That recording

Being with my family felt different this time. Looking at Baran and my mom, I felt a quiet discomfort creeping in. Was I doing the right thing? Did I really have the right to force Aamz into reconsidering me? And if I succeeded, how would I distance myself from Farhad? What if he realized he was only a tool in my plan?

When Negin insisted on visiting Laleh again, I hesitated. I didn't want to go. But she was persistent, and eventually, I gave in. This time, though, I carried a secret—something dark, something perhaps foolish.

Laleh looked at me and said, "Do you remember the time you lied to Aamz about Dina's death? After that, he was never the same. I don't think he was truly in love with her anymore. He was just carrying on with something he once started."

I frowned. "You really believe that?"

She nodded. "I felt it, but I can't say for sure. What I do know is that he was never as successful after that. And now, hearing about his situation, he seems more and more like an ordinary person."

That made me think. If he had truly lost himself, maybe he needed someone like me. The girl he was with now wasn't the kind of person who could push him toward his full potential. Maybe he needed someone who saw how much he was capable of—someone who could remind him of his greatness.

I convinced myself that I had always believed in his potential. Back when Dina was alive, I had tried to talk to her about it, but she never saw him the way I did. She never pushed him the way I would have. I was finding every excuse to justify what I was doing.

Then, Negin suddenly asked, "Why do you think he avoids being seen anywhere?"

Laleh sighed. "People like him always hide their failures. And when they fail, they disappear."

At that moment, I looked at Negin's face and suddenly remembered her uncle. I had forgotten about him—about the bruises on her skin. Without thinking, I grabbed my phone and sent a message to Farhad. I told him what had happened and asked him to do something—anything—to terrify her uncle into stopping his behavior.

When I hit send, a strange relief washed over me. It felt good to use Farhad for something just. For a brief moment, I felt like I had restored some balance.

And then, I pushed forward.

The next time I was with Farhad, he looked at me with narrowed eyes and said, "I've been thinking. What you're asking me to do doesn't really make sense. If you hate him, why do you want to keep him close? I don't need more power or influence through him. I'm already enough—for myself and for you."

I tilted my head. "Did something happen?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "He treats me like I'm insignificant. It's frustrating. I don't even know if he's still checking on the status of his previous work or if he's completely indifferent. He rejects everything so casually—it's irritating. And it makes me wonder... why are you so insistent on this?"

I met his gaze. "Don't you trust me?"

"I do," he admitted. "But…"

"Then insist one last time," I said softly. "Just once more. And after that, let it go. Stop pressuring him about the project. Just don't approve his duties as complete—leave it unresolved."

I hesitated for a moment, then added, "And one more thing—record your conversation with him. Send it to me."

He studied me for a moment, then finally nodded. "Alright."

I smiled, but inside, my heart was pounding. I just wanted to hear him again. His voice, his way of speaking—it had been too long.

And then, I waited.

I listened to the recording the moment I got it.

Farhad's voice was calm but firm. "But don't you realize this could cause trouble for you in your job? Have you thought about what happens if you can't work anywhere else?"

Aamz chuckled lightly, his tone almost amused. "Oh, such a kind old man! Don't worry about me. I'll work as a laborer, a driver, or even sell goods on the street if I have to. But I'll never accept this." His voice then sharpened. "And by the way, why hasn't my duty status been finalized?"

Farhad, ever the politician, gave a vague reply. "I'll look into it later. I've been too busy these days."

Aamz didn't let it go so easily. "Do it soon. I've already delayed things too much, and I can't keep my fiancée waiting any longer." Then, after a pause, his voice turned pointed. "And by the way, don't overthink my rejection. If I were the kind of person who'd do what you want, I might know things you never expected."

The way he said it sent a chill down my spine. He was warning Farhad—no, more than that, he was subtly threatening him.

I replayed that last line several times. What did he mean by that?

And then, something in me shifted.

Did he know about me and Farhad? The thought crossed my mind, but I dismissed it. It was impossible. This was just Aamz's way—exaggerating things to get what he wanted.

I turned to Farhad with a smile. "Very good job, Farhad. You're a genius. Just keep delaying his approval. He'll eventually give in."

Farhad, however, was fuming. "Did you hear him? He was threatening me! That's unacceptable! Now, I don't just want to delay him—I want to make sure he doesn't breathe easy for a long time."

That reaction was perfect for me. It meant he was invested now. But I needed to keep his anger controlled, directed exactly where I wanted it.

I nodded. "Yes, but don't rush. Just don't approve him. Say whatever you need to, make up any excuse. Just let time do the work."

In my mind, I knew it was time for the next step. The real trap.

Maybe the key was to start revisiting Dina's life—something I could do with Laleh. If Aamz saw us looking back at Dina's memories, if he got involved in that, it could draw him toward me.

And if I could pull him in just enough…

I arranged the next meeting with Laleh as soon as possible. I had already thought of an excuse to get her to call Aamz.

"Laleh," I said, trying to sound casual, "do you remember the gold plaque with Aamz and Dina's names on it?"

"Yes," she replied, narrowing her eyes slightly.

"I still have it! I think it's time to return it to him. Let's call him now."

She hesitated but eventually dialed his number. When he picked up, she said, "Hi, Mr. Aamz! Dorsa asked me to call you. She wants to return the gold plaque that has your and Dina's names on it."

There was a pause. Then his voice came through, sharp and unyielding. "But I already asked her about it before. She told me she didn't have it."

Laleh shot me a suspicious glance but quickly covered for me. "Maybe she lost it back then and only found it now."

His response was brutal. "Even if it were a kilogram of pure gold, I wouldn't want to see her."

My heart clenched.

Laleh, surprised, asked, "Why?"

He sighed. "She could've helped me with things I still haven't gotten rid of. But she didn't. She never helped me build genuine trust with Marya. And I never had the courage to do it myself. That doubt has faded in our lives now, but I can't forget how I paid the price for Dorsa's silence."

The call ended, and Laleh turned to me, her eyes filled with questions. "Dorsa?"

I sighed, already preparing my response. I told her my version of the story—carefully crafted, shaped to fit the moment. Then, shifting the focus, I said, "He's full of flaws, but we keep thinking of him as perfect. Just like you said, Laleh—he hides his failures."

I wasn't just talking. I was analyzing, searching for a weakness.

 Something I could use to make him rethink me, to make him regret his harsh words tonight.

Laleh shook her head. "I don't know, Dorsa. I'm confused. You could have just helped him."

I said, "Genuine trust? Wasn't he the one supposed to build it himself?"

Laleh didn't respond, and soon, we left her place.

For a while, I was left alone with my thoughts, planning my next move. It was oddly satisfying to listen to the recordings Farhad kept sending me—his conversations with Aamz and others. Each recording felt like a new piece of insight, another glimpse into Aamz's life.

In one of them, I discovered something important: he was about to buy a house. He was planning to use his income from the duties assigned by Farhad. That, I couldn't allow. Beyond everything else, it wasn't his right. He had built nothing on his own—he had earned nothing to buy a house except through my family's reputation.

I wasted no time. "Farhad, you have to stop him from taking such a big step."

Farhad laughed. "Piece of cake, honey. But how about this—let's take a few months abroad, just the two of us? I need real time alone with you."

I smiled, but my focus was clear.

 "First, stop him from buying that house. Don't approve the payments. Then, I'll go anywhere for as long as you want."

That night, as I lay in bed, I felt an odd sense of control—like everything was aligning exactly as I wanted. Aamz's path was closing in, his options shrinking. He had built nothing of his own, and I would make sure he never did, at least not without paying back what he owed—to me, to my father's name, to everything he had used without gratitude.

Farhad was predictable, easy to guide. He would block Aamz's purchase, delay his progress, keep him stuck. And in return, I would give Farhad what he wanted—a promise of time, of closeness, of something more permanent between us. But permanence was a lie.

Because deep down, I wasn't doing this for Farhad.

I closed my eyes, but sleep didn't come easily. Aamz's voice echoed in my mind, the way he had dismissed me, refused to see me, acted as if I was nothing to him. That would change.

One way or another, I would make sure of it.