The Delirium of Exile
In Riyadh, Abdullah lived the darkest days of his existence. Exile alone is enough to break the strongest of men, but exile coupled with a sorrow that can neither be shared nor wept away is a slow, agonizing death.
He was haunted by the "How" and the "Why." How could Rowan manufacture such a masterpiece of love out of pure lies? He realized then the most painful truth in the universe: Love is blind. It had blinded him for years, making him see a pure angel where a ruthless demon stood—a woman who would even discard her own children to win a tactical battle against him.
In the depth of one pitch-black night, the walls of his apartment seemed to close in on him. Abdullah had never learned to complain to others; for years, his only confidante, his only "medicine" for every ailment, had been his Rowan. In a moment of sheer weakness and suffocating loneliness, he picked up his phone. He sent a single text, formal yet heavy with suppressed longing:
"Good evening, Rowan. Can I talk to you? I feel suffocated and I need to vent."
The Predator's Smile
Rowan was stunned. She thought she had lost everything—her husband, her home, her children (whom her family forced her to leave behind as a cold-blooded strategy to lure him back). Seeing his message, she felt a rush of triumph. She didn't even text back; she called him immediately, indifferent to the cost of an international call.
"Hello! Good evening, Baidah! How are you? Tell me everything... I've missed you so much!" her voice sang with a victory she tried to hide.
"I am not well, thank God," Abdullah replied, his voice thick with emotion.
Rowan's smile widened. She could feel his pain through the speaker, and it fed her ego. "Why, Baidah? You're the one who chose to leave. You're the one who believed your delusions and doubted me. Why are you sad now?"
The Confrontation of Shadows
Abdullah's heart burned. "Just one question... Why? Why did you do this? What did I lack? Did I ever starve you of affection? Did I ever hold back a single word of love? The whole world envied us, and in one night, it all turned out to be a lie."
Rowan replied with the steely resolve of a criminal who believes they've wiped away every fingerprint. "I swear, Baidah, I never betrayed you! You're crazy! You are my life! The problem is in your head—the Devil has planted these whispers and you believed them without proof."
Then, she played her "final card"—the same old script:
"I told you, those romantic messages were from my sister, Nihaya. She's coming over tomorrow. I'll call you and let you talk to her yourself. What more do you want?"
The Master and the Apprentice
Abdullah listened, but he felt nothing but disgust. Her "confidence" was a hollow performance. She wanted him to seek the truth from Nihaya—the very woman who had taught her the "magic" of deception.
It was a sick joke: asking the Master Architect of Lies to testify to the innocence of her Apprentice. He realized then that Nihaya wasn't just a sister; she was the shadow consultant, the one who drafted the scripts of "accidental pregnancies" and "prank messages."