Hidden : Under the masks ( english version)

Chapter 1 -Tidiane-

I hear screams that wake me up instantly. I put on a t-shirt and step out of my room. The sun had just risen, and in the living room, I see my uncle sobbing, with a cup of coffee spilled on the floor.

"What's going on, Uncle?" I shouted, terrified.

He turned towards me, his eyes red from crying. I could see sadness and pity in his gaze. "What's happening?" I asked again.

He walked over to me and took me in his arms. I felt his tears on me, and his sadness started to seep into me. My body trembled as I witnessed this scene.

"Your parents are gone, your parents have left us," he said with difficulty, his words interrupted by his sobs.

My eight-year-old heart couldn't bear to hear this. I stood frozen in place, still in my uncle's arms. Looking around, I noticed my aunt and her children, also crying as they looked at me. My vision became blurry as I realized I was about to become an orphan. The chills wouldn't leave my body. I felt the weight of my heart pounding heavily, my lungs tightening, making it hard to breathe, and I could no longer stand. I was hyperventilating.

"Hey! Sir! Sir!" said a voice accompanied by an echo.

It was just a nightmare. I woke up with a start, noticing the Yango driver I had booked staring at me through his rear view mirror.

"Are you alright? Do you need me to call for help?" he added.

"No, thank you," I said, sitting up straight. "It was just a nightmare."

"That must've been one hell of a nightmare, judging by your whimpers."

I didn't reply but gave him a weak smile. I could see the airport in the distance, so I put on my sweater and took the money for the ride out of my pocket to give him when we arrived. He helped me retrieve my suitcase from the trunk, I thanked him, and then I entered the airport. I passed through security; everything was in order. I sat down on a bench, waiting for Safiatou, an old friend. We were traveling together. I finally saw her approaching, wearing a gray cotton tracksuit, pulling her suitcase behind her. I stood up to greet her.

"Hi," I said to her.

"Hi, Tidiane."

It was rather awkward, at least for me. It had been ten years since we last met in person. We had only communicated from a distance until now.

"Ready?" I asked her.

"Yes."

"Are you sure you still want to do this? You can always turn back."

"Yes, I'm sure," she said before taking a deep breath.

We were about to embark on a "mission." We were going to execute a revenge we had been planning since high school.

"Is everything set?" I asked her again.

"Yes," she replied briefly.

After going over the details, we headed toward the boarding gate. Our flight was called, so we made our way to our seats. During the flight, we continued discussing important details. We were to pose as a married couple of two years because the family we were going to work for only hired couples, for a reason that escaped me. Sheikh Al-Maktoum was the owner of a luxury hotel business, a family inheritance passed down by his father. Nevertheless, Safia and I had been hired by the Al-Maktoum family, she as a housekeeper, and I as a chauffeur. Eight hours later, we arrived in Dubai. We dropped off our luggage for inspection and headed towards the exit, where a shuttle with the hotel logo on it was waiting for us. We saw it, and Safia insisted on holding my hand as a young couple would. I played along, and we walked forward.

Damn it, it's happening again. I stopped for a moment; my heart was racing so fast that I imagined Safia could hear it. Sweat was pouring from my forehead, soaking my entire body. My hands were clammy, I was trembling like a leaf, and my heart was pounding: BOOM-BOOM, BOOM-BOOM, BOOM-BOOM. It felt like my chest was going to explode. The pain was unbearable. This was really not the time for a panic attack. I had managed to avoid them for three months, and now they chose this moment to return. Perfect.

"Hey..." Safiatou whispered, squeezing my hand even tighter. "It's going to be okay," she repeated three times.

The driver got out of the vehicle and took our suitcases. I extended my hand to greet him, but he didn't respond. He embodied the stereotypical grumpy bodyguard from wealthy families. He wasn't thin, nor fat, nor muscular, just "normal." He seemed to be in his fifties. His gaze was intimidating, but I thought I could get used to it. He opened the door for us, and we got in. The ride was silent. After half an hour, the shuttle stopped in front of a tall modern building, almost as high as the Burj Khalifa.