Chapter — The Red Dress
The mall was enormous, a glass-and-steel palace of consumer temptation. Golden lights reflected off polished marble floors, casting a warm glow on designer storefronts that looked more like art galleries than shops.
Dee walked in reluctantly, her hands shoved in the pockets of her oversized hoodie. Rayyan, on the other hand, looked like he owned the place — black shirt, tailored jacket, the kind of posture that made shopkeepers straighten up and offer bottled water before he'd even spoken.
"Why are we here?" Dee muttered, scanning the glittering window displays. " did you forget we are hwre to buy clothes.This place looks like it charges for breathing."
"Whatever" Dee says .
Rayyan's lips curved in that lazy, confident smirk of his. "You need clothes. Nice clothes. Not whatever… this is." He gestured vaguely at her hoodie.
She narrowed her eyes. "This is comfortable."
"It's a crime against fashion."
"Good," she shot back, "because committing crimes is apparently your specialty."
His smirk deepened. "Careful, angel. I might just add you to my list."
"Why do you always call me by strange nickname" Dee ask.
"It's up to me to call you whatever I want . But you know what I always wanted to call you?" Rayyan ask .
"I don't wanna know" Dee says while walking. "But I wanna tell you" Rayyan says . "Weird psycho. If you wanna do anything what you want then why ask. Showcase" Dee says .
"Whatever but what I wanna call you most is _" Dee stop for sometime . "Mine. I wanna call you mine" Rayyan says .
"Psycho" Dee says and start walking trying to hide her blushing cheeks .
The first boutique they entered smelled faintly of jasmine and money. Dresses shimmered under soft spotlights. Dee checked a price tag and nearly choked.
"Rayyan! This costs more than my monthly rent!"
"You don't pay rent," he reminded her.
"Exactly. Which is why I want to keep it that way."
He ignored her protests and handed a silk dress to the saleswoman. "She'll try this."
"No, she won't," Dee protested, trying to push it back into his arms.
"Yes, she will."
Five dresses later, Dee was sulking in the fitting room, her hair slightly static from pulling outfits over her head. Every time she stepped out, Rayyan took one look, shook his head, and said, "Next."
Finally, the red dress.
It was fitted but not too tight, the fabric catching the light like a low-burning flame. Dee stepped out reluctantly, tugging at the hem. She expected him to reject it too, but Rayyan froze.
The image pulled him straight back to the first night he'd seen her — the party where she'd walked in, red silk draped over her like danger itself, eyes bright with defiance. Something in his chest tightened, a flash of that same unsettling pull.
He cleared his throat. "We're taking that one."
"No, we're not."
"Yes, we are."
She glared, but he was already paying.
They moved to the jewelry shop next. The moment they stepped in, Dee groaned. "Oh no. Absolutely not."
Rayyan ignored her and leaned over the glass counter, scanning diamond necklaces like he was choosing weapons. "This one. And that. And—"
"I don't want anything. Don't listen to this psycho" see tells the shop keeper.
The shopkeeper, an older man with warm eyes, smiled at Dee. "Madam, you should be happy. If my wife wanted jewelry, I'd have to check my bank account first. Your husband is very generous."
Dee opened her mouth. "He's not—"
Rayyan's hand landed gently but firmly on her shoulder. "We'll take all of them."
"Rayyan!"
"Diamond necklace, earrings, ring, bracelet," he listed smoothly. Then, to the shopkeeper: "And wrap two sets for your wife."
The shopkeeper's eyes widened. "Sir—"
"Call it a gift," Rayyan said.
Dee crossed her arms. "You're impossible."
"And you're beautiful," he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear.
She huffed and stormed toward the café. He followed until she spun around. "Don't. Follow. Me. I'm going to the washroom."
Rayyan raised a brow. "Do you get lost easily?"
"Do you ever stop talking?"
He leaned on the wall outside as she disappeared inside. Ten minutes passed. Twenty. Thirty. His irritation shifted into unease. By the one-hour mark, he walked to the entrance and stopped a passing lady.
"Excuse me, is there a young woman inside? About this tall—" He gestured.
The woman hesitated. "Is she your wife?"
Rayyan's lips curved. "Soon to be."
Saying these words made Rayyan heart beat fast but now Dee matter most he can say these words later to but Dee is important without the person words doesn't matter .
The truth was far from his mind; all he could think was that something was wrong.
But Dee wasn't in the washroom.
She had slipped out long before, cash in her pocket — the same bills Rayyan had handed her earlier for coffee. She walked quickly, head down, until she reached the taxi stand.
From her bag, she pulled a small box — the one she'd hidden for weeks — and showed the driver the label with an address scrawled on it. A village name. One she hadn't told anyone about.
The driver frowned. "That's far. You sure you want to go?"
"Yes," Dee said firmly, gripping the can. "Take me there."
Her pulse quickened. This was the place. The one where Uncle Richard might be. The one holding answers Rayyan couldn't know.
And for the first time all day, she felt like she was in control.
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