In the world of organized crime, the first twenty-four hours are crucial. It's the only window where the trail is still warm, where fear still lingers fresh in the victims' surroundings and mistakes are yet to be covered. Every second wasted tightens the criminal's grip and buries the evidence deeper, making it almost impossible to catch up. That's why the moment Ibrahim learned about Jessica's kidnapping, he ordered Samir and Faisal to return from Thailand without delay. He needed them to act fast — to slip into the chaos before Black Mamba's traces went cold.
For years, Ibrahim had been running a secret operation to destroy Black Mamba's human trafficking network. But it was never easy. Black Mamba was not like normal criminals; he was careful, patient, and cruel. He built hidden warehouses all over Malaysia — old factories, abandoned houses, storage buildings — places no one would notice.
What made it harder was that he didn't build just one or two warehouses. He built many in the same area. Some were filled with kidnapped girls, some were completely empty, and some were fake setups to confuse the police and people like Ibrahim. This way, even if someone found one warehouse, they would waste time checking the wrong ones while the real operation continued somewhere else.
The girls were treated like goods, not like humans. Locked in small, dirty rooms with almost no food, beaten if they made noise, and drugged if they tried to resist. They were only kept in these warehouses for a short time — just long enough until they were transported to a bigger, hidden center, and from there, sold into the dark world of prostitution across Asia.
Two years ago, Ibrahim faced one of his worst defeats.
He and his team had tracked a group of thirty kidnapped girls to a warehouse near the Malaysian border. Ibrahim had set everything: the rescue plan, the weapons, even safe houses to hide the girls once they were free.
But Mamba was always one step ahead.
Just a few hours before Ibrahim's men could strike, the girls were secretly moved across the border. No alarms. No noise. Like they had vanished into thin air.
In less than a night, Ibrahim lost all trace of them. Thirty lives, gone.
To this day, he doesn't know where those girls ended up. That day taught him a brutal lesson: in Mamba's world, even a few minutes of delay could cost thirty lives. And Mamba's network was built so perfectly, so silently, that even a man like Ibrahim — used to blood and power — found himself chasing a shadow he could never fully catch.
But Ibrahim didn't give up.
Because even if he could only save one girl at a time, he knew — every life taken back from Mamba was a crack in the monster's empire.
.....
The setting sun bled orange through the balcony curtains, painting the room in a warm, restless glow. Shadows stretched long across the floor, and the distant hum of evening traffic drifted in.
Ava stood beside her study table, one hand pressed against it for support as she leaned forward, eyes glued to the laptop screen. Her brows were furrowed tight and her lips pressed into a hard, thin line. The article on the screen displayed Jessica's name, her photograph, and the cruel headline — University Girl Missing: Suspected Kidnapping. Ava's eyes burned, not from the screen, but from the fire rising inside her.
She'd read it five times already, maybe more. But the anger in her chest wouldn't settle.
In the morning, Farah had broken the news. And since that moment, Ava had only said one thing, over and over again:
"It's Ibrahim. It's him."
Elara had tried to explain, tried to remind her again and again about Mamba, the real monster behind these kidnappings. But Ava didn't listen. Why would she? She knew what it felt like to be dragged into the dark — after all, she had been kidnapped too. Nothing in the world could make her forget that.
Now, with Elara out on duty, it was just Ava and Farah in the apartment. As Farah walked past with a mug full of water, heading toward the balcony, she glanced at her friend. "How many times are you going to read that same article? You just got back after all this time… Let's go somewhere. Elara also said you need a new phone, remember? Let's go buy it. A little shopping might help?"
Ava slowly walked toward the glass balcony door and stood behind Farah, watching her water the flower pots, "My mood's too rotten to be fixed by shopping. Even my favorite food can't help today… And you know what, Farah? I'm angry at you too."
Farah turned around, surprised. "What? Me?"
"You don't believe me either. You think I'm just blaming Ibrahim for no reason. You think I've lost my mind."
Farah's face softened. She put the mug down and faced her fully.
"When did I say I don't believe you? Ava, this kidnapping culture has been happening for years. I've seen it in the news so many times... girls vanish and their cases are quietly closed. No one talks about them again. It's not always him. Not every crime in Malaysia is done by Ibrahim. There are other monsters too."
But Ava shook her head hard, "You don't know what he's capable of. The moment he stepped into my life, everything turned into chaos. I don't live anymore — I survive. And do you know what's funny? I can't even say the word divorce without risking someone's life. If I even try to talk to a lawyer, he'll have them killed before they even open their mouth. That's how much power he holds."
Farah sighed and leaned against the balcony railing, wiping her hands dry on her shirt, "Let me think of a plan."
Ava rolled her eyes with a bitter laugh, brushing her fingers through her hair in frustration. "A plan?" she scoffed. "You mean like last time? Planting a bug in his office? Yeah, great plan. He found it in less than an hour."
"Not like last time. I mean something smarter. This time it'll work — I swear." Farah stepped closer, "Remember that time you told me Ibrahim took you to that arms shipment?"
"Yes... it was terrifying. Why?"
"Why don't you ask him to take you again?"
Ava stared at her, aghast. "Are you crazy? Why would I ever want to go back to a place like that?"
"Not because you want to," Farah explained urgently, her hands gesturing emphatically. "But because it's an opportunity! Think about it. You got close to a real piece of his operation. He trusted you enough to show you something illegal. That means he's actually letting you into parts of his world. And that's the opening we need."
"What are you getting at?" Ava tilted her head slightly.
"I'm saying," Farah said carefully, "what if you… try to get close to him again? Not because you forgive him. But just enough to make him believe you're softening. Get him to trust you like before. Spend a little time with him, talk to him, make him believe you're… tired of fighting. Tell him you want to understand him better. Make him drop his guard. And then, he might take you back to one of those deals. That's when we catch him red-handed — We'll have proof. Solid proof.
Ava looked away. The last golden rays of the sun touched her cheek like a quiet warning, "I don't know if I can pull it off. He'll suspect me. And honestly… I don't even trust myself anymore to do anything daring."
Farah walked over to her, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Then think, Ava. Really think. Because if we manage to get him behind bars… you'll finally be free. You can hire a divorce lawyer without looking over your shoulder. You'll breathe again."
.....
The guesthouse was quiet wrapped in silence except for the low hum of ceiling fans. Inside, the room glowed under warm lights. The heavy wooden table was clutter-free, except for a crystal ashtray and a folded newspaper spread open.
Ibrahim leaned back in his dark grey armchair, legs lazily crossed, dressed in black linen pajamas and a matching robe that hung loose over his broad shoulders. His sleeves were rolled just enough to show the thick veins of his forearms — a silver watch snug on his wrist. A steaming black coffee rested on the armrest beside him, untouched for now.
Most people read their news on a screen these days, but Ibrahim — he liked the feel of paper. The rustle of turning pages. The weight of headlines in his hands. He skimmed the crime column with a quiet, bored expression... until his burner phone buzzed twice on the table.
He picked it up without a flinch.
"Speak."
A clear voice answered on the other end — not nervous, just trained.
"Sir… Ava ma'am and Farah ma'am just exited the mobile store in Block B. They have a couple of shopping bags — looks like they bought something. And now…"
The voice paused a beat.
"Now they're heading toward a clothing store. Still within the central mall area."
Ibrahim sipped his coffee slowly this time, then exhaled, "Keep your eyes on them until I get there. And if anything — anything — feels off, you let me know before you even blink. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
He ended the call and set the phone down gently, then folded the newspaper and placed it back with the same care he handled everything — even violence.
Ten days.
Ten days away from him.
Ibrahim scoffed under his breath as he stood up and walked toward his wardrobe.
Tonight was only the first, and it already felt like hell. He pulled out a clean black shirt, then slowly buttoned it, his eyes never leaving the reflection in the mirror. His mind ran wild — with questions, with visions, with her.
She has to come back.
My baby girl.
These nine days will pass like they never existed.
And then… she's mine again.....