"Amir," Samir said one morning, "beautiful poison is still poison. Does this woman ask about your dreams—or only about your bank?"

The next day, Layla was gone. Her phone was disconnected. The "partners" had vanished. And Amir sat in his empty shop, staring at a silent phone, realizing he had been seduced by a mirage.

"Your work is beautiful," she said, her voice like honey. "But I sense you are meant for much more than this small shop."