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Chapter 5 - Chain & Command (Imran's POV)

I'd only been back twelve hours, and already my inbox looked like a war zone.

One week. One summit in Vienna. A few brutal layovers.

And I came back to find the entire rhythm of my org chart quietly rearranged.

Not by me. Not by anyone who reports to me.

But by the man at the top.

Husine Begović didn't ask for opinions. He gave orders.

Still, when I saw Ayub's name missing from my leadership circle, I had to reread it three times.

Transferred. Reassigned.

To Lamija's division.

I sat back in my chair, jaw tight.

He didn't even consult me. Not a message. Not a call.

Just a silent maneuver that stripped me of one of my best men.

Ayub wasn't just good.

He was my stabilizer.

The one I trusted when everything was on fire.

Precise, unshakable, loyal to the bone.

I didn't have many of those.

And Babo just handed him off like a spare part.

It was strategic. Sure.

Babo saw a storm in Lamija and thought Ayub would be the anchor. That made sense.

But what grated was how quietly it happened—no discussion, no warning.

Just a line moved from one chart to another, as if it meant nothing.

To me, it did.

I was still working through my flagged emails when the knock came.

Right on time.

Didn't even have to check the clock.

"Come in."

Ayub stepped inside, shoulders squared but tension radiating off him.

Calm on the surface, panic humming underneath.

I knew the look. He wore it when his father died. When Babo first offered him a role.

When he thought too much of himself was at risk to speak.

"Morning," I said, motioning to the chair.

"Jet lagged and already three fires deep, so just say it."

He sat.

"I need to be reassigned," he said.

There it was.

I raised an eyebrow. "Thought so."

He shifted.

"I just... I don't think I'm a good fit for Lamija's team. She works differently. Pushes hard. I don't know if I—"

"Ayub," I cut in, not angry, just sharp.

"You don't want to work with Lamija. Just say that. Don't dress it up in performance talk."

He exhaled through his nose, gaze dropping.

"You saw the update last night?"

He nodded. "Thought it was a mistake."

"It wasn't. Babo moved you.

And we both know his decisions don't come with feedback forms."

I leaned back, studying him.

"You think you're not cut out for her team? That's garbage.

You're one of the best assets in this building.

You execute without fanfare, without ego, and you get it done."

His jaw flexed.

"But the reason she doesn't know that—the reason no one outside my team knows that—is because you don't let anyone see you.

You do the job, then vanish.

You stay safe in the background and act surprised when no one hands you a stage."

Still quiet. That was always his move.

I leaned forward, voice lower.

"This isn't about the job. This is about her."

He tensed.

"You've avoided her for years. I watched it happen.

Switching shifts, avoiding meetings, never once volunteering on anything tied to her division.

I let it go. Figured you had your reasons.

But now you're finally in her space and you want to retreat."

He said nothing, but his silence cracked louder than any words.

"She's not going to break you, Ayub."

He looked up, finally.

"You think she's this impossible standard, and maybe she is.

She's sharp, relentless, and doesn't bend for anyone.

But that doesn't mean you don't belong beside her.

You don't need to compete with her.

You need to stop disappearing."

He ran a hand over his face.

He looked tired. Frayed.

"I don't belong in her world."

I shook my head.

"Don't give me that. You lived in our house. You ate at our table. My mother calls you her son.

You belong here more than half the clowns drawing a paycheck off our name."

Still nothing.

"You want me to go to Babo and reverse it? Can't. Wouldn't, even if I could."

His brow creased.

"Because you're not running this time. You're going to show up. Show her who you really are. And if she doesn't like it? That's her problem. At least she'll finally see you."

I let the words land. Let the silence sit.

Then I added, lighter, "You know what might actually help though? We get her married off."

He blinked. Just blinked.

"I'm serious," I said, straight-faced. "Set her up. Vet the prospects. Do background checks, call their mothers, screen their blood type. Maybe get psychological evaluations done ahead of time."

I tapped my tablet. "You could run the whole operation. Set up interviews. Coffee tastings. Prayer compatibility tests."

Ayub gave me the driest look I'd ever seen.

"I mean it," I added with a smirk.

"It'd be good for the company. Imagine the morale boost."

As he stood, he didn't say a word—just flicked me off on the way to the door.

I grinned.

"That's more like it."

He walked out, shoulders still tight, but not shrinking.

I watched the door click shut behind him.

Maybe Babo knew what he was doing.

But it still felt like a warning shot.

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