Chapter 60 Sixty

Chapter 60 Sixty

Leyla's POV

Malek did not attack with accusations. That would have been too direct and too easy to counter. He attacked with generosity.

The invitation arrived on fine parchment, sealed with the Grand Vizier's personal crest. A moon viewing party at his estate. A celebration of the autumn harvest. A request that Khalid bring all his wives.

"We cannot refuse," Khalid said, his voice flat. "To refuse would be suspicious. To attend is to walk into his web."

I read the invitation again. It contained beautiful words and warm wishes but it was a poisoned trap wrapped in the finest of silk.

The night of the party arrived too quickly. I dressed in pale blue, the color of innocence, and rode beside Khalid in the carriage. The other wives followed in a second carriage. I could not see them. I could not comfort them. I could only sit rigidly, my mask in place, and prepare for battle.

Malek's estate was breathtaking. Lanterns hung from every tree, casting soft light over gardens designed by masters. A reflecting pool mirrored the rising moon. Musicians played gentle melodies from a hidden balcony. Beautiful people drifted through the scene, laughing, talking, drinking wine.

It was a nightmare.

Malek greeted us personally, his oil slick smile wider than ever. "Khalid! And the famous wives. Tonight you must all relax, enjoy yourselves. My home is your home."

He separated us immediately. A gesture here, a word there, and suddenly we were being led in different directions. Samira toward a group of scholars. Yasmin toward the gardens. Imani toward a cluster of merchants. Nadia toward the training yard, where off duty guards practiced. Mia toward a circle of poets and musicians.

I was kept at Khalid's side, but even we were not safe. Courtiers surrounded us, asking questions, making small talk, keeping us from seeing the others. I smiled. I laughed. I played my part.

But my senses were stretched taut, reaching for each wife like invisible threads.

I felt Samira's discomfort across the garden. A handsome young scholar leaned too close, asking about her research, probing for personal details. She answered in short, clipped sentences, her scholarly composure cracking under the pressure.

I felt Yasmin's distress near the roses. A poet with wandering hands complimented her "earthy beauty" and tried to draw her away from the crowd. She stepped back, her quiet strength barely hiding her panic.

I felt Imani's fury by the fountain. A merchant with sharp eyes asked about her supply chains, her contacts, her methods. Professional curiosity, he claimed. She knew it was more.

I felt Nadia's rage in the training yard. A young guard challenged her to spar, his friends watching, their eyes hungry. She accepted, her movements controlled but violent, each strike a message.

And I felt Mia's terror.

She sat in a circle of poets, her lute in her hands, her face pale as moonlight. A lord with silver hair and dead eyes leaned close, asking her to play something "personal." Something "from the heart." His hand rested on her knee. She couldn't move. She couldn't speak. She was frozen, her eyes darting around the garden, searching for escape.

Searching for me.

Our eyes met across the crowded space. Her plea was silent but louder than any scream. Help me.

My heart stopped. I couldn't go to her. That was exactly what Malek wanted. A glance, a touch, a moment of connection that would confirm his suspicions. If I moved, if I showed that she mattered more than politeness, the trap would close.

But I couldn't let her suffer. I couldn't.

I made a split second decision. My eyes found Yasmin, still near the roses, still fending off the poet. I caught her gaze and gave the smallest nod toward Mia. A silent command. A plea of my own.

Yasmin understood immediately.

She moved with the grace of a woman who knew plants and people alike. A tray of wine glasses sat on a nearby table. She picked one up, took two steps toward Mia's circle, and stumbled.

The wine flew. Red liquid splashed across the lord's fine robes, soaking the silk, ruining the moment. He jumped up, sputtering, his attention completely pulled from Mia.

Yasmin was all apologies. "Forgive me, my lord! The stones are so uneven. I am terribly clumsy. Please, let me find a servant to help clean your robes."

She swept him away, her hand on his arm, her voice soothing. Mia was forgotten. Alone. Safe.

I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. The danger passed. Mia slipped away from the circle, finding a shadowed corner to collect herself.

Then I felt it. Eyes on me. Heavy. Knowing.

I turned slowly. Across the garden, half hidden by a flowering tree, Malek stood watching. His smile was no longer the polite mask of a host. It was something else. Something satisfied. Something hungry.

He had seen the entire exchange. The look between Yasmin and me. The coordinated rescue. The silent communication that spoke louder than any words.

He raised his wine glass in a small, mocking toast. Then he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

The night air turned cold. The music sounded sinister. The beautiful garden became a cage.

Khalid's hand found mine, squeezed once. He had seen too.

"We need to leave," he murmured. "Now. Before he strikes."

But it was already too late. The spider had seen the threads connecting us. He didn't know everything, but he knew enough. He knew we were more than wives. He knew we were a unit, a family, a force.

And he would use that knowledge to destroy us.

The carriage ride home was silent. Each wife sat alone with her thoughts, with her fear, with the weight of what had happened. No one spoke. There was nothing to say.

We had survived the night. But the war had just entered its most dangerous phase. And Malek, the spider, was spinning his web.