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Only an hour ago, a body had plummeted from the balcony of a nearby penthouse. The scream was still ringing in Alma’s ears—a jagged sound that sliced through the laughter and the clinking of champagne glasses. Now, the flashing red and blue lights of the police cruisers danced across her white marble walls.
, usually the rock of the group, was staring at her husband, Karim. The look between them wasn't one of grief; it was a silent pact of silence. Only an hour ago, a body had plummeted
As the sirens wailed, the "Four Musketeers"—as they were known in school—were forced back into a tight, suffocating circle. , usually the rock of the group, was
The sun hung low over the manicured lawns of Al Karma, casting long, sharp shadows that looked like obsidian blades. Inside her sprawling villa, stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, clutching a glass of water. Her hands weren't shaking, but her heart was hammering a rhythm of pure dread. The sun hung low over the manicured lawns
She realized then that the fall wasn't just about one person hitting the pavement. It was the beginning of their entire world collapsing. The secrets they had kept for twenty years—the fire, the lies, the betrayal—were no longer ghosts. They were the jury.
stood at the center, her face a mask of cold perfection. She straightened her silk dress, her eyes darting toward the balcony. She was the queen of this compound, and queens didn't let scandals ruin their reign.
was pacing, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She knew too much about the arguments overheard in the powder room.