Hidden : Under the masks ( english version)

Chapter 7 -Tidiane-

The guests gradually left the party, their silhouettes fading into the night. Each departure felt like a release, one step closer to the calm after the storm that had shaken the hotel. Yet, this apparent calm was merely a prelude to an even greater storm, ready to break once we returned home. Madame Latifa, her face cold as ice, ordered Safiatou and me to return to our room. Her words were sharp, cutting like blades, leaving no room for argument.

We obeyed without protest, but as soon as we entered our room, we immediately turned on the tablet—our most valuable ally.

Latifa entered the living room with a dignified stride, but the tension in her face betrayed the storm brewing inside her, desperate to erupt. Rashid was already there, seated in an armchair, his hands gripping the armrests tightly.

Salima, on the other hand, stood near the window, her shoulders slightly hunched, as if the weight of the world rested on them. Yet, there was no hint of regret on her face. She just looked tired, resigned to face what was coming.

"How could you let this happen, Rashid?" Latifa's voice broke the heavy silence in the room. "Your sister behaves like a spoiled child, and you just stand there, doing nothing!"

Rashid lifted his head, his eyes burning with anger.

"Wait a minute—is she your daughter or mine? Don't put the blame on me, Mom. Salima is an adult. She makes her own choices."

"Choices that will lead us all to ruin!" she shot back. "Your father will never forgive you. You were supposed to watch over her, keep her in check!"

At these words, Rashid shot to his feet, towering over his mother.

"Maybe you should ask yourself how you've been treating her."

Salima, silent until now, finally turned to face her mother, her expression impassive in stark contrast to the fury simmering in the room.

"Alright, I'm sorry. What's done is done. Let's not make a big deal out of it."

Latifa, shocked by such defiance, moved closer to her daughter, her hand trembling.

"And you dare to speak? After everything that's happened because of you... you have no regrets? This is unbelievable."

Salima held her gaze, cold and resolute.

"None."

That was the final straw. In a sudden fit of rage, Latifa raised her hand to strike her daughter, but Rashid stepped in just in time, grabbing his mother's wrist with such firmness that she recoiled.

"That's enough, Mom. This argument is pointless. She's already had her share of slaps."

Latifa, thrown off by her son's intervention, let her arm fall to her side. Her gaze drifted into the distance for a moment, as if she was only just realizing the gravity of what had just happened. Rashid gently loosened his grip, then turned and left the room, leaving his mother and sister alone, face to face.

Salima didn't move, her eyes still fixed on her mother.

"I'm flying on my own now, and there's no stopping me." Her voice, though quiet, was sharp and full of certainty.

Crushed, Latifa collapsed into an armchair, tears welling in her eyes. She murmured, her voice broken, "What am I going to do with you?"

Salima said nothing. She turned slowly and left the room without another word, leaving her mother alone with her grief. The scene we had watched with almost painful intensity faded away as the tablet screen went dark, plunging our room into a heaviness that mirrored the atmosphere in the Al-Maktoum living room.

The next morning, the newspapers were buzzing about the previous night's party, highlighting the distinguished guests and the grandeur of the event. But they didn't fail to mention the incident that had taken place. As I read the articles, a wave of unease washed over me. I couldn't help but think of Salima, of her proud stance and her face twisted with shame and anger. A part of me wanted to pity her, to comfort her, but I quickly reminded myself that I had no right to feel sympathy.

This mission left no room for weakness. Every emotion had to be buried, every ounce of sympathy pushed aside. Yet, Salima's face haunted my thoughts, and I found myself watching her more closely when she came down for breakfast that morning. Our eyes met briefly, and I saw an odd mix of defiance and vulnerability in hers.

By the end of the day, Rashid and I were on our way to the hotel together, as we had been doing regularly since we had, surprisingly, become friends. But today, there was a different kind of tension in the air, a creeping anticipation that kept me on edge. The plan I had in mind—a dangerous, calculated plan—had to unfold today. After playing my role as his driver and dropping Rashid off at the hotel, I discreetly made my way into his office.

My heart raced as I slowly opened the drawer of his desk, placing the small bag of cocaine I had carefully prepared inside. The evidence was there, in plain sight. Now all I had to do was wait for Sheikh Al-Maktoum to find it. The thought of what would happen next sent a shiver of excitement mingled with fear down my spine.