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Chapter 45, Different Point Of Views.
Last Updated:
2025-02-27 00:10:30
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A Twist In My Marriage Deal With The CEO Chapter 46, The London Tower and Rami's Passion.
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
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When I woke up this morning I felt the morning light sharp and unwelcoming against my skin.I stared at my reflection in the mirror, it was like seeing a stranger with tight lips and shadowed eyes, I had dark circles, my hair was a mess, My eyes were still a bit red, and the mark on my cheek was still visible, I washed my face and applied some foundation and make up to cover it up.Another day is another battle. I didn't even bother asking the maids about Rami. Where he’d stormed off to after our… whatever that ugly scene last night was. Honestly, I couldn't care less, he didn't care to check on me and he didn't apologize for hitting me so why would I care about him.I had no appetite for breakfast I just had coffee. Black, bitter, and strong enough to jumpstart a dead engine. That was all I could stomach. After Tala handed me my coffee I snatched my bag and practically threw myself out the door.I got in the car, a sleek, dark beast, swallowed me whole, a temporary sanctuary. I gripp
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The city lights were blurry, like a colorful rainbow as I drove through the night, the day’s weight and the stress still pressing down on me. I should have gone home. Tala would prepare tea for me and the chef must have prepared a delicious meal, he maybe even made some of those almond cookies I liked. But the thought of what happened, the ugly scenes of the previous night were still stuck in my mind, it made my chest tighten. I couldn't face it. Not yet.I turned the wheel, veering towards the coast. The sea always felt vast and indifferent, a comforting kind of loneliness.I don't know how I ended up here, I was driving aimlessly, I parked near a small, brightly lit café, the scent of salt and sweet pastries mingling in the cool night air. Inside, it was warm and cozy, the murmur of conversations, a soft background hum.I found a table by the window, the waves crashing rhythmically against the shore.I needed to hear a voice, a familiar one. I pulled out my phone and scrolled thro
Last Updated : 2025-03-05
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There were nights when the weight of my father’s expectations pressed down on me until I couldn’t breathe. I’d sit in the dark, wondering if I was an embarrassment to him—if I’d ever be enough. But Dema… she always knew. She’d find me, her hands gentle on my shoulders, her voice steady. "You’re not failing," she’d say. "You’re building something he’ll never understand." And somehow, just her saying it made me believe it. She never let me face anything alone. Every gala, every meeting, every public appearance—she was there, flawless, poised, making me look stronger just by standing beside me. People noticed. They’d whisper about how lucky I was, and they were right. When my mother’s birthday came around, and I was drowning in indecision, Dema took over. She planned everything—the flowers my mother loved, the guests list, even the cake from that little bakery she used to take me to as a child. My mother hugged me that night and said, "it was one of the best birthdays I've ever had."
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I stood there, staring at the half-finished rose garden, dirt smeared across my hands, sweat dripping down my forehead. I had never done anything like this before—not with my own hands, at least. My whole life, if I wanted something done, I paid someone to do it. But this… this had to be done by me. Dema had made me that sweater—knitted it herself, stitch by stitch. I still remember the way she smiled when she gave it to me, how soft it felt, how it carried the weight of her effort. I wanted to give her something just as meaningful, something that showed her I cared enough to try. But what could I do? I didn’t know how to knit, or paint, or build. I had no skills like that. Then, as I passed by the flower shop downtown, it hit me Dema loves flowers.I bought every rose they had. Red, pink, white—enough to fill the entire side garden of the mansion. When I got home, I called the gardener over. "I need everything ready—soil, tools, space. I'm doing this myself," I told him. He r
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After the storm of anger subsided, the crushing weight of realization settled over me. What had I done? The question echoed in my mind, relentless and suffocating. I had lost control—completely, unforgivably. And now, I had to fix it. But how? This wasn’t just anyone—this was her. My wife. The woman who had stood by me through every hardship, whose laughter had been my solace, whose touch had been my anchor. And I had struck her. A hard, unforgiving slap—one fueled by a rage I didn’t even recognize in myself. The moment my hand connected with her skin, something inside me shattered. I had never been the kind of man who concerned himself with the emotions of others. If I wronged someone, so what? If they resented me, it was their problem, not mine. I moved through life untouched, unbothered. But this… this was different. This wasn’t some stranger, some acquaintance whose feelings I could dismiss. This was the woman I loved. The other half of my soul. Why had I done it? The questi
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