Whatever you want, Dylan shrugged.

But if I get any complaints that you’re scaring people with your appearance, I’ll fire you on the spot.

Dylan returned to the table, still chuckling.

Dexter grabbed the keys to the van, loaded the packages, and drove out of the warehouse.

Every turn of his head, every movement caused pain, but he endured it.

The work was mechanical.

Addresses, doorbells, signatures.

Some customers looked at his face with apprehension.

but no one asked any questions.

Dexter returned home at 7:00 in the evening.

Sophie Carpenters’s car, an old gray Honda, was parked outside the house.

Natalie was coming out of the house with a bag in her hands.

Sophie was standing by the car with her arms crossed over her chest, looking at Dexter with ill-concealed pleasure.

“Natalie,” Dexter called.

She turned around, seeing his broken face, she grimaced, but there was no sympathy in her eyes.

I’m going to stay with Sophie for a few days.

I need time to think.

Think about what? Dexter came down the steps.

Natalie, we can talk about everything.

Let’s just talk normally.

I have nothing to talk about with you, she replied coldly.

You hit my boss.

You embarrassed me.

I can’t be around you right now.

Sophie opened the trunk, took her sister’s bag, and put it inside.

Then she turned to Dexter, a sneer on her face.

You know what, Dexter? I hope Natalie doesn’t come back to you.

You’re a loser.

You’re an aggressive psycho, and my sister deserves better.

Much better than you.

Dexter looked at Sophie, then at Natalie.

His wife got into the car without looking at him.

Sophie slammed the trunk shut and got behind the wheel.

The engine started and the car drove away from the house.

Dexter stood on the porch watching them leave.

The tail lights disappeared around the bend.

He returned to the house.

The silence was deafening.

Dexter went into the kitchen, sat down at the table, and rested his head in his hands.

His whole body achd, but that was nothing compared to the pain inside.

Natalie was gone.

She was really gone.

There was a knock at the door.

Dexter raised his head and listened.

The knock came again.

He got up, walked to the door, and opened it.

Nah Johnston was standing on the doorstep.

She was dressed in comfortable clothes, soft pants and a sweatshirt, her hair down.

She was holding a small bag in her hands.

Dexter, she said quietly, her voice full of sympathy.

I heard everything.

I’m sorry.

I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but your voices were loud.

Dexter wanted to say that everything was fine, but the words stuck in his throat.

Nah looked at his battered face and her eyes filled with pain.

“My God, what happened to you?” “I got into a fight,” Dexter replied wearily.

“Can I come in?” Nah asked.

“I brought some ice and bruise ointment.

You need to treat your wounds.

” Dexter stepped aside to let her in.

They went into the kitchen.

Nah put the bag on the table, took out a bag of ice wrapped in a towel and a tube of ointment.

“Sit down,” she said.

Dexter sat down.

Nah gently applied the ice to his swollen eye.

The cold felt good and eased the pain a little.

“Keep it on for about 10 minutes,” she said, then opened the tube of ointment and began to carefully apply it to his split lip and the abrasions on his face.

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

Nah worked carefully, trying not to cause any pain.

Dexter looked at her and thought how strange it was that the only person who had shown him kindness in the last few days was a neighbor he hardly knew.

They’re wrong, Nah said quietly, putting down the tube.

Your wife and her sister.

They’re wrong.

You’re a good man, Dexter.

I can see that.

Dexter shook his head.

You don’t know me.

Maybe they’re right.

Maybe I really am a loser.

No.

Nah sat down opposite him and looked him straight in the eye.

You’re not a loser.

You work every day.

You helped me when I fell.

Even though you could have walked past.

You’re a decent person.

And what happened to your wife today? I’m very sorry.

Dexter felt something break inside him.

He closed his eyes and tears streamed down his cheeks.

He couldn’t hold them back.

Everything that had built up over the last few days poured out.

The pain, the humiliation, the despair.

Nah stood up silently, walked over to him, and put her hand on his shoulder.

Dexter cried without restraint, and Nenah just stood there letting him cry it out.

“Everything will be okay,” she whispered.

“Everything will work out somehow.

But Dexter knew she was wrong.

Nothing would work out.

Everything was falling apart and he didn’t know how to stop it.

Nah sat with him a little longer, then quietly left, leaving the ice and ointment on the table.

Dexter was left alone in the empty house.

He went upstairs and lay down on the sofa in the guest room.

He curled up, staring into the darkness, and he cried until he fell asleep from exhaustion.

Dexter woke up on the couch with a heavy head and pain throughout his body.

His face achd from yesterday’s blows and his left eye was almost swollen shut.

He got up, went to the bathroom, and looked at himself in the mirror.

The reflection was frightening, bruises, abrasions, a broken lip.

He looked like he had been hit by a truck.

At the FedEx warehouse, he was met with sidelong glances.

The workers looked at his battered face, exchanged glances, but no one asked any questions.

Dylan Langford sat at his desk and smirked when he saw Dexter.

“Oh, our fighter’s back.

How’s your pretty little face, Quinn?” Dexter said nothing.

Took the keys to the van, loaded the packages, and drove away.

He didn’t want to talk to anyone.

His head was filled with thoughts of Natalie, of Jeremy, of how his life was falling apart.

He spent the whole day driving around town delivering packages, addresses, doors, signatures, mechanical movements, an empty gaze.

Some customers flinched when they saw his face, but Dexter didn’t even notice their reaction.

He was somewhere far away, lost in his thoughts.

By midday, he had received his last order.

The dispatcher gave him the address, the Sunset Motel on the outskirts of town in an industrial area.

Dexter knew the place.

It was a cheap roadside motel where truckers stayed and couples who didn’t want to be seen rented rooms by the hour.

Dexter loaded the last package into the van and drove there.

The trip took 20 minutes.

The Sunset Motel was located off the highway, a one-story building made of dirty yellow brick with a faded neon sign.

The parking lot was half full of cars.

Dexter drove in, parked the van near the office, and took the package and the tablet.

He got out of the van, and was about to walk to the entrance, but something made him stop.

In the far corner of the parking lot was a familiar car, a black sedan.

Dexter would recognize it anywhere.

It was Jeremy Flint’s car.

Dexter’s heart began to beat faster.

He stood there, unable to move, staring at the car.

Maybe it was a coincidence.

Maybe it wasn’t his car.

But the license plate was the same.

Dexter had seen it hundreds of times in the mornings when he drove Natalie to work.

His legs carried him to the car.

He walked slowly, each step difficult.

As he got closer, he saw that there was someone in the car.

Two people in the back seat.

The windows were slightly tinted, but not enough to hide what was going on inside.

Dexter moved closer and froze.

There were two people in the back seat, a man and a woman.

They were kissing passionately.

The woman was wearing the same light gray dress Natalie had worn to work yesterday morning.

The man was wearing an unbuttoned white shirt, Jeremy Flint.

Dexter stood rooted to the spot, unable to look away.

The world around him ceased to exist.

There was only this, his wife in the arms of another man, her hands on his chest, their lips locked in a kiss.

Something inside Dexter exploded.

He looked around and saw a large rock at the edge of the parking lot.

He bent down and picked it up.

The rock was heavy and sharp.

Dexter stepped toward the car and threw the rock at the windshield with all his might.

The glass exploded with a deafening crash covered in a web of cracks.

The car alarm went off.

Jeremy and Natalie jerked away from each other.

They turned around, saw Dexter, and their faces turned white with shock.

Jeremy was the first to jump out of the car, buttoning his shirt as he ran.

Natalie followed, adjusting her dress.

They stood in front of Dexter, fear in their eyes.

Dexter? Natalie began, but her voice trembled.

It’s not what you think.

Dexter laughed.

It was a hysterical, maniacal laugh.

Not what I think.

Seriously, Natalie, I just saw you kissing him in the backseat of his car at a cheap motel, and you’re telling me it’s not what I think? Natalie was silent, her eyes downcast.

Jeremy stepped forward, that smug smile back on his face.

Listen, Quinn, stop throwing a fit.

You’re a grown man.

There’s something between me and Natalie.

We didn’t plan it.

It just happened.

Happened? Dexter took a step closer.

When did it happen, Jeremy? Yesterday? A week ago? Natalie raised her head, her eyes a mixture of guilt and defiance.

Over a year ago, she said quietly.

It started over a year ago, Dexter.

The words hit him harder than any physical blow.

Over a year.

All this time, she had been lying to him, seeing Jeremy behind his back, coming home and accusing him of being paranoid.

A year, Dexter whispered, “You’ve been deceiving me for a whole year.

For a whole year, you’ve been saying there’s nothing between you.

You made me feel like I was crazy.

” “Because you are crazy,” Jeremy smirked.

Listen, Natalie and I love each other.

We have a future.

You and her never had a future.

You’re a loser who delivers packages.

You can’t give her anything, but I can.

He put his arms around Natalie’s shoulders and pulled her close.

She didn’t resist.

She pressed herself against him.

Jeremy looked at Dexter with triumph in his eyes.

Get over it, buddy.

You lost.

Natalie isn’t yours anymore.

She’s mine.

She always has been.

He leaned down and kissed Natalie right in front of Dexter.

A long demonstrative kiss.

Dexter stood watching them and something inside him finally broke.

He reached into his jacket pocket and felt the familiar cold metal.

The gun, a 9 mm semi-automatic he had bought 2 years ago at a gun shop for self-defense.

He always carried it with him in case something dangerous happened on the road.

Dexter had never used it until today.

He pulled out the gun and the world froze.

Jeremy and Natalie broke apart and saw the weapon.

Jeremy took a step back and the triumph on his face turned to fear.

Hey.

Hey, take it easy, Quinn.

Don’t do anything stupid.

Stupid.

Dexter raised the gun, pointing it at Jeremy.

His hand was surprisingly steady.

Stupid is believing your wife.

Stupid is putting up with humiliation.

Stupid is thinking that love means anything.

Dexter, please, Natalie cried.

Don’t.

We can talk this over.

Dexter looked at her.

The woman he had lived with for many years.

The woman he loved.

The woman who had betrayed him and lied to him for a whole year.

The woman who called him a loser, a paranoid, a dog.

Talk it out, he asked quietly.

What is there to talk about, Natalie? Do you love him? She was silent, and in her silence was the answer.

Dexter nodded.

I see.

He turned to Jeremy, who raised his hands.

Listen, man.

I understand you’re angry, but let’s not.

Dexter pulled the trigger.

The shot was loud, deafening.

Jeremy jerked backward, clutching his chest.

Blood spurted between his fingers.

He looked at Dexter in confusion, tried to say something, but only a rattle came out of his throat.

He fell to the asphalt, twitched a few times, and fell silent.

Natalie screamed.

She rushed to Jeremy, fell to her knees beside him, and grabbed his hand.

“Jeremy! Jeremy! No!” Dexter stood over them, looking down.

The gun was still in his hand.

Natalie raised her head and looked at him through her tears.

“What have you done? What have you done, Dexter? What I should have done a long time ago, he replied calmly.

He raised the gun again and pointed it at Natalie.

She froze, staring at the barrel.

Natalie closed her eyes and tears streamed down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Dexter pulled the trigger a second time.

Natalie fell next to Jeremy.

Blood spread in a dark stain across the asphalt, mixing into a single puddle.

The two bodies lay side by side, as close as they had wanted to be in life.

Dexter lowered the gun.

His hands were no longer shaking.

Inside, he felt empty.

No anger, no pain, no regret, just emptiness.

He heard screams.

One of the motel guests had seen what was happening and called the police.

Dexter didn’t move.

He stood over the bodies of his wife and her lover, looking at what he had done.

The police arrived 10 minutes later.

Three patrol cars with sirens blaring.

The police jumped out, pointing their guns at Dexter.

Dr.op the gun.

Hands up.

Dexter dropped the gun on the asphalt and raised his hands.

They threw him to the ground, twisted his arms behind his back, and handcuffed him.

He didn’t resist.

Resistance was pointless.

They put him in a police car.

Through the window, he saw the ambulance arrive.

The paramedics bend over the bodies, then shake their heads.

It was too late.

Jeremy Flint and Natalie Quinn were dead.

Dexter was taken to the station, fingerprinted, photographed, and placed in a cell.

He answered the detective’s questions calmly without emotion.

Yes, he shot them.

Yes, he knew what he was doing.

No, he had no regrets.

The trial lasted 3 months.

The state appointed lawyer tried to argue temporary insanity that Dexter had acted in the heat of the moment, but there was too much evidence, and Dexter himself did not deny his guilt.

The jury returned a verdict of guilty of first-degree murder of two people.

The judge sentenced Dexter Quinn to two life sentences without the possibility of parole.

The captain of a Qatari fishing trawler sailing early in the morning to the port of Doha spotted an uncontrolled motorboat on the open sea.

Upon approaching, the crew discovered two women on board.

One of them, later identified as an Indonesian citizen, was dead from extensive blood loss caused by a wound that experts later identified as the result of a hunting arrow.

The second, an Egyptian citizen, was in a state of deep shock and severe dehydration.

This discovery recorded by the Coast Guard became the starting point for an investigation that the Qatari authorities subsequently tried to conclude without publicity.

To understand how these women ended up 80 km from the coast, it is necessary to reconstruct the events that preceded their discovery.

At the center of this story is 28-year-old Yasmin, an Egyptian citizen who arrived in Doha on a work visa.

Like thousands of other women from Southeast Asia, Africa, and Arab countries, she worked as a domestic servant.

Her contract with a cleaning agency in Doha provided her with an income of $600 per month.

This was a standard salary for such a position, but for Yasmin, it was critical.

She sent almost all of her earnings to her family in Cairo.

The money went to support her sick mother who needed expensive kidney surgery and to support her three younger sisters who were receiving an education.

Yasmin worked without days off, taking extra shifts and saving rigorously.

Her life in Doha was a closed cycle, working in the homes of wealthy Qataris, sleeping briefly in a shared room with other workers, and making weekly phone calls home.

The agency’s management described her as an efficient and unobtrusive employee.

It was these qualities that apparently attracted attention to her when the agency received an unusual request.

One day, the agency manager called Yasmin to the office.

She was offered what they called a special project.

The job was temporary for only 3 days.

The client was a high-ranking official whose name was not disclosed.

The place of work was a private area where transportation would be provided.

The nature of the work was described vaguely.

Assistance in preparing for a private event serving guests.

The pay for 3 days of work was set at $5,000.

This amount was almost 10 times her annual salary.

The agency manager emphasized that the offer required absolute confidentiality and an immediate decision.

Yasmin was aware of the risks associated with working at closed private events about which there were various rumors among the servants.

However, the $5,000 would fully cover the cost of her mother’s surgery and subsequent rehabilitation.

After a moment’s thought, she agreed.

She was instructed to sign additional non-disclosure documents, the text of which was written in English, a language Yasmin knew only at a basic level.

She was not given a copy.

The next day, an unmarked car picked Yasmin up from the agency’s dormatory.

She was taken to a small private airfield outside Doha.

There, she met three other women who had also been hired for this job.

They were girls about her age, one from the Philippines, one from Indonesia, and one from Kenya.

They kept to themselves, and it was clear that they had also been instructed not to make unnecessary contact.

They were loaded onto a helicopter.

The flight lasted about an hour.

Yasmin, looking out the window, saw the coastline of Qatar disappear, replaced by the uniform blue surface of the Persian Gulf.

The island where the helicopter landed was small, no more than four square kilm, according to estimates.

It was densely covered with jungle-like vegetation and palm trees.

On the shore, near a small pier, stood the only modern villa built of glass and concrete.

A man who introduced himself as the manager met them at the landing site.

He was a man with a stern face of Pakistani origin who spoke clear English.

He immediately took the women’s passports and mobile phones, explaining that this was a security requirement and registration procedure on private property.

When Yasmin tried to clarify when her documents would be returned, the manager replied that all questions would be answered at the end of the day.

The women were taken to a separate guest house adjacent to the main villa.

The rooms were luxurious with panoramic windows overlooking the ocean.

The manager informed them of the rules.

Prince Nasser, the owner of the island, who was 42 at the time, would arrive tomorrow.

Today was meant to be a day of rest.

They were forbidden to leave the guest house or approach the main villa or the pier without an escort.

In the evening, they were brought dinner.

The women ate in silence.

The tension between them was growing.

They found themselves completely isolated, 80 km from the mainland, without documents, without communication, on an island belonging to a man they had never seen.

Yasm means attempts to talk to the others were unsuccessful.

They were frightened and clearly did not want to break the established rules.

Towards evening, Yasmin was left alone in her room.

She looked around the room.

In the closet, in addition to a bathrobe, she found a neatly folded set of dark-coled sportsear and a pair of new sneakers that fit her perfectly.

The same clothes, as she later learned, had been prepared for the others.

This was the last detail she remembered before falling asleep, exhausted from the flight, and nervous tension.

At around 3:00 am, Yasmin and the other women were awakened by a loud noise, which Yasmin later identified in her testimony as the sound of gunshots fired in the immediate vicinity of the guest house.

These were not single shots.

According to her testimony, it was a short but intense burst of gunfire, presumably from automatic weapons, fired into the air.

Almost immediately afterwards, the doors to their rooms were forced open.

Several people burst into the rooms.

According to Yasmin, they were the same guards who had greeted them upon arrival, but now their faces were hidden by tactical masks, and they were armed with automatic weapons.

They did not say a word, using only sharp gestures.

The guards pointed to the sportsear and sneakers that Yasmin had previously noticed in the closet.

They were ordered to change immediately.

The state of shock and disorientation prevented the women from resisting or asking questions.

They were led out of the rooms, their hands roughly tied behind their backs with plastic ties.

The women were led along a dimly lit path from the guest house deep into the island into the thick of the jungle.

After about 15 minutes of walking, they came to a clearing lit by several powerful spotlights powered by a generator.

A man was waiting for them in the center of the clearing.

It was 42-year-old Prince Nasser.

He was dressed in expensive camouflage clothing used by professional hunters.

In his hands, he held a modern composite hunting bow and a large knife was secured in a tactical sheath on his hip.

The Pakistani manager who had met them on arrival stood next to him acting as an interpreter.

Although the prince apparently understood English, Prince Nasser looked at the women.

His gaze, as described by Yasmin, was devoid of any emotion.

Then he began to speak.

His tone was calm and business-like, as if he were instructing staff before the start of a routine event.

The manager translated his words.

The prince explained the rules.

He called what was happening a survival game.

He said he would give them exactly 30 minutes head start.

After that, he would begin the hunt.

Their task was to hide and survive on the island.

He reminded them that the island was surrounded by water and that the nearest shore was 80 km away, making any attempt to escape by swimming impossible.

The prince specified that the game would last 12 hours.

However, he also set a key condition.

If at least one of them survived until 6:00 in the morning, i.

e.

until dawn, she would be declared the winner.

The winner, according to him, would immediately receive her freedom and a reward of $100,000.

He did not specify what would happen to those he caught before that time.

According to Yasmin, the women were in a state of shock.

The Kenyon woman began to cry quietly, but the manager ordered her to be quiet with a sharp gesture.

Prince Nasser gave a sign, and one of the guards cut the ties on the women’s hands.

“Run,” he said.

The women scattered in different directions into the darkness of the jungle away from the lit clearing.

Yasmin, who had been a track and field athlete in Cairo during her school years and had good stamina, ran without looking back.

Her first thought was to reach the shore.

She instinctively believed that she would have a better chance of finding shelter or perhaps a way to leave the island near the water.

At that moment, she did not fully realize the distance to the mainland that the prince had mentioned.

The jungle was dense and unfamiliar.

She pushed through the undergrowth, trying to move as quietly as possible, but her own breathing seemed deafening to her.

After what Yasmin mean estimated to be about an hour, although in her state of panic, her perception of time was severely impaired, she heard the first scream.

It was a distinct female scream full of terror coming from the side of the island where, as she recalled, the Kenyon woman had run.

The scream was loud, piercing, and abruptly cut off.

Yasmin froze, pressing herself to the ground and hiding in the thick roots of a large tree.

She tried to suppress her panic.

Fear gave way to a cold, clear understanding.

This was not a game or some form of cruel staging.

This was reality.

Prince Nasser was indeed hunting them, and he was armed.

Yasmin continued moving, but now much more slowly, listening to every rustle.

She decided to move parallel to the coastline, but remain under the dense cover of the trees.

The humid night air made it difficult to breathe.

She navigated by the sound of the surf, which was barely audible through the thick foliage.

She realized that the hunter was probably using night vision goggles, which made her completely vulnerable in the dark.

She tried to choose roots where the foliage was denser, avoiding open glades.

After what seemed like another 2 hours, a second scream rang out.

It was much closer than the first.

Yasmin recognized the Filipino woman’s voice.

The scream was short, followed by a sound like a struggle or a body falling, and then complete silence.

Now there were only two of them left.

Yasmin lay down on the ground, covering her mouth with her hands so as not to make a sound.

She lay there until she was sure there was no immediate danger.

Realizing that passive waiting in the jungle would lead to inevitable discovery, Yasmin began to move cautiously deeper into the island away from the shore where she assumed the hunter might be waiting for her.

She moved almost blindly, stumbling over roots and branches.

During one of these stops, she almost collided with another figure.

It was the Indonesian woman whom Yasmin remembered from their brief conversation in the helicopter named Sari.

Sari was just as frightened, but unlike Yasmin, she was barefoot.

She had lost her sneakers while crossing a small swampy area.

The women communicated in whispers.

Sari was on the verge of hysterics, but Yasmine managed to calm her down, explaining that noise would attract attention.

They realized that their only chance was to join forces.

Moving together was more dangerous in terms of noise, but it gave them a psychological advantage.

They discussed the situation.

Yasm mean suggested that the prince would not expect them to go to the villa where the guards were stationed.

But Sari had a different idea.

She pointed out that the villa was the only place on the island with means of communication.

If they managed to sneak into the house unnoticed, they could find a radio room or satellite phone and call for help.

It was a desperate plan.

The villa was the prince’s headquarters, and there were sure to be armed guards there.

However, the alternative was to wait passively in the jungle until a hunter with a bow found them.

They decided to take the risk.

According to their calculations, there were no more than 2 hours left before dawn.

That is before 6 in the morning.

They had no time to hide any longer.

They began to slowly make their way towards the villa, guided by the dim lights of the service buildings visible through the trees.

According to Yazmine’s estimate, it took them over an hour to reach the villa.

They moved slowly using the thick shadows, running from one hiding place to another.

Time was running out.

The clock on the wall in the guest house, which Yasmin remembered, showed that dawn would break at around 6:00 in the morning.

According to their calculations, it must have been around 4:30 in the morning.

All their hope was that the prince, having caught two victims, might stop actively hunting until morning, or that the guards, confident in the island’s isolation, had relaxed their vigilance.

The villa seemed to be plunged into darkness, except for a few dim service lights around the perimeter.

The main living areas with panoramic windows were dark.

The women circled the building, looking for a point of entry.

They discovered that the door leading to the kitchen from the courtyard was unlocked.

This could have been either an oversight on the part of the staff or more likely part of a deliberate plan.

They had no choice but to take the risk.

Once inside, they found themselves in a large kitchen equipped with the latest technology.

Everything was made of stainless steel and stone.

They moved cautiously, trying not to make any noise.

From the kitchen, they entered the main hall of the villa.

Moonlight streaming through the glass walls created deceptive lighting.

They passed a bar counter stocked with expensive drinks.

Their goal was the radio room or the manager’s office where communication equipment might be located.

They found a door that appeared to lead to a service corridor.

At the end of the corridor was a room with electronic equipment.

It was a radio room equipped with satellite communications.

The equipment looked complicated, but the main transmitter had a standard red button with the international distress signal SOS.

Yasmin, who had taken basic courses in office technology in Egypt, understood that activating this signal might be their only chance.

Sari stayed by the door watching the corridor while Yasmin approached the console.

She pressed the button.

Nothing happened for a few seconds, but then a green light came on on the panel confirming that the signal had been transmitted.

At that moment, there was a click from the speaker in the corner of the room, followed by the calm voice of Prince Nasser.

He spoke in English.

He congratulated them on making it to the final.

At that moment, a bright light flashed in the hallway and in the wheelhouse itself.

The women were blinded.

Prince Nasser stood in the doorway.

He was calm, holding the same hunting bow, but this time with an arrow knocked.

He was not alone.

The Pakistani manager stood behind him, blocking the exit.

The prince slowly raised his bow.

He was not aiming at Yasmin, who was standing at the console, but at Sari, who was frozen in the doorway.

Sari screamed, but did not have time to move.

The prince released the bow string.

There was almost no sound of the shot, just a dry click and a whistle.

The arrow with a hunting tip entered Sari’s thigh deeply a few centimeters from the femoral artery.

Sari collapsed to the floor, her scream turning into a moan.

Dark blood immediately began to soak through her sweatpants and spread across the lighted floor of the hallway.

Yasmin, seeing this, reacted instinctively.

She was no longer a victim paralyzed by fear.

She acted out of desperation.

Without thinking, she turned to the bar counter, which was a few steps away from the radio room in the main hall.

The prince, obviously enjoying the moment, was slowly turning toward her, perhaps to reload his bow or simply to speak.

Yasmin grabbed a heavy, full bottle of whiskey from the bar counter.

With all the strength she could muster, she hurled it at the prince.

She aimed for his head.

The bottle struck Nasser in the temple.

There was a dull thud and the sound of breaking glass.

The prince made no sound.

He simply collapsed to the floor like a mannequin and lay motionless, briefly losing consciousness.

The manager standing behind him was momentarily taken aback, not expecting such aggression.

That moment was enough for Yasmin.

She rushed to Sari.

The Indonesian woman was conscious but in pain shock.

“Run,” Sari whispered.

But Yasmin refused to leave her.

She grabbed Sari under the armpits and dragged her across the floor, leaving a wide trail of blood behind her.

The manager came to his senses and shouted, apparently calling for security, who Yasmin assumed were sleeping in another wing of the villa.

Yasmine dragged Sari across the main hall to the glass doors leading to the pier.

She didn’t weigh much, but for the exhausted Yasmine, it was an almost impossible task.

She pulled her onto the wooden deck of the pier.

Several boats were morowed at the dock, including the one that was apparently supposed to be used for the morning’s fishing or sea trip, a small but powerful motorboat.

Yasmin dragged Sari to the side and with superhuman effort lifted her inside.

She jumped in after her.

In desperation, she looked at the control panel to her utter amazement and perhaps as another detail of the prince’s diabolical plan or simple negligence on the part of the staff.

The key was in the ignition.

Yasmin had never driven a boat in her life.

She turned the key.

The engine roared to life, breaking the silence of the night.

Shouts came from the villa.

Security guards ran out to the pier.

Yasmin desperately pulled the lever she assumed was responsible for movement.

The boat lurched forward, hitting the dock, but broke free into open water.

Yasmin steered the bow away from the island into the darkness of the open sea.

Almost immediately, she heard the roar of a second, more powerful engine.

The guards were starting up a pursuit boat.

The race for survival continued on the water.

Yasmin had no idea how to navigate.

She simply steered the boat straight ahead while Sari moaned and bled on the floor of the boat.

Yasmin tried to steer with one hand and hold Sari’s wound with the other, but it was useless.

There was blood everywhere.

The chase continued in the pre-dawn darkness.

The security boat was faster, but Yasmin maneuvered desperately, albeit clumsily.

Dawn was breaking.

The sky in the east turned gray, and in that first light, Yasman saw a silhouette.

It was not the security boat, which had fallen behind for a while, but a large vessel.

It was a Qatari fishing twler heading for the port of Doha.

The captain of the vessel, as he later reported to the Coast Guard, noticed a small boat moving erratically with two women on board.

When the twler got closer, the crew saw a scene they couldn’t explain.

One woman, covered in blood, was lying unconscious, while the other, severely dehydrated, was trying to get their attention before she lost consciousness herself.

The fisherman pulled both women on board.

The twler’s crew immediately administered first aid using their onboard medical kit, but Sari’s injuries were too severe.

The captain contacted the Qatar Coast Guard by radio, reporting an emergency situation, the discovery of two injured women on the open sea.

He was ordered to proceed to the port of Doha at maximum speed and was informed that an ambulance crew and the police would be waiting for them at the port.

Upon arrival in Doha, the pier was already cordoned off by security personnel.

The medical team immediately transferred both women to ambulances.

Sari, who was unconscious, was rushed to the operating room at Hammed Main Hospital.

Yasmin, who was in a state of deep psychological shock and physical exhaustion, was also hospitalized.

An hour after arriving at the hospital, Sari died on the operating table.

According to the doctor’s conclusion, death was caused by irreversible blood loss and hemorrhagic shock due to a ruptured femoral artery.

Initially, the police who arrived at the hospital treated the incident as a possible pirate attack or a failed attempt at illegal migration.

However, as soon as Yasmin was able to speak, her testimony radically changed the course of the investigation.

She gave a detailed, albeit rambling due to shock account of the events of the previous 12 hours, the job offer, the helicopter flight, the arrival on the private island, the confiscation of her documents, the sportsear in the wardrobes, and finally the night hunt organized by Prince Nasser.

She described the deaths of the Kenyan and Filipino women, the trap at the villa, and Sar’s injury.

At first, the police were skeptical of her story, perhaps mistaking it for the ravings of a traumatized person.

However, the physical evidence was undeniable.

Sari’s wound had been inflicted not by a firearm or a conventional cold weapon, but by a specific hunting spearhead, which had been removed during surgery.

In addition, Yasmin gave the exact name, Prince Nasser, a member of one of the influential branches of the ruling family.

This name immediately elevated the level of the investigation.

The case was transferred from the port police to the state security service.

Based on Yasmine’s testimony and physical evidence, Sari’s dead body, a decision was made to conduct an immediate operation on the island, which was quickly identified by air traffic control as the private property of Prince Nasser.

A special operations unit of the Coast Guard was sent to the island.

What they found fully corroborated Yasmin’s words.

Prince Nasser, his manager, and several security guards were on the island.

The prince had visible signs of trauma to his head, presumably from being struck with a bottle.

While searching the island in the area Yasmin had indicated as the place where she heard the screams, the task force discovered two fresh graves.

The graves were shallow, dug in haste.

They contained the bodies of two other women, a Filipino and a Kenyon.

A forensic examination conducted later determined that both women had died from multiple stab wounds, presumably inflicted with a large hunting knife.

Traces of blood matching Sari’s blood type were found in the villa, as well as broken glass from an expensive whiskey bottle.

Prince Nasser and all the staff on the island were arrested and taken to Doha for questioning.

The incident involving a member of the royal family, three murdered foreign nationals, and one surviving witness had the potential to escalate into a major international scandal.

However, further events unfolded according to a different scenario.

Prince Nasser was taken into custody.

A team of high-profile lawyers immediately got involved in the case.

Their defense strategy was announced almost immediately.

According to their version, what happened on the island was not murder.

They claimed that the women had been hired to participate in an extreme role- playinging game with elements of survival.

The lawyers provided contracts allegedly signed by all four women, including Yasmin and Sari.

These documents written in English described the risks in detail, including the possibility of injury and specified a reward of $100,000 for successfully completing the game.

The lawyers insisted that all the women participated voluntarily, lured by the large sum of money.

The death, they said, was a tragic accident, the result of a failure to follow safety rules during the game.

The investigation also faced difficulties in gathering direct evidence against the prince.

The murder weapon, the knife used to kill the Kenyon and Filipino women, was never found.

The bow that wounded Sari, according to the defense, was loaded with a special humane arrow with a blunt tip for role-playing games, and the fatal wound was the result of an accident and Sar’s fall.

Yasmine’s testimony was the only direct accusation, but she was an interested party, and the defense insisted that she had violated the terms of her contract and was now trying to avoid responsibility for the tragedy.

3 days after his arrest, Prince Nasser was released from custody due to a lack of direct evidence linking him to the actual commission of the murders.

The manager took responsibility for insufficient security arrangements for the event.

As for Yasmin, her position quickly changed from that of a witness to that of a problem.

She was in the hospital under guard, effectively in isolation.

Neither representatives of the Egyptian embassy nor journalists were allowed to visit her.

A few days after the prince’s release, she was visited by people who did not introduce themselves, but were acting on behalf of the authorities.

She was made an offer she could not refuse.

she would be paid compensation in the amount of $500,000.

In return, she had to leave Qatar immediately and returned to Egypt.

She was also made to understand in no uncertain terms that the safety of her family in Cairo, her mother and three sisters, depended directly on her complete silence.

Any attempt to contact the media or human rights organizations would have fatal consequences for her loved ones.

Deprived of her passport, phone, and any support, Yasmin was forced to agree.

She was deported from Qatar on the same day.

Put on a private flight to Cairo.

The money was transferred to an anonymous account.

The story of the hunt on the island never received widespread publicity.

The Qatari authorities classified the incident as an accident that occurred on private property.

The families of the deceased Filipino and Kenyan women were also paid substantial compensation through their recruitment agencies which ensured their silence.

The case was officially closed.

 

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