.

The Luca's Cafe hummed like a beehive buzzing with gossip and clinking spoons. Fairy lights winked like stars through leafy ceilings, casting warm pools of light on worn wooden tables. People talked over lattes and espressos, their voices mixing like spices in a warm stew.

ShadowByte, all dressed in black like a night shadow, sat in a corner of the cafe. His black-on-black outfit, from the polished blazer to the crisp trousers, whispered wealth in a hushed tone. 

His eyes flicked from the cafe's busy floor to his wristwatch. 7:02 PM. Two minutes past Farah's promised meet-up. He wasn't worried, though. Worry was for amateurs. He leaned back, sinking into the leather booth like a panther at rest. 

A young waiter with sun-bleached hair approached, his smile brighter than the fairy lights. "Good evening, sir. Ready to order?"

ShadowByte's voice was smooth as honey. "Not yet," he said, eyes glued to the cafe door. "Waiting for someone."

The waiter nodded politely. "Sure thing, sir. Take your time. We'll be here when you are."

Alone again, his sharp eyes subtly shifted to the entrance. Each tick of the second hand echoed like a hammer blow against his steely calm. His boots tapped a staccato rhythm against the floor.

Then, a splash of red! Farah, in a stunning knee-length dress, walked in. "Stunning," ShadowByte murmured, the word barely a whisper on his lips.

But the red tide receded. Behind Farah stood Elara, tall and brooding. Farah didn't came alone; she came with her boyfriend. He saw they were still standing near the entrance and talking something. 

ShadowByte's phone buzzed in his pocket, revealing Farah's name on the screen. Farah never saw ShadowByte's face, she was calling for his location. 

A smirk played on Shadowbyte's lips as he answered, "Table twenty-one?"

Farah's eyes darted across the cafe, landing on the designated table, "Gotcha, ShadowByte. See you in a minute."

As they reached table twenty-one, Elara's brow furrowed into a thunderous scowl. His eyes bored into ShadowByte, who rose to greet them with an smile. "Samir?" Elara spat?

ShadowByte, the elusive ShadowByte, was unveiled – Samir Rahman, brother to Ibrahim. Farah confusingly asked Elara, "How did you know ShadowByte?"

Samir stood and greeted them, "Yes, We know each other. I'm Samir Rahman. Ibrahim's brother."

Farah was confused. She hadn't anticipated this twist. She never met Samir and had only interacted with ShadowByte online a couple of times. Samir gestured them to sit and the trio settled on their chairs. For her, ShadowByte was just... ShadowByte.

"I thought you'd come alone." Samir told Farah. 

"You asked for a coffee treat from me, and I didn't bother specifying," Farah responded confidently. "Besides Elara and I always come here in the evenings."

Samir nodded and looked at Elara. Elara was glaring at him with fixed gazes. Samir understood that Elara wasn't pleased with him meeting Farah. He recognised the warning signs of possessiveness, of jealousy.

Samir extended the menu toward Farah, "Feel free to order."

Farah insisted, "No, no. You're getting the treat, so you should order."

Samir chuckled, "I'd rather know your choice of coffee, Farah. It's your taste I want to indulge, not mine." His gaze lingered on Farah a beat too long. Elara felt a primal urge to punch him, to wipe that smug smirk off his face.

He crossed his arms, his death glare fixed on Samir. He wasn't getting good vibes from this guy. Wasn't it enough that Ibrahim had taken his sister? It wasn't just the Rahman blood coursing through Samir's veins that raised Elara's hackles – it was the way Samir's eyes lingered on Farah a beat too long, the way his smile. His smile was disgusting. Was Samir attempting to snatch Farah? The Rahman brothers, it seemed, had a penchant for stealing what wasn't theirs. Was that their hobby? Elara's fists clenched, his police instincts screaming at him to intervene.

Elara cleared his throat. "Let me order," he declared. He snatched the menu from Samir, his eyes flashing a challenge.

The waiter came again and Elara rattled off their orders with the practiced ease of a man accustomed to taking charge.

Meanwhile, Farah enjoyed the fact that Elara was getting jealous. A secret thrill ran through her as she watched her boyfriend stake his claim.

"So, Farah, what else are you a pro at besides hacking?" Samir inquired.

Farah opened her mouth to reply, but Elara interjected, "She's also a pro at beating up people like you. Want a demo?"

Samir chuckled, "No thanks, I'm good." He tried to regain his footing, "You two seem pretty close."

"Yes, we have a great understanding. We're doing well in our relationship." Farah replied.

Samir nodded, "Yeah, it seems like that."

Elara's grip tightened on the menu. He knew Samir was trying to probe for weaknesses, to find a way to wedge himself into their relationship. But Elara wouldn't let him. He wouldn't let another Rahman tear apart someone he cared about.

He met Samir's gaze, his voice a low growl. "We're fine, Samir. Don't worry about us."

The waiter arrived, his tray laden with steaming coffee and pastries. Farah reached for her latte, the whipped cream swirling like a miniature snowstorm. "So, ShadowByte," she began, "you knew I was bubbly-snowflake all along?" Bubbly-snowflake was Farah's online alias.

Samir stammered, ""Uh, yeah. It was only recently. You dropped your real name by accident during a group chat."

"Really? I must have been engrossed in some heated coding debate. And I don't have any idea that you are ShadowByte. I have never seen you before." Farah muttered, swirling the contents of her cup.

Samir raised his cup, taking a cautious sip. His brow furrowed as the bitter tang of the coffee hit his tongue. He wasn't a coffee aficionado, preferring the soothing sweetness of chai. Elara, seated across from him, couldn't help but smirk. He intentionally ordered the worst-rated coffee for Samir. The coffee was almost burnt flavour that assaulted his taste buds. 

Samir cleared his throat, attempting to mask his distaste. "Actually, I saw you once," he started looking at Farah, "Outside your university, I was picking up Ava."

"Makes sense," Farah murmured. This revelation didn't faze Farah. Ava was her best friend, seeing her near the campus was hardly noteworthy. And it wasn't a lie. He had seen Farah there, radiant as the sun, chatting animatedly with his sister-in-law. 

 However, Elara's eyes narrowed. "Picking Ava up, or keeping tabs on Farah?" he questioned. 

Farah's head snapped towards Elara, surprise etching lines on her forehead. Was Elara suggesting Samir was… stalking her? The mere thought sent a shiver down her spine, a chilling reminder of how Ibrahim had stalked Ava before orchestrating her abduction. And Samir, after all, was Ibrahim's brother.

Samir met Elara's gaze, his jaw clenched. "I don't stalk, officer," he said curtly. "I'm a man of direct approach. And in this case, my approach is simply wanting to befriend Farah."

....

The Rahman Mansion stood under a cloak of velvet night. The fountain near the entrance shimmered under the moonlight, and the mansion's windows emitted a gentle radiance from within.

In the vast mansion, Ava found herself alone. Despite the presence of the maids, the stillness of the house echoed in her solitude. Upon returning from Malacca, Ibrahim headed straight to his office. Samir was also absent, and Aliya, Ava's mother-in-law, had gone out for a wedding invitation. 

Ava found herself on the first floor in the upper dining hall, watching a movie to pass the time. The familiar surroundings of the mansion felt strangely lonely compared to the constant togetherness she had with Ibrahim in Malacca.

A sigh escaped her lips, fogging the television screen. It was a relief, actually, not having to face Ibrahim that much. They had returned from Malacca in a suffocating silence. None spoke to anyone during the journey.

The memory of their rooftop confrontation, the searing pinch of his fingers on her nipple, still sent a tremor through her. She still felt a dull pain on the area. While bathing, she had noticed a slight bruise on her nipple caused by the cotton fabric of her bra. A shudder ran down her spine, the ghost of his fingers still tingling on her skin. Her pulse quickened, a drumbeat against the stillness. Her breath hitched, caught in her throat like a frightened bird. 

Shaking her head, Ava tried to dislodge the unwelcome thoughts. Why was she suddenly feeling so hot? The answer, if there was one, lay buried in the depths of her own heart. The movie on the screen faded into oblivion, its characters mere shadows against the backdrop of her inner turmoil. 

She closed her eyes and leaned her back on the sofa, trying to banish the unwelcome heat, but the image of Ibrahim materialized behind her eyelids —his brown eyes, his fingers, his breath. How long did she sit there, lost in the labyrinth of her own thoughts? 

Then she heard a voice, "Didn't last long, those little love bites, did they? Maybe I should paint them back, even better this time." His voice dropped to a whisper, sending goosebumps dancing across her skin...