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Chapter 182, Midnight Shawrma.
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2025-06-21 04:34:52
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A Twist In My Marriage Deal With The CEO Chapter 184, Mercy Offer.
The scent of frying onions and cumin filled our small kitchen when the front door creaked open. I wiped my hands on my apron, turning just as Rami stepped inside. His shoulders looked different, not quite relaxed, but no longer carrying that invisible weight that had bowed them for months. "You're home early," I said, reaching to take the laptop bag slipping off his shoulder. My mother-in-law peered over from the stove, wooden spoon poised mid-stir. "And smiling? Did the app grow gold leaves today?" Rami actually chuckled, a rough, underused sound as he collapsed into a chair. "Yousef came back." The ceramic bowl nearly slipped from my hands. "What?" He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it delightfully messy. "Showed up at the office this morning with coffee and..." His voice caught slightly. "New ideas." I set the bowl down carefully, watching as Rami's long fingers traced patterns on the worn tabletop the same way they used to dance across keyboards when he spoke abou
A Twist In My Marriage Deal With The CEO Chapter 183, Bubble Bandit.
The office smelled like burnt coffee and frustration. I pushed open the blue door with my hip, balancing two foil-wrapped kebab sandwiches and a plastic container of homemade tabbouleh in my arms. The silence hit me first, no frantic typing, no heated discussions about coding languages I barely understood. Just the whirring of an overworked ceiling fan and the faint hum of a single laptop. Rami sat slumped at his desk, his head buried in his hands, fingers digging into his scalp like he wanted to peel back his own skin. The whiteboard behind him was a battlefield of half-erased equations and angry question marks. I set the food down carefully, the crinkling of foil too loud in the hollow quiet. "Habibi?" He didn’t move. I touched his shoulder, and he flinched, before looking up at me with bloodshot eyes. The laptop screen reflected on his glasses, lines of code scrolling endlessly like they’d written themselves into a noose. "They left," he said. His voice was scraped raw.
A Twist In My Marriage Deal With The CEO Chapter 182, Midnight Shawrma.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm za'atar bread filled our tiny kitchen as Rami spread printed sketches across the table, each one a wild tangle of arrows, boxes, and his messy Arabic scrawl. Farah knelt on a chair, "helping" by coloring the margins with purple crayon. "Look," Rami said, tapping a diagram that looked like a spiderweb. "Abu Ahmad tested the inventory feature today. If it worked for his pottery shop, it would work for anyone." His eyes shone with a light I hadn't seen since Dubai, but softer now, like sunlight through honey. I traced a finger over the screen of his battered laptop where the app prototype glowed, a simple interface with cheerful yellow buttons. "You built this in three weeks?" "Stole your idea," he grinned, stealing a bite of my bread. "Asked Amman what it needed." The doorbell rang. A parade of unexpected visitors followed—first the spice merchant from Downtown, smelling of cinnamon and curiosity, then the young embroiderer with her pi
A Twist In My Marriage Deal With The CEO Chapter 181, "Seeds of a New Dream"
The scent of cardamom coffee still lingered in the air as Rami stared at his laptop, the glow of the screen etching lines of frustration onto his face. Outside, the Amman sunset painted the hills in shades of burnt orange, but inside our small living room, the weight of uncertainty felt heavy. "I keep running the numbers," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. "An IT firm here would need servers, licenses, hardware... Even a skeleton team requires capital we don’t have." I watched him from the worn armchair, Farah asleep in my lap after a day chasing pigeons in the park. His shoulders were tens, that familiar armor he wore when battling invisible enemies. Dubai’s ghost still haunted him. "Then don’t start there," I said softly. "Start small. Something that doesn’t need six-figure investments." He glanced up, skeptical. "Like what? A flower shop?" "Why not? Fresh blooms every morning, the smell of jasmine—" "—and margins thinner than paper," he cut in gently. "The
A Twist In My Marriage Deal With The CEO Chapter 180, Amman's Mornings.
I wake up to the sound of birdsong, real birds,not the sound of Dubai’s air conditioning. Sunlight filters through the thin curtains, painting golden stripes across the bed. The scent of fresh mint and something buttery drifts in from the kitchen, mingling with the crisp morning. For a moment, I just lie there, listening. The clink of dishes. Rami’s low murmur answering his mother’s questions. The tinny sound of cartoon music from the living room. When I pad out, still in my sleep-rumpled clothes, the scene makes my chest ache with a sweetness I can’t name. Farah sits cross-legged on the rug, her curls a wild halo in the morning light, utterly absorbed in some colorful animation. Rami and his mother move around each other in the small kitchen with the easy rhythm of people who’ve shared a lifetime of mornings, him flipping eggs, her layering fresh za’atar on warm bread. No one notices me at first, so I sink onto the couch beside Farah, pulling her into my lap. She barely glances
A Twist In My Marriage Deal With The CEO Chapter 179, A New Home.
The moment we step out of Queen Alia International Airport, a crisp breeze greets us, completely different from Dubai's heavy, humid air. I inhale deeply, catching scents of earth and something faintly herbal in the wind. Farah squirms in my arms, pointing excitedly at everything, the olive trees lining the road, the buildings in the distance, the way the sunlight falls differently here, softer somehow. Rami hails a taxi, his movements more relaxed than I've seen in months. The driver helps load our luggage while Rami effortlessly slips into the Jordanian dialect, bargaining the fare with an ease that surprises me. It's a side of him I rarely saw in Dubai, he's confident, more comfortable, he's at home in his skin. As we drive through Amman, I press my face to the window like a child. The city unfolds in layers, white stone buildings stacked on rolling hills, streets buzzing with life but at a slower rhythm than what we left behind. Farah squeals as we go up a particularly steep h
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