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Chapter 43, Dinner And Dreams.
Last Updated:
2025-02-25 04:12:15
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My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the crisp fabric of my suit. This was it. The London meeting. Securing deals with the top hotels in the city was crucial, a make-or-break moment for our company. I smoothed down my skirt, trying to project an air of calm confidence I definitely didn't feel. Beside me, Rami, our CEO and my Husband, he was the picture of relaxed power. He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze, his smile warm and encouraging. "Ready, Dema?""As I'll ever be," I managed, my voice a little shaky. I glanced at Karim, my marketing team leader. He gave me a thumbs-up, his usual easygoing demeanor a welcome contrast to the nervous energy buzzing around me. He’d prepped the presentation flawlessly, and I knew we had the data to back up our proposal. Still, these were London hotels. The big leagues.Just then, the door opened and Rami’s vice president, Mr. Harrison, strode in, followed by his assistant, Ms. Davies. Harrison nodded a curt greeting,
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Rami and I were on our way back to the hotel, he's been teasing me about how nervous I was during the meeting for a good hour now."Like a phone vibration mood," Rami had said, his voice laced with amusement.I glared at him, or at least tried to. My face was probably still flushed, a mix of adrenaline and mortification. "It was my first time, Rami. Give me a break."He chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound that usually soothed me. Tonight, though, it felt like he was poking fun at a particularly flustered kitten. "Oh, come on, I'm just messing around with you, but seriously I thought you were going to pass out.""Stop, or I'll hit you," I said, but a small smile was tugging at the corners of my mouth. It was true. I'd been a mess. The presentation, which I'd practiced a thousand times in my head, had turned into a blur of stilted sentences and shaky gestures. My voice had trembled, my notes had fluttered like nervous butterflies, and I was pretty sure I'd knocked over a glass of water."S
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The wind blew at my scarf, a playful tug that mirrored the excitement in my chest. Rami had insisted on the Tower of London, and honestly I was a little skeptical. Castles were a bit boring for me. But as we stood there, the grey stone behemoth rising against the London skyline, I had to admit, it was impressive."Imagine," the tour guide said, his voice a low hum beside me, "William the Conqueror. Right here. Building this. Making everyone look up and tremble before it."The tour guide, a stout man with a booming voice carried on. "Almost a thousand years, folks! A thousand years of stories, of power, of…well, a bit of the macabre." He grinned, a flash of white teeth against his ruddy complexion. "When William built this, you can bet Londoners weren't exactly throwing a welcome party. More like hiding in their boots."I shivered, even though the sun was doing its best to warm the cobblestones. The sheer age of the place pressed down, a weight of history. He told us about the Crown J
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The clink of my keys hitting the ceramic dish on the hallway table felt louder than it should have. I was exhausted, the kind of bone-deep tired that seeps into your thoughts, making them sluggish. Rami was a few steps behind me, his phone already pressed to his ear. I heard the murmur of his voice, a low, familiar rumble that usually brought me comfort. Tonight, though, it felt like a distant echo.I walked into the living room, kicking off my heels and sinking into the sofa. The soft fabric swallowed my tired limbs, and I closed my eyes for a moment, just a moment, to enjoy the quiet."Yeah, habibti, of course," Rami said, his voice clearer now. I frowned, opening my eyes. Habibti? He rarely used that endearment, not on the phone anyway. I strained my ears, trying to decipher the rest of the conversation."No, no, everything's fine," he continued, a slight edge to his tone. "Just got home from London. Yeah, we'll be there."We? My stomach tightened. Who was he talking to? A knot of
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The tires hummed a low, monotonous song against the smooth asphalt, a stark contrast to the chaotic symphony of emotions still ringing in my ears. Our Mansion, a monument to wealth and tradition, was receding in the rearview mirror, but the chill that had settled over me during dinner lingered, a persistent, unwelcome guest.Rami glanced at me, his brow furrowed. "You seem quiet," he said, his voice gentle. "Are you alright?""Just…tired," I mumbled, staring out the window at the blurred streetlights. It was a lie, of course. I was exhausted, but not from the drive. I was weary of the constant, unspoken tension that seemed to crackle in the air whenever I was around his mother."She didn't mean to upset you, you know," he continued, his hand reaching for mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Mom…she just worries. She's…protective.""Protective?" I echoed, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "Rami, she treats me like I'm some kind of a thief. Like I'm going to steal you away."I finally
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My fingers hovered over the keyboard, the report blurring into a meaningless jumble of words. I’d read the same sentence five times, and still, nothing registered. All I could see was Rami. His smile, the way his head tilted slightly, the easy, almost… intimate, tone he used with the receptionist. It wasn’t just a casual hello. It was something else. A warmth, a spark, that made my stomach clench.I’d tried to tell myself I was imagining things. That I was just tired, stressed. But the image was burned into my retinas. I’d even scrolled through those ridiculous "Is Your Husband Cheating?" videos during a desperate bathroom break. "Look for changes in behavior," one chirped, a perky blonde flashing a knowing smile. "Sudden interest in grooming," another added, showing a montage of men applying cologne. "Or… suspicious interactions with other women."Suspicious interactions. That was it. That was exactly what I’d seen.The videos, as useless as they were, planted a seed. A terrible, inv
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The clock ticked like a heartbeat, each second stretching into an eternity. I paced the living room, I had calmed down thanks to Tala but I was still bothered by what happened and I needed to talk to Rami about it. Rami was late, again. Not that it was unusual, but tonight, it felt like a deliberate delay, a cruel twist of events. I needed to talk to him, I needed to unravel the knot of unease twisting in my gut.Finally, he stepped in, a gust of cool night air following him. "Hey," he said, the word casual, almost dismissive. He didn't seem to notice the tension in the air or my grumpy mood.We had dinner in silence . The clinking of cutlery against plates was the only sound, in contrast to the storm brewing inside me. I picked at my food, I couldn't taste any flavor, my appetite had vanished and I watched him, his face was illuminated by the soft glow of the dining room lamp, I was trying to decipher his thoughts, to find a hint of what I’d seen this morning.He finally looked up,
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The door slammed, the sound echoing the deafening silence that followed. He was gone. Just like that.he just walked out, leaving the sting on my cheek as a brutal reminder. I stood there, frozen, the air thick with disbelief. My hand instinctively went to the burning mark, a red blossom blooming on my skin.I moved towards the bathroom. The bathroom light was unforgivingly illuminating the full extent of the damage. My reflection stared back, I couldn't even recognize myself, I saw a stranger with a bruised cheek and wide unseeing eyes. He’d hit me. He’d actually hit me, how did things escalate this far?All I could remember was asking him to come upstairs because I wanted to talk to him, I told him that his attitude had bothered me, but he wasn't listening, or he just didn't care, my feelings were hurt and I called him things and he called me things, I remember how we were yelling at each other, the he suddenly... he slapped me!I turned on the cold water a sharp contrast to the he
Last Updated : 2025-03-04
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I’m the worst husband on earth. I’ve come to terms with that fact, no I actually accepted it. It’s not just some fleeting thought anymore, not some dramatic exaggeration to wallow in self-pity. It’s the truth, carved into my bones, etched into every regret that keeps me awake at night. I know it now, with a certainty that aches worse than any wound. And the worst part? I’m used to this feeling. It’s familiar, like an old coat I’ve worn so long I’ve forgotten the weight of it. Before Dema, I was careless. No—worse than careless. I was cruel in the most effortless way, the kind of cruelty that doesn’t even recognize itself. I moved through the world like a proud hawk I was untouchable, unbothered by anything. I did what I wanted, went where I pleased, let people drift into my orbit just long enough to make them believe in something that was never real. I’d smile, I’d charm them , I’d let them hope I would let them dream and then, when the novelty wore off or the guilt prickled too sha
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My mom left today, and with her departure, the last barrier between Dema and me vanished. There was no more avoiding the elephant in the room—no more excuses, no more distractions. Dema had no choice but to talk to me now, and as much as I didn’t want to push her, I couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine. I needed answers. I needed to know what I had done wrong, or else the cracks in our relationship would only deepen until there was nothing left to salvage. When I finally gathered the courage to approach her, to ask her why she was so distant, why the anger in her eyes never seemed to fade, things spiraled out of control almost immediately. The moment I opened my mouth, it was like stepping on a landmine. She brought up that night—the night of the commercial event. The night I made a reckless, selfish mistake by staying out late with a woman who wasn’t my wife. My stomach twisted at the memory, at the way I had tried to justify it instead of just owning up to my poor judgme
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The first few days after Dema gave birth, I told myself it was normal—the exhaustion, the mood swings, the distance. But the way she looked at me, or rather, didn’t look at me, made my chest tighten with something uneasy. I tried to approach her one evening as she sat by the window, the dim light casting shadows over her tired face. The baby was finally asleep, and I thought maybe now she’d let me in, even just a little. “Dema,” I said softly, resting a hand on her shoulder. “How are you feeling?” She didn’t turn. Just stiffened under my touch before shrugging me off. “I’m fine.” The words were ice. I swallowed, forcing a smile she couldn’t see. “You’ve been quiet. I just… I want to make sure you’re okay.” A pause. Then a sigh, heavy with something unspoken. “I said I’m fine.” I hesitated, my hand hovering in the air before dropping to my side. “If you need anything—” “I don’t.” The finality in her voice cut deeper than I expected. I stood there, useless, before finally
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The day Dema’s water broke, I wasn’t there. Of course, I wasn’t. I had a packed schedule, meetings stacked back-to-back, and I was all the way on the other side of the city. When I got the call, my stomach dropped. I tried to wrap things up fast, but the discussion dragged on, every minute stretching like hours. By the time I finally got out, my hands were shaking as I fumbled with my keys. I jumped in the car, swearing under my breath as I mapped out every possible shortcut. But of course—just my luck—the traffic was a nightmare. Cars inched forward like they were moving through tar. I gripped the wheel, my foot tapping impatiently, heart pounding in my ears. "Come on, come on."When it became clear I wasn’t getting anywhere fast, I made a split-second decision. I pulled into the first rental parking lot I saw, threw the car into park, and bolted. I ran until my lungs burned, dodging pedestrians, my dress shoes slapping against the pavement. At the highway, I flagged down a taxi,I
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I had planned to take Dema to the commercial event and even picked out a beautiful dress for her as a surprise. I imagined how happy she’d be when she sees it and how lovely she’d look that evening. But when I got home, I found her lying on her back on the couch, exhausted. “I’m too tired,” she said weakly. When I told her about the event, she shook her head. “I can’t go. I’m exhausted—I don’t feel good, and I don’t look good enough to attend.” I left Dema alone at home and went to the event by myself. The evening dragged on—my team handled everything perfectly, leaving me with little to do. That’s when I spotted her.Her name is Jasmine . She's One of our former managers. She’d quit years ago when she got pregnant, choosing to raise her son over climbing the corporate ladder. Now here she was, gliding through the crowd like she’d never left. She smiled when she saw me. “Rami, how are you? It's been a long time.”We fell into easy conversation, reminiscing about her old days at
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Last night was one of the longest nights I’ve ever experienced. Dema had been throwing up on and off for hours, her discomfort keeping both of us awake well past midnight. Each time I heard her retching in the bathroom, my chest tightened with worry. I hovered near the door, offering water, a cold towel, anything to ease her nausea. At one point, I even suggested taking her to the emergency room, fearing she might be seriously ill, but she waved me off weakly. "It’s fine, really," she insisted, her voice hoarse from the strain."This is normal—just part of it." I didn’t understand how anything so exhausting could be normal but she assured me it was just her body adjusting. Still, I couldn’t shake the helplessness gnawing at me. Eventually, the vomiting subsided, but sleep remained out of reach for her. Restless and drained, she wandered out to the balcony, seeking the cool night air. I watched from the doorway as she settled into the wicker chair, her silhouette outlined by the p
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When Dema told me she was pregnant, I didn’t know what came over me. My chest tightened, my thoughts raced, and for a moment, I couldn’t even form a response. We had talked about having kids many times before—long conversations that stretched late into the night, filled with hopes, fears, and unspoken tensions. Every time, I told her I wasn’t ready, that the timing wasn’t right, that we needed to wait. And every time, she would look at me with those deep, pleading eyes, her voice soft but unwavering as she explained why she wanted this so badly. She had been an orphan, raised in a system that never gave her the warmth of a real family. She told me how she used to watch other children with their parents, aching for something she never had—a home, stability, unconditional love. To her, having a child wasn’t just a desire; it was a need, a way to fill a void that had been hollowed out by years of loneliness. She feared that if we kept dismissing the idea, she might never get the chance
A Twist In My Marriage Deal With The CEO Chapter 147, Rami's Dairies Part 22.
Love is such a strong word, if you ask me. It's a kind of driving force—something deep and complicated for some people, yet so simple and spontaneous for others. I used to believe that people who have more get more love: people who have more money than others, people who have more influence, more beauty. That's why I didn't believe in love, because I believed it was just another term used to justify capitalistic ideals, a cover for people’s lust and greed. And it's true—some people do use love to get what they want, or they just don't know the difference between love and ambition. My whole life, I thought that I deserved love because I had money, status, and looks. I had the whole package; I was at the top of the social pyramid. That's just how our world works—but again, this is ambition, not real love. Real love is loving someone even when they have nothing. Real love is loving someone for the way they treat you. You can truly love someone for a certain quality about them, and
