Peace ?

The morning sunlight crept through the sheer curtains, spilling gold across the room. In the middle of the king-sized bed, Mishel lay curled against Taha’s chest, her hair sprawled over him like a silken veil. His arm rested protectively around her, as though even in sleep he was guarding what was most precious to him.

Taha was awake, though. His sharp eyes—eyes that had witnessed gunfire, betrayals, blood—were soft now, tracing the delicate lines of her face. In this stillness, she was his peace, the one reminder that life wasn’t only about missions and enemies. He tightened his arm around her, pressing his lips gently to her forehead.

“Wake up, Mishel,” he whispered, his voice low but insistent.

She groaned, shifting deeper into his embrace. “It’s too early,” she mumbled, her voice muffled against his chest. She snuggled closer, fingers curling into his shirt like a child refusing to let go of a blanket.

He chuckled, though there was no escape in his tone. “No, habibti. You’ve already stolen half the morning.”

When she didn’t move, he shook her lightly. She only groaned louder, trying to bury her face into him. But then he leaned down, brushing his lips against her cheek, then her temple. Her eyes fluttered open at the warmth, and she found him smiling, dangerously close.

“You’re unfair,” she whispered, cheeks tinged pink.

“Only to you,” he teased, pressing another kiss at the corner of her lips. She gasped and pushed him away lightly, though her laughter betrayed her shyness.

Finally, she sat up, hair messy, eyes still heavy with sleep. He thought she had never looked more beautiful.

They shared breakfast in their apartment, sunlight flooding the wide glass windows that overlooked the city. The marble table was lined with fresh fruit, eggs, warm bread, and coffee he had insisted on making himself. Mishel teased him about how his eggs were slightly overcooked, and he only smiled, letting her win the argument.

Soon after, he slipped into his black suit, kissed her hand, and left for work.

But work for Taha wasn’t paperwork or board meetings. Behind the polished glass doors of his agency, his true world unfolded. Files marked with red stamps, grainy photographs of missing women, maps dotted with pins, intercepted drug routes—this was his battlefield. He was no ordinary businessman. He was an agent, trained to dismantle human trafficking rings, drug cartels, and the underworld mafias that plagued society. His name sent shivers through the darkest alleys, though Mishel had no idea. To her, he was simply Taha—her quiet, mysterious husband.

Inside his office, the air was tense. His secretary entered quietly. “Sir, we still haven’t located her. The trail is faint, but we’re—”

Taha’s eyes snapped up, sharp as a blade. His voice was low, deadly calm. “Find her. Fast. She is important for our main mission. No excuses.”

"She the only one who can help us to destroy them ".

“Yes, sir,” the man replied, his hands trembling slightly.

Taha leaned back in his chair, jaw clenched. He didn’t often lose his composure, but this case—the woman they were searching for—wasn’t just another mission. She was a key to bringing down an empire of criminals. And failure wasn’t an option.

When the day ended, Taha slipped back into his other life—the one Mishel knew. He returned home with a gentle smile, as though his hands weren’t stained by the weight of secrets.

“Ready for a drive?” he asked.

Her face lit up, and soon, they were cruising down highways in the Porsche, her laughter filling the car as the wind played with her hair. She leaned her head out, shouting into the breeze like a carefree child. He glanced at her, a softness spreading across his face that no enemy had ever seen.

They stopped at a cozy café on the edge of the city, a place tucked between bougainvillea vines and old lanterns that glowed like fireflies. Mishel chose a small table in the outdoor garden, beneath fairy lights strung across the branches.

The air was cool, carrying the smell of freshly brewed coffee and roses from the hedge nearby. Mishel dipped her spoon into a chocolate mousse, pretending not to notice when Taha leaned closer to steal a bite.

“Hey!” she laughed, swatting his hand. “Get your own.”

He only smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Why should I, when yours tastes better?”

They lingered long after their cups were empty, talking about everything and nothing—her dreams, silly stories from her childhood, the way she wanted to decorate their apartment. He listened intently, his gaze steady on her, though in the back of his mind, calculations never ceased. His world was never free of shadows, but here, with her, he pretended it was.

She leaned back, sighing happily. “This feels perfect.”

“Because it is,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

But miles away, in a dimly lit room, perfection was being watched. A man sat hunched before a wall of screens, each one showing grainy footage: Taha and Mishel at the café, their laughter caught in the glow of fairy lights, their hands brushing across the table.

The watcher’s grin widened. His laugh cracked the silence—low, manic, cruel.

“Taha,” he hissed, tapping the screen where Mishel’s blurred figure smiled, “your weakness glows brighter than any secret you guard. You’ve made it so easy.”

He leaned back, his laughter echoing like a curse. “I will destroy you. And I will begin with her.”

Unaware, in the café garden, Mishel giggled as Taha stole another spoonful of her dessert, the fairy lights shimmering above them. Taha smiled back, but somewhere deep inside, his instincts stirred. Shadows never stayed away for long.