Part 188

188

Shabila spent the whole day in frustration, angry that she couldn't meet Gibran at his cafe. She paced back and forth in her room, thinking of ways to meet him.

"Do you think you can avoid me forever? You won't be able to, Gibran. I have to make you take responsibility for the child I'm carrying. You won't be able to escape. Just wait and see."

Shabila clenched her fists, planning a thousand ways to meet Gibran. "If I can't find you at the cafe, I'll come to your house. Let's see if you can still avoid me," she muttered to herself.

Gibran decided to visit the club where he had met Shabila some time ago. He had a bad feeling about Shabila's visit to his cafe and wanted to find out what had really happened between them that night. Honestly, Gibran didn't remember much because he had been heavily intoxicated that night.

Upon arriving at the club, Gibran called one of the waitresses and conveyed his request to meet with the club's owner.

"I'd like to discuss something important with your boss," Gibran said politely.

"Please wait a moment, Mr. Gibran. I'll inform the boss," the waitress responded with a friendly smile.

Gibran sat calmly in his seat, waiting for the waitress to return.

Not long after, the club's owner came to meet him, accompanied by the waitress.

"Serve us some drinks," the club owner instructed his employee.

The waitress left, and the club owner turned his attention to Gibran. He extended his hand to shake Gibran's.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Gibran?" the club owner inquired.

"Sorry for interrupting your time, but I need a little assistance," Gibran said without preamble.

The club owner chuckled. "Assistance? What kind of assistance are you referring to?" he asked.

"Well, some time ago, I was here while intoxicated. During that time, I seem to have done something, but I don't remember anything at all because I was too drunk," explained Gibran.

"And then?"

"I'd like to review the CCTV footage of the date and time of that incident. I want to make sure and find out what happened at that time," Gibran added.

The club owner seemed to ponder this. His face took on a thoughtful expression as he stared into the distance. "But, Mr. Gibran—"

"I assure you I won't do anything that will harm your business, and of course, I won't involve anyone else who isn't related to this matter. I purely want to know what happened and what I did that night," he said with a pleading expression.

The club owner seemed to trust Gibran's words. He waved his hand as a signal to one of his employees.

"Alright, Mr. Gibran. I trust you. But please keep your word about not involving others in this matter," he said.

"Thank you for allowing me," Gibran said with a sense of relief.

The club owner briefly spoke to his employee, then bid farewell to Gibran. "I've asked one of my club's staff to accompany you to the CCTV room. I have an urgent matter to attend to," he added.

"Alright, thank you once again." Gibran stood up to show his respect as the club owner took his leave.

"Shall we go now, Mr. Gibran?" The waitress redirected Gibran's attention.

Gibran nodded and followed the waitress to the back of the club, walking through narrow corridors until they reached a closed room with several neatly arranged television screens. A man was sitting facing the screens with a computer keyboard in front of him.

"What's up?" the man asked the waitress while his gaze remained fixed on Gibran, who stood right in front of him.

"The boss requested that you show the CCTV footage he asked for," the waitress said.

The man furrowed his brow, showing a hint of displeasure, but he proceeded to do as the waitress had instructed.

"Wanna see footage from which date?" he asked nonchalantly.

Gibran mentioned the date, time, and location when he had been drunk at the club. The man began to focus on the keyboard in front of him, and his fingers danced agilely, pressing the keys. It didn't take long for all the television screens in the room to suddenly go black, then come back to life, displaying the same recording. It was the footage from the night Gibran had been intoxicated at the club.

The CCTV footage showed Gibran nearly unconscious, barely able to move. Then suddenly, Shabila approached and aggressively seduced him. She even climbed onto his lap and did many disgusting things. The two people who were with Gibran looked at him strangely.

Gibran didn't care. The more he watched the recording, the more he was convinced that he hadn't done anything that night. The footage clearly showed that it was Shabila who had seduced and willingly engaged with him, while he remained completely unconscious. Gibran watched the entire recording until Shabila left the scene.

"May I request a copy of this recording?" Gibran asked the man in front of the screen.

"Has the boss given permission?" he asked, directing the question to someone unseen.

"He has! Just give it to him," the waitress who had accompanied Gibran replied.

The man turned to Gibran. "Where's your phone?" he said, reaching out his hand.

Gibran reached into his pocket and handed over his phone. The man then proceeded to transfer the recording into a file on Gibran's phone. It only took a moment before the copy was complete.

"It's done," the man said, returning Gibran's phone to him.

"Thank you. I'll take my leave now," Gibran said, not wanting to linger any longer. It was clear that the man was disturbed by his presence.

"Feel free. I've got work to do," the man replied indifferently.

The next day, Shabila was ready to meet Gibran again. This time, she didn't want to visit his cafe but his in-laws' house. She had already booked a taxi, and now she was inside it.

"Driver, take me to this address, please," Shabila said as she handed a piece of paper with Gibran's in-laws' address, obtained from a friend.

The taxi started heading to the designated location. Shabila took a small mirror from her purse and checked her makeup in its reflection. She smiled satisfactorily upon seeing her beautiful face in the mirror's reflection and then carefully placed the mirror back in her small bag.

"Arrived, Miss," exclaimed the taxi driver to her.

Shabila lifted her head, snapping out of her reverie. She looked to the side, where a large house stood. The woman then exited the taxi after handing some bills to the driver and thanking him.

Shabila took a few deep breaths to calm her nerves before stepping towards the house's entrance gate.

"Whom are you looking for?" asked the security guard at the gate.

"I'm here to meet Mr. Gibran and his family," Shabila replied with a friendly smile.

The security guard didn't find any reason to be suspicious as Shabila appeared friendly and polite. He then opened the gate and welcomed Shabila inside.

"Please, Miss. The master and mistress are inside. Non Viska is here too," the security guard added, equally friendly.

Shabila smiled and gracefully walked towards the house's terrace. She rang the doorbell and waited for someone to answer.

"Who is it?" A middle-aged woman, whom Shabila assumed was the housekeeper, appeared and scrutinized her.

"I'm Shabila. Is the owner of the house here?" the woman asked somewhat arrogantly.

The woman frowned. "Wait a moment," she said and hurried inside the house.

Shabila waited calmly at the door. Shortly after, the woman reappeared.

"You may enter," she said. "Please wait here; the mistress will come shortly."

Shabila entered and sat in the living room, taking in the brown-themed interior. A middle-aged woman with a natural yet elegant appearance came in and looked at Shabila with curiosity.

"Do we know each other?" she asked as they shook hands.

Shabila smiled wryly. "No, we just met here, ma'am," she replied, emphasizing the word 'ma'am.'

The woman sat down, still studying Shabila closely. "Who are you, and what brings you to my house?" she inquired again.

"I'm Shabila. I came here to speak with your daughter. You're Viska's mother, right?" Shabila countered.

"Yes, I'm her mother. What do you want with my child?" The woman began to feel uneasy and uncomfortable with Shabila's sudden presence. Shabila's arrogant and conceited demeanor didn't help, making the woman lose sympathy.

"What's going on, Mom? Why did you mention Viska's name?" A young woman emerged from inside.

Shabila scrutinized her from head to toe and smirked.

"Are you Viska?" she asked arrogantly.

"Yes, what's the matter?" The woman looked puzzled.

"I'm Shabila. I'm currently carrying Gibran's child," Shabila declared loudly.

"You're crazy! Don't joke about this." Viska's mother immediately became emotional upon hearing Shabila's words.

"Do you think I'm insane? Coming to someone's house just to make jokes?" Shabila retorted.

"I don't care what you have to say. I won't believe it! Leave right now!" Viska pulled Shabila's hand and dragged her out. She didn't care if Shabila was pregnant with Gibran's child or not; all she cared about was her family's well-being.