Foothold & Fire (Imran's POV)

The house was dark when I stepped in, save for the dim kitchen light that always stayed on when someone was expected late. I loosened my tie as I walked through the quiet, my jacket already slung over one arm, the weight of the evening settling over me like a familiar coat.

The site visit with Ayub had gone longer than expected. I'd barely returned to the office when Zeynep flagged me down with that tight smile that always meant bad news.

"Your father sent over contracts," she said. "Wants them reviewed tonight."

Of course he did.

By the time I reached my desk, there were three emails marked urgent and a message from Babo that read like a threat dressed in politeness.

What should've taken an hour somehow turned into four.

Now, it was past midnight. My stomach growled.

I opened the fridge and groaned.

Half a serving of roasted potatoes. A spoonful of lamb. Maybe two zucchini slices, if I squinted and felt generous.

"Really, Lamija?" I muttered. "You left me diplomatic scraps."

I made do—heated the leftovers and grabbed a bottle of water. It wasn't dinner. It was survival.

As I ate standing at the counter, my thoughts drifted.

Mostly to Talha.

We hadn't told him about the gym yet.

We didn't know how. Or when. Or whether he'd take it as a lifeline—or see it as another leash.

He was still brushing off the failed drug test like it meant nothing. "For pain," he'd said. "Just a couple pills. My ribs were wrecked after the last fight."

No script. No explanation. Just enough of a smile to make it feel casual.

But it wasn't casual. Not anymore.

Talha doesn't come undone loudly. He slips. Quietly. With charm. With deflection. With that laugh that makes you feel stupid for worrying.

And by the time you realize something's wrong, he's already too far to reach.

That's why we bought it. Why Lamija moved fast. Why we didn't wait for Babo's permission or give Talha a vote.

Because if we waited for him to ask for help, it would already be too late.

This gym is the only thing we have left to offer.

Not as a gift. Not as a bribe.

As a foothold. As proof that we still believe he can make something of his life without burning it to the ground first.

And if this doesn't work... I don't know what we'll have left.

Just the memory of who he could've been.

I rinsed my plate and placed it gently in the dishwasher. Just as I was about to leave the kitchen, a sharp whinny sliced through the quiet.

Caesar.

The sound tugged at me. Always had. Equal parts thunder and invitation.

I stepped onto the patio. The night was cool and still, the air thick with dew and pine. Stars glittered faintly above the trees. Gravel crunched under my dress shoes as I followed the familiar path to the stables.

Floodlights bathed the ring in soft gold.

And in the center of it all—Lamija.

She moved with Caesar like they were carved from the same force. Her posture was flawless, arms steady, face focused.

Caesar was all storm and steel. Black coat gleaming like oil under the lights, every muscle in his body coiled with control. He jumped cleanly, powerfully, landing like the ground answered to him.

They were a sight.

I leaned against the fence, arms crossed, a small smile tugging at my mouth.

"Would've been nice if you left me more than three potatoes," I called.

Lamija's laugh echoed across the ring. "You came home late. That's the tax."

"You eat like royalty and leave your big brother starving. That feels personal."

She slowed Caesar into a wide circle. "I regret nothing."

"How was the meeting?"

Her smile faded. "He called our airport quaint and tried to explain logistics to me like I haven't been running international routes since I was twenty."

"Midwestern?"

"Chicago."

I chuckled. "And Babo's sold on him?"

"You know how he is. Sees an investment portfolio and forgets common sense."

"Did you tell him off?"

"Politely. I told him we'd follow up."

"So," I said carefully, "Ayub?"

She sighed. "Everyone's worried I'll break him. Mama. You. All of you."

"You will," I said honestly. "If you're not careful."

She didn't respond.

"You pushed him hard."

"He didn't break."

"He wouldn't let you see it," I say. "But that's not the point, Lamija. He's in love with you."

She guided Caesar into another slow pass, her posture tight.

"I know."

"Then this isn't just about dragging someone out of the shadows. You're not testing his potential—you're twisting something he's been carrying for years. And I don't think you're ready for what happens if you miscalculate."

"I'm not cruel."

"No," I said gently. "But you're curious. And with someone like Ayub, curiosity isn't neutral. It's loaded. Especially when the rest of us already know how he feels about you."

She was quiet for a long moment.

"I don't want to feel guilty for not feeling the same."

"You shouldn't. You owe no one your affection."

"Even if he's... Ayub?"

"Even then," I said. "But you do owe him honesty. And if you're not sure yet—don't test him to find out. That man would walk through fire for you. Don't set it just to see if he'll step in."

We fell into silence. Caesar adjusted his pace. Lamija's spine stayed straight, but her shoulders softened.

I didn't mean for it to come out like that.

But maybe I did.

Caesar snorted again, louder this time. He trotted toward the fence and stopped with a dramatic stomp.

Lamija laughed. "He thinks you've had enough of my attention."

I reached over the fence and scratched behind his ear. He huffed, flared his nostrils, and—shockingly—leaned in.

"See? We're bonding."

"Don't let it go to your head."

"I want to ride him."

"Absolutely not."

"We've reached an understanding."

"You'll be broken in half."

"You wound me. I've been training for this moment my whole life."

"You've been sitting in boardrooms. That's not training."

"Have you seen Babo in a budget meeting? It's worse than Caesar."

"He is going to kill you."

I was already climbing the fence. "Then scatter my ashes with flair."

Caesar eyed me like a king tolerating a jester.

I grabbed the reins. "Easy, buddy. Let's be friends."

I mounted quick.

Caesar blinked once.

Then he made a decision.

He exploded.

He bolted. I held on—for one glorious, adrenaline-filled second.

Then came the buck.

Then another.

The third launched me.

I hit the dirt with a thud and a very undignified grunt.

"Imran!" Lamija sprinted toward me.

I rolled onto my back. "I'm alive."

She dropped to her knees beside me. "You're a certified idiot."

Caesar trotted to the fence, glared once, then turned his back with a flick of his tail.

"Wow," I muttered. "He's petty."

"He gave you ten seconds. That's a record."

"Tell him I'm open to peace talks."

She laughed, brushing dust off my shirt.

We sat there on the edge of the ring, shoulders close.

I looked at her then. Really looked.

"Ayub's not perfect," I said. "But he's good. And he loves you—not from a distance. In the real way. Quiet. Steady."

She didn't answer.

"You don't owe him anything," I said. "Not a feeling. Not a future."

"But?"

"But if there's a part of you that wonders what it might look like... to build something with someone who already sees you? I think you should give him a chance."

Her brows drew together. Not in resistance—just thought.

"It hurts less," I admitted, "when I picture you with someone I trust. Someone who'd protect you without ever making you smaller to do it."

She didn't respond. But her posture shifted.

Caesar exhaled loudly behind us.

"I'm not promising anything," she said quietly.

"I'm not asking you to. Just... don't shut the door before you check what's behind it."

She smiled faintly.

"Has anyone ever told you you'd make a good therapist?"

"Only every time you come to me for unsolicited advice."

She bumped my shoulder.

I didn't push again.

I didn't have to.

Something had already started to shift.