Schizophrenia
A Novel by Asmaa Nada
Chapter 7
Against Daniel’s expectations, the visit wasn’t from Maggie—his naive, tearful wife who always forgave too easily.
It was Elise—or as she now chose to call herself in moments of defiance, Nirouz.
She sat before him in the hospital room, calm and cold as the stillness that comes before a storm, dressed in a sleek black suit that suited a woman who had come to sign the death warrant of an empire.
Daniel had barely regained consciousness after the nightmare so skillfully orchestrated against him—a nightmare that had sent him collapsing on the first step of his mansion’s staircase, only to wake up here, surrounded by the machines that measured what remained of a life he had thought indestructible.
His face bore more of humiliation’s mark than the sedatives Elias, Nirouz’s hired ally, had slipped into his drink.
Nirouz lifted her glass of iced espresso, took a slow sip, and met his gaze with eyes sharp and black as obsidian—eyes that carried no trace of pity or affection.
They reflected the truth he dreaded most: that the weak, forgiving Maggie was gone—and in her place had risen the original, destructive self: Elise, or rather, Nirouz.
“Had enough rest, Daniel?”
Her voice, soft and velvety, trembled strangely in his ears as she went on,
“Because we’re about to start a long race, and you look… awfully tired.”
Daniel tried to rise, but failed. His limbs felt heavy, drained of strength. Later, he would realize it was the residue of poison—but now, it simply felt like fear.
“Elise,” he rasped, “what the hell is this? How did you get in here—and where’s my lawyer?”
Nirouz smiled faintly, setting her cup down on the glass table beside him.
“Your lawyer? Oh, I sent him to get us both another round of espresso. He’ll need more focus than he thinks to follow my orders.
And as for how I got in—let’s just say, I no longer need anyone’s permission.
I’m Elise. But from now on, my name is Nirouz. I’m the return of the schizophrenia you created, Daniel—the return I once warned you about.”
She pulled a red folder from her handbag and tossed it onto his chest with deliberate carelessness.
“Take a good look at that file. Remember that night you thought you were buying happiness with a million dollars? You were buying your own end.
That file contains Aphrodite’s Kiss—not the real one this time, but a digital version. Photos and videos of you, in situations unworthy of a husband, a father, or a respected businessman… more fitting for a smuggler, or an addict on the run.”
Daniel’s eyes blazed. His voice cracked like thunder.
“You paid a million dollars for those pictures? You stupid woman! You think a few doctored photos will ruin me? My lawyers will say they’re fake—or private! You’re just incriminating yourself with blackmail.”
Nirouz sighed with theatrical boredom.
“Oh, Daniel… you still think I’m Maggie, don’t you? The romantic fool who reads poetry and cries over happy endings.
Those pictures aren’t with a prostitute—or with ‘a few idiots’. They’re with a minor.
And there’s a video—Elias, your private investigator, confessing on camera that you paid him to fabricate that harassment scandal at the beach club.
That video will be published, along with his sworn statement. He’s turned state witness, Daniel.
His testimony names you in the smuggling and bribery files—and guess what? The car found loaded with narcotics? It’s registered in your name. There are also photos of you stuffing the bags yourself.
Tell me, aren’t these enough to bury you alive—just as you once promised to bury me?”
Daniel bit his lip until blood touched his tongue. Now he understood.
The personalities he and Maggie’s doctor had worked so hard to suppress had turned the game upside down.
His façade of strength cracked.
His voice came out faint, trembling—the voice of a man defeated for the first time.
“What do you want?”
“I want a divorce,” she said evenly. “Now.
You’ll sign over half of your assets—shares, properties, bank accounts—and you’ll pay me one billion dollars in compensation for the years I wasted with you.
I’ll consider the other half the price of my silence… about this file—
and about the original crime.”
Daniel froze.
“The… crime?”
[Flashback – The past of Elise, the child]
In that moment, he no longer saw Nirouz before him.
He saw a twelve-year-old girl—pale, wide-eyed, trembling in a dark room.
She can’t know, his inner voice screamed. Only her mother knew… how could she?
He remembered that cursed night—the one that had given birth to Nirouz’s fractured mind.
He’d gone to visit her mother with her father—a powerful man back then, tied to shadowy deals across town.
Daniel had stepped into the small adjoining room where little Nirouz slept on the couch.
He looked at her with eyes that carried sin.
Her father said nothing. He was the one who had slipped the drug into his wife’s drink so his friend could have his way—out of fear, not loyalty. Fear of prison. Fear of death.
She’s just a child, Daniel had thought then. No one will remember. And I’ve already had what I wanted—the first touch of her skin…
That night, the father heard muffled cries. He didn’t move.
When Daniel came out, buttoning his shirt, he left with the same cold detachment he’d always worn—leaving behind a bleeding child.
[Flashback – A week later: Elise’s mother confronts Daniel]
Her face was streaked with tears, her hands trembling.
“I know, Daniel,” she shouted. “I know it was you, you filthy monster! You gave him the drug—so I wouldn’t wake up!”
Daniel’s pulse quickened. He tried to compose himself.
“Calm down, woman. Where are you getting these ideas? The police believed your story. They cleared you.”
“I lied!” she cried. “I lied to protect my daughter from more shame. But I know! You’re the devil himself! I’ll go to the police and expose you both—yourself and her father!”
Daniel’s smile was slow and cruel.
“Go ahead,” he said quietly. “But before you do—remember the little bag your daughter brought home from her school trip last month?”
Her eyes widened. “Bag… what bag?”
“The one filled with pure heroin. The one her father was planning to smuggle. She believed it was a bag of gifts.
If you go to the police, I’ll make sure they find that bag—and the video of your daughter and her friend disposing of her father’s body that night before you took her to the hospital.
She’ll be charged with murder, possession, and smuggling. A child murderer. Do you want that?”
The woman collapsed into her chair, shaking.
“What… what do you want from us?”
“I want her,” Daniel said simply. “Yes, she’s young—but I’ll give her everything: safety, wealth, a name. You give me your silence. That’s better than prison, isn’t it?”
“She’s a child!” the mother gasped. “She’s not even ten!”
Her voice broke. She was trapped—between a fabricated crime and the devil offering security in exchange for her soul.
“I wish I’d never agreed… I wish I’d never drunk that juice…” she whispered.
Finally, with a lifeless stare fixed on her daughter’s photo, she said,
“I agree. But not now. Wait until she turns eighteen. Swear to me you’ll never hurt her.”
“I swear,” Daniel lied with the ease of a man who’d already won.
He helped her move far away, changed Nirouz’s name to Maggie, and built a wall of money around her—a wall that kept the truth buried.
[Back to the present]
Daniel sank into the pillow, sweat running down his temples.
Nirouz sat unmoved, her face unreadable.
He remembered how he and her mother had once discussed suppressing the “Elise” persona—the aggressive one—and paying the doctor to keep her under control.
“How… how did you find out?” he stammered. “Did your mother tell you?”
Nirouz tilted her head, her calm more terrifying than rage.
“My mother? She told me nothing. She lived in fear. She knew about Elise—the wild one who seduced and destroyed men—but not about me. Not about Nirouz.
She changed my name to Maggie, tried to keep Elise buried, offered her comfort and children to quiet her. But she never knew I’d come back. She never knew that I remembered.”
Nirouz stepped closer, her voice now a whisper that sliced through the air.
“I remember, Daniel. Maggie might not. Elise might only remember your betrayals as a husband.
But I—Nirouz—remember everything.
Your face. Your breath. The way you whispered threats in French to my mother, forcing her to marry me off to you when I turned eighteen.
You’re not just a traitor, or a criminal.
You’re the reason—the cause—behind every fracture in my mind.”