“That’s right,” Reza said. “I needed some ingredients for breakfast.”
“Makes sense,” Haris said. “It’s not as though there’s any food to eat on the premises, right?”
“What are you trying to say?” Reza shot back. “Check the security footage. It’ll back up what I’m saying.”
“Yes,” Hena said quickly, hoping to stop this from spiraling. “There should be footage. Lulu’s got cameras all over the hotel. If Gita was attacked on the property, it’ll show clear as day who did it.”
The officers traded a look. Steen sighed.
“Whoever did this got ahead of that. They blocked out the cameras.”
“They hacked them?”
“Yes. They vandalized a few as well.”
Vandalized.
Her stomach twisted. She bolted outside, racing past the reception desk and onto the pathway she’d hurried down a short while earlier. She scanned the eaves of the building and gasped.
There it was. The camera. It was coated, and splotches of still-wet paint dripped to the concrete below.
Red paint.
Like last time.
The world tilted around her.
She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t move. Panic filled her system. Because this wasn’t random. This wasn’t a coincidence. It was now confirmed: Whoever had done this was hoping to finish what they’d started three years ago.
Gita wasn’t the target. Hena was.
19
•
The three-hundred-person ceremony planned for the previous night had been canceled. Instead, it was eleven o’clock in the morning on Thursday, and sixteen people were gathered in a simple, unadorned room tucked in the corner of the resort, overlooking the butterfly garden. There were no candles today. No drummers. No Mughal-inspired backdrop.
Khaled wore a cream sherwani, and Lulu a simple ivory shalwar kamiz to match. Her hair was pulled back in a low braid, and a veil was draped over her head. Despite the lack of pomp and circumstance, as they exchanged their vows before the imam and promised to devote their lives to each other, the moment was undeniably perfect.
Khaled took Lulu’s hand. He beamed as he slipped the wedding band on her finger. As Lulu gazed at him with complete adoration, a bittersweet sensation welled within Hena. Until now, every event had been a fun house mirror of her own wedding week. But here, their paths diverged. This was a moment she and Nasir had never shared. By this point in her own timeline, Hena wasn’t welcoming a future with someone she loved; she was saying goodbye.
After the imam declared them man and wife, there were hugs. Smiles. Happy tears.
Yesterday was a surreal blur—endless trips to the hospital, officers questioning every guest and combing the grounds, and all the while, she and Khala taking turns to care for and calm her distraught mother. But now, at least, there was this. It was now official. Despite all the tension and stress and fear, Lulu and Khaled were now officially married.
As people exchanged well wishes, her eyes drifted to Reza. He lingered off to the side, by the entrance. His posture was stiff, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. Ever since Lulu discovered him in her suite yesterday morning, something had shifted. Hena had texted him last night, asking him to come by. He said he couldn’t. A migraine.
“Hey, you,” she said, approaching him. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m better. Thanks.” He blinked and smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And hey—congratulations.” He nodded to Lulu and Khaled.
“Thanks,” Hena said. “I’m glad it’s official.”
“How’s Gita?” he asked. “Is she any better?”
“It’s a serious concussion, but she’s stable,” she told him. “They kept her overnight for observation, but she’ll get discharged soon. She should be back in time for the shaadi tonight. Lulu wanted to call off the rest of the wedding, but of course, my mother wouldn’t hear of it.”
Worry lines creased his forehead. “Itdoesfeel a bit risky. Given what happened.”