Page 3 of Sweet Betrayal

The unrest was occurring less than fifty miles south of her, right now. She watched in morbid fascination as the riot police attacked demonstrators with batons. It was getting ugly.

She thought of the measures Abdul Anwar had outlined. Water cannons and teargas, and if that didn’t work, live rounds. Nausea made her grip the desk in front of her. Resignation was pointless. She needed to escape.

But how?

Forcing herself not to hyperventilate, she considered her options. Airport routes were uncertain, given the current situation, but theU.S. Embassy, a concrete fortress on the city’s west bank, sat within walking distance, and she could use the backstreets.

She ran back to her desk, opened a drawer and pulled out her purse, passport, and employment contract. Everything was kept on hand in case the prince wanted to go somewhere on a whim. She checked insider her passport and fingered the eagle watermark. It was a fragile lifeline.

Looking around, she snatched a dove-gray hijab off the back of a nearby chair. Once she got outside, she could use it to cover her blond hair. The disguise wasn’t perfect, but it was better than nothing.

She cast one final look around the office that had been her workplace for the last six months. Never in her wildest dreams had she pictured it ending like this.

Her eyes flickered to the memo in her in-box. Should she take it or leave it? Those pages held secrets the regime would kill to protect, yet without them the embassy might dismiss her story.

If she left the file where it lay, the prince might assume she’d never opened it—might. But carrying it out of the palace was treason, and treason here meant a death sentence. Did she really want that hanging over her head?

What to do?

A fresh roar from the TV sealed her choice. Grabbing the folder containing the memo, she tucked it under her arm and slipped into the colonnaded corridor.

CHAPTER 2

Whenever Hannah’s responsibilities took her beyond the compound walls, she was never allowed to go alone. Aneez, her assigned driver, or the prince’s steward—both of them men—always accompanied her. Women did not step outside the confines of the palace without an escort. That’s just the way it was here.

Right now, however, everything was different. There was no one to enforce protocol. No escort trailing behind her. No official clearance or nod of approval. It was just her, moving swiftly and silently across the manicured lawns and along the gravel paths that lined the palace grounds.

The thought of Prince Hakeem discovering her absence sent a dry chill through her mouth. He lived by a schedule with the precision of a surgeon. His office doors opened precisely at eight o’clock. Not a moment before. Never a second after.

She checked her watch. 7:45.

Holy crap! Where had the last forty-five minutes gone?

When she failed to bring his morning coffee, he’d ask where she was. Ahmed—if he’d shaken off his stupor by then—would tell His Majesty that Hannah had gone out half an hour ago and hadn’t returned.

The prince wouldn’t jump to conclusions. Not right away. He’d be puzzled, maybe mildly annoyed. Hannah was never late. Never careless. She was the one person he didn’t have to worry about.

Over the last few months, she’d made herself indispensable. Ran his diary with precision, remembered names he never bothered to learn, fetched gifts for his wives, and smoothed over the rough edges of his public life. Whatever he needed, she anticipated it before he asked.

In return, Prince Hakeem had rewarded her with something rare: trust. Freedom, even—more than most of his staff were allowed. Abdul Anwar had warned against it, but Hakeem had overruled him.

It was that freedom she was gambling on now.

She glanced at the time. Thirty minutes—that was all she had before someone noticed she was missing and started asking real questions. By then, the security team would have rewound the footage.

Every gate, every hallway, every exit was under constant surveillance. Real-time video streamed into the administration building, monitored by a rotation of stone-faced guards trained to notice the smallest anomaly. If even one red flag was raised, the State Security force would be deployed without hesitation. They were fast, heavily armed, and fiercely loyal. She knew the men. She knew their names, their routines, the weapons they carried. Just imagining the sound of their boots pounding down the corridor behind her sent a chill through her entire body.

There was no such thing as sneaking out. No forgotten camera. No dead angle in the system. So she hadn’t tried for stealth.

Instead, her plan was simple. She would walk through the front gate and talk her way out.

It wouldn’t be easy.

She thought through the scenarios. Aneez, her driver, was probably still at breakfast. He wouldn’t be needed until midmorning, but even if she found him, he wouldn’t help. Aneez was loyal. Traditional. He’d know this wasn’t official business—and he’d report it.

Bougainvillea spilled over the compound walls in a riot of hot pink, offering scraps of cover. The heat shimmered across the manicured garden. A perfect day, cloudless and still. Her urgency felt out of place, but everywhere she looked, the colors were too sharp, the flowers too loud.

She moved briskly toward the staff entrance. It was tucked behind the complex, near the employee quarters, out of sight from the palace. The grand front entrance was off-limits unless she was accompanying His Royal Highness and his retinue. Four armed guards manned the staff gate. Unlike the front, it remained open, but the black iron spikes rising skyward looked less ornamental now and more like a warning.

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