The afternoon sun blazed over Jeddah in all its golden brilliance.
The sky stretched endlessly, painted in flawless blue, as if draped in silk.
A soft breeze drifted from the direction of the Red Sea, brushing past the marble-white villas and rustling the tall palm trees lining the quiet streets.
Somewhere in the distance, the call for Dhuhr prayer echoed, dissolving into the stillness of the day.
In one of the city's most affluent districts stood an architectural marvel
The Yulzar Crest.
Its towering pillars, golden-trimmed windows, and marble balconies glistened under the sunlight.
It wasn't just a mansion — it was a statement, a legacy.
The Yulzar Crest embodied the prestige, power, and pride of the Yulzar dynasty—a symbol of influence that stretched across continents.
At the top floor of that grand estate, silence reigned inside a vast, polished office.
Every inch spoke of authority—the carved mahogany desk, the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the faint scent of oud lingering in the air.
Behind the desk sat Zulqarnain Yulzar, dressed in a pristine white thobe, his posture sharp, his expression calm—almost carved in stone.
Time had given him a kind of stillness that no storm could shake.
Before him lay open files, reports, and contracts;
on the screen, blue graphs flickered with constant precision.
Only one sound broke the stillness—the rhythmic tick of a pen tapping lightly against paper as he signed document after document, his golden ring glinting each time it caught the light.
His gaze—cold, deliberate—was the same gaze that had made the business world bow to the name Yulzar.
Then suddenly, the silence fractured.
The phone on his desk began to vibrate softly.
He glanced toward it, and the name flashing on the screen made his brows tighten—it was one of his most trusted security officers, a man assigned to safeguard his sons.
He answered without hesitation.
"Yes?" His tone was steady, formal, almost detached.
But the voice that came through the receiver…shattered that calm.
"Sir… it's about Mr. Zaarim.
There's been… an accident."
The pen slipped from his hand.
It struck the desk with a dull sound—and the clock on the wall seemed to stop ticking.
For a long, breathless moment, he said nothing.
Then his voice rose, deep and controlled—yet carrying the weight of command.
"What did you say?
What accident? Where is he? How bad is it?"
There was hesitation on the other end—a silence that said more than words ever could.
Then came the quiet, dreaded reply:
"Sir… he's not out of danger."
The line went dead.
Zulqarnain remained still, the phone frozen in his grip, his eyes staring into nothing.
Then, suddenly—the phone hit the desk with a sharp crack, and the sound echoed across the room.
He leaned back slowly, hands clasped tightly over his head.
No movement.
No sound.
Just stillness—the kind that sits between rage and disbelief.
The door opened softly.
A woman stepped in—Mehmel, his second wife.
Draped in a dark navy gown, elegant and composed, her eyes searched his face, sensing the unease that filled the room.
"What happened, Nain?"
She sat across from him, voice cautious, half concern, half fear.
He didn't look up.
Seconds passed, heavy and thick with silence.
Then his voice came, quiet but firm.
"Nothing. Pack my things.
I'm going to Canada."
Mehmel froze.
Her eyes widened slightly.
"What happened? Please tell me—"
He finally lifted his gaze.
One look — cold and sharp — was enough to silence her.
"I said… prepare my things."
His voice carried no tremor, no emotion—just command.
Unquestionable. Unyielding.
He reached for his phone again, slipped it into his pocket, and stood up in one smooth motion.
"Tell the driver to ready the car."
And with that, he turned and walked out.
Mehmel stayed seated, watching him disappear through the doorway, the echo of his measured footsteps lingering long after he was gone.
Moments later, a sleek black car rolled out through the towering iron gates of the Yulzar Crest.
The setting sun bled across the horizon, casting a crimson glow over Jeddah's skyline.
And as the car disappeared down the road, it felt as though the city itself was holding its breath—for the Yulzar family's story
had just shifted into a new, uncertain chapter.