The sun poured through the wide glass windows of Libaas, reflecting off the polished marble floors as Nuha walked through the hallway, her heels clicking with purpose. Nasr trailed behind her like a silent shadow, his gaze steady and observant.

The sound of a door opening drew their attention. Zoya stepped in, her voice echoing in the space. Behind her walked a man who carried himself with an air of prideful arrogance. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a sharp, tailored suit that seemed almost sculpted to his figure. A silk tie in a shade of deep navy added a subtle but calculated pop of color. His silver watch gleamed on his wrist, catching the light as he adjusted the cuff of his shirt. His dark hair was slicked back with precision, and his polished leather shoes clicked softly against the floor as he moved.

Omar.

His eyes swept over the office space, his expression marked by a faint sneer, as though evaluating the company as something beneath him.

“Nuha! Guess who’s here for the fitting!” Zoya’s cheerful voice broke the silence as she tugged at Omar’s arm.

Nuha turned, her expression neutral. She showed no reaction to the man now standing before her, though the sight of him stirred old memories. Omar stood there, pride practically radiating off him, his posture rigid and calculated.

“Good morning, Ms. Nuha,” Omar greeted, his tone polished but layered with subtle condescension.

Nuha didn’t falter. Her gaze flickered over him briefly before she responded. “Good morning.” Her voice was calm and professional, as though he were any other client.

Zoya giggled, leaning closer to Omar. “Oh, meet my husband—well, fiancé! Same thing, right?” She looked up at him with adoration.

Omar chuckled, folding his arms. “Of course, darling.”

Zoya turned back to Nuha, her tone suddenly sharp with teasing. “You know, Nuha, Omar was telling me you almost married him!”

Nasr, standing a step behind Nuha, stiffened, his brows slightly furrowed as he observed the interaction.

Nuha raised an eyebrow but remained silent, her calm demeanor unshaken.

“Thank God you didn’t!” Zoya laughed, her voice carrying a hint of mockery.

Omar smirked, the corners of his mouth curling with amusement. “Of course she wouldn’t have. We were meant for each other.”

Nuha stayed quiet for a moment before responding with poised precision. “Of course I wouldn’t.” Then she shifted the conversation. “Did you bring the dress you borrowed for the bridal shower?”

Zoya froze for a moment, her giggles subsiding. Omar looked at her, a slight frown forming on his face. “Wait, that dress was from her shop?” he asked, sounding almost offended. “I could have bought you a better one, babe. My designers are at your service twenty-four-seven.”

Nuha’s patience thinned, though her voice remained calm as she led them toward the designer studio. Nasr followed behind, feeling the tension build as Omar’s smug remarks filled the space.

Nuha turned to face them, her arms crossed and her stance firm. Her gaze met Zoya’s. “Yet you didn’t,” she said, addressing Omar without looking at him. Then she shifted her focus entirely to Zoya.

“Zoya,” Nuha began, her tone sharp but steady, “let me be clear. This is a business. Whether we were friends once or not, I have rules, and I expect them to be followed. The payment for your wedding dress is still pending, and the dress you took for the bridal shower hasn’t been returned.”

Zoya’s smile faltered, and she glanced at Omar, who seemed mildly amused but also slightly annoyed.

Nuha stepped forward slightly, her voice firm. “Until both are resolved, your wedding dress won’t leave this studio. If you’re serious about having it for your big day, I suggest you take care of these matters.”

Zoya opened her mouth to respond, but Omar interrupted, his tone dripping with arrogance. “Surely, we can settle this later. It’s just a dress. Zoya is your client, isn’t she?”

Nuha’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and her tone sharpened further. “She is a client. And like every client, she is required to follow the terms of our agreement. This is not a matter of friendship or history. It’s business.”

Omar’s smirk faded for a moment, though he quickly recovered. Zoya shifted uncomfortably under Nuha’s steady gaze.

Nasr, standing a few steps behind, admired Nuha’s unshakable composure. Despite the jabs and the tension, she stood her ground, defining her boundaries with clarity and grace.

“Now,” Nuha added, breaking the silence, “if you’re here for the fitting, let’s proceed. But remember, I’m not compromising on what’s due.”

Omar and Zoya exchanged glances but said nothing more as Nuha gestured for the designer to begin the fitting process. Nasr stood silently, absorbing every moment of the tense exchange. For the first time, he saw the depth of Nuha’s strength—not just as a CEO, but as a woman unwilling to yield to pressure, no matter how personal the stakes.

---

The soft glow of afternoon light spilled into the designer studio, reflecting off the champagne-golden wedding lehenga draped elegantly on Zoya. The intricate threadwork shimmered with golden beads and faux diamonds, each stitch a testament to the artistry of Libaas. Nuha adjusted the blouse on Zoya’s shoulders, her hands precise as she took measurements, noting where alterations were needed.

Zoya twirled slightly, admiring her reflection in the full-length mirror. The blouse hugged her shoulders, the intricate embroidery catching the light, while the lehenga's flowing fabric glimmered with sophistication. “It’s beautiful,” Zoya finally admitted, though her tone carried its usual entitlement.

Nuha remained focused on her task, jotting notes in her leather-bound book. Her quiet professionalism filled the room with a tension that Zoya didn’t seem to notice—or perhaps ignored deliberately.

“Nuha,” Zoya began, a hint of petulance in her voice, “can we have coffee? At least offer us something. We are your guests, after all.”

Nuha paused, glancing up at Zoya with a neutral expression.

“You know my order from Tim Hortons,” Zoya continued with a casual wave of her hand. “Large double-double with caramel drizzle. Just ask your assistant to grab it for us.”

From the corner of the room, Nasr straightened slightly, watching the situation unfold.

Omar, lounging in a nearby chair, smirked. “Babe,” he drawled, “you can’t exactly demand coffee from someone who’s clearly beefing with you.” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he glanced at Nuha, his tone meant to provoke.

Nasr took a step forward, his posture respectful but firm. “As per company policy, food and drinks are not allowed in the designer studio,” he said, his voice steady and confident, yet polite.

Omar turned his gaze toward Nasr, his smirk widening as he tilted his head. “Oh?” he said mockingly. “Who are you? I didn’t even notice you there.”

Nasr didn’t flinch under Omar’s gaze. His steady confidence made Omar’s jest seem hollow, but Nasr chose not to respond directly, maintaining his composure.

“He’s my secretary,” Nuha said, her voice cutting through the tension as she straightened. Her tone was professional and mild, but there was an unmistakable edge to her words. “He’ll be handling all follow-ups for your payments and returns, Zoya. You might want to get accustomed to him now, instead of barging into my office during meetings.”

Zoya’s cheeks flushed slightly, remembering her unannounced interruption the week before. Omar raised an eyebrow at Nuha’s pointed remark but remained silent.

Nuha returned her attention to the dress, her movements calm and controlled as she noted a slight adjustment needed on the lehenga’s waistband. “Now, let’s focus on the fitting,” she said, her tone firm as if to end the discussion.

Zoya hesitated for a moment but eventually complied, turning back to the mirror to admire the dress once more. Omar, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping idly on the armrest, his expression unreadable.

Nasr, standing silently by the door, couldn’t help but feel a quiet admiration for Nuha. Her ability to maintain her professionalism while setting clear boundaries was nothing short of impressive. Still, he remained alert, ready to step in again if needed.

The session continued in tense silence, broken only by Nuha’s calm instructions and Zoya’s occasional complaints. Omar’s presence loomed over the room, his prideful demeanor a constant reminder of the unspoken rivalry between him and Nuha. Yet, as Nuha meticulously worked on the fitting, it was clear who commanded the space.

---

The designer studio felt quieter after Zoya and Omar had left, as though their departure had taken some of the tension with them. Nuha stood in front of the mannequin, her fingers deftly arranging the champagne-golden lehenga back into place. Each fold of fabric, every glittering bead, was carefully smoothed out, as though she could fix the discord of the earlier interaction through sheer precision.

Nasr lingered nearby, watching her work with quiet admiration. Noticing her hands working quickly but methodically, he stepped closer and offered a small smile. “You know, Ms. Nuha,” he began softly, “they are very difficult people. What you’re doing with them—it’s the right thing.”

Nuha paused briefly, her hands stilling for just a moment. Her lips pressed together in a faint acknowledgment, but she remained silent. Without meeting his eyes, she resumed adjusting the dress.

Nasr didn’t push further. Instead, he joined her, carefully straightening the hem of the lehenga and ensuring it fell perfectly against the mannequin. They worked side by side, a quiet understanding passing between them.

Once the dress was in place, Nuha stepped back and examined it with a critical eye. Her hands rested on her hips as she tilted her head slightly.

“What’s next on the agenda?” she asked, her voice calm but edged with fatigue.

Nasr pulled out his tablet, scrolling through her schedule with practiced ease. “You have thirty minutes free for yourself,” he informed her. “After that, there’s a meeting with the marketing team to finalize the winter sale collection. They’ve chosen the Instagram model for the photoshoot.”

Nuha gave a small nod, her focus shifting from the mannequin to the sofa at the edge of the studio. She shrugged off her blazer, folding it neatly before settling down on the plush cushions. Her head tilted back slightly, her eyes fluttering shut as she stretched, trying to ease the tension in her neck and shoulders.

Nasr stayed where he was, standing near the floor-to-ceiling windows. His legs were crossed at the ankles, and his hands rested lightly in his pockets. He gazed out at the Dubai skyline, the buildings piercing the cloudy November sky like silent sentinels.

For a moment, the room felt still, almost peaceful.

“Sometimes,” Nasr said, his voice breaking the quiet, “I wonder if they realize how lucky they are to work with you.”

Nuha opened her eyes and turned her head slightly to look at him. Her expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something—surprise, maybe gratitude—before her features smoothed out again.

“Nasr,” she said evenly, “the world doesn’t work on gratitude. It works on leverage. You should remember that.”

Nasr met her gaze, his brow furrowing slightly. “I’m not sure I agree,” he replied softly. “People like you—who hold themselves with grace, even when others are difficult—you inspire more loyalty than you think.”

Nuha didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she clasped her hands together. “Loyalty is fleeting,” she said finally. “People only stick around until it’s no longer convenient for them. That’s why you have to keep a clear boundary between business and personal life.”

Nasr considered her words, his eyes still on her. “Maybe,” he said thoughtfully, “but I think some people are worth the risk.”

Nuha didn’t reply. Instead, she leaned back against the sofa once more, her gaze drifting to the ceiling. As the silence stretched between them, the weight of the earlier confrontation seemed to fade, leaving behind a quiet sense of mutual respect.

“Thirty minutes,” Nasr reminded her gently, glancing at the time. “Take them for yourself.”

Nuha nodded slightly, closing her eyes again. As Nasr turned back to the window, the faint hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.