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Chapter 78, The Scandal,Part 10.
Последнее обновление:
2025-03-24 04:50:56
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The moment we stepped out of Rami’s parents' house, the tension was suffocating. Rami's veins were popping out of his forehead, they were so apparent from how angry he was. Without a word, he pulled out his phone and called his lawyer, his voice icy. "Go ahead with the lawsuit. Sue the channel for the scandal they caused, I want them to pay for that interview."I reached over, placing a hand on his arm. "Rami, breathe. Think about this before—"He didn’t let me finish. Instead, he dialed another number—Bayan. My stomach twisted. I knew this wouldn’t end well. "If you don’t stop this," he hissed into the phone, "I will ruin you. I swear to God, Bayan, I will drag you to court and make sure you regret ever opening your mouth."I tightened my grip on his arm. "Rami, enough—"But he jerked away, hitting the speaker button. Bayan’s voice filled the car, sharp and venomous. "Oh, I’m so scared," she mocked. "But here’s the thing—I talked to your ex-fiancée. She told me everything. How
Последнее обновление : 2025-03-28A Twist In My Marriage Deal With The CEO Chapter 80, Magnatic attachment.
I watched it all unfold, and with every move Rami made, the knot in my stomach tightened. He had silenced Bayan—paid her off, made her disappear like she was nothing more than a problem to be erased. And his ex? After speaking to her parents, she backed down, burying whatever truth she had been holding onto, all for the sake of her family’s reputation. Rami’s lawyer was smooth, persuasive. Money changed hands, whispers of legal threats lingered in the air, and just like that, everything was settled. I felt like there was no real resolution—just the quiet suffocation of the truth under the weight of wealth. It made me sick. The way Rami operated, it was like he believed money could rewrite reality. That if you had enough of it, you could bend the world to your will, make inconvenient people vanish, turn wrong into right with a check and a signature. And the worst part? It worked.I wanted to scream. To shake him and ask how he could live with himself, turning lives into transacti
Последнее обновление : 2025-03-29A Twist In My Marriage Deal With The CEO Chapter 81, Making A Choice.
Three months later : The morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and golden, as I stretched beneath the sheets. Beside me, Rami slept soundly, his breathing steady. A warmth spread through my chest—today, I wanted to do something special for him. After everything that happened between us and the issue with Bayan and the rumors, our relationship had its ups and downs, we deserved a peaceful morning, just the two of us. Quietly, I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him. The house was still, the only sound the distant chirping of birds outside. I tiptoed to the kitchen, my bare feet silent against the cool tiles. But when I pushed the door open, I found one of the maids already there, preparing breakfast. “Good morning,” I whispered. “I’d like to handle breakfast myself today.” She smiled and nodded. “Of course, my lady. Shall I set the table in the garden for you?” “Yes, please.” Once she left, I rolled up my sleeves and reached for the ingredients. Pancakes—R
Последнее обновление : 2025-03-30A Twist In My Marriage Deal With The CEO Chapter 82, Realization.
My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat a frantic drum against the silence of the kitchen. "Rami, we need to talk." My voice was barely a whisper, strained and tight. I held the small, foil-backed packet in my trembling hand, the crinkled edges a testament to its journey through the trash. "I found these."I laid the contraceptive pills on the countertop, the stark white and blue a harsh contrast against the warm wood. "In the kitchen trash. I need you to be honest with me. Do you know anything about these?"He turned, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before settling into irritation. "Why are you assuming it's me, Dema? I was asleep when you found them. You know that.""Because," I said, my voice rising slightly, "you've said before that you don't want children. And… and I can't help but wonder if you're taking steps to make sure that doesn't happen."His jaw tightened. "That's ridiculous. You're being ridiculous.""My reaction isn't ridiculous, Rami. Your reac
Последнее обновление : 2025-03-31A Twist In My Marriage Deal With The CEO Chapter 83, No longer A Victim.
The salt of my tears has dried, leaving a gritty residue on my cheeks. Hours. Or was it days? Time has lost all meaning, a blurry, distorted echo in the empty cavern of my bedroom. My eyes are swollen, heavy, and the constant ache in my chest has settled into a dull, persistent throb. I'm empty, hollowed out. I can't stay here. The walls are closing in, each surface a mirror reflecting the broken pieces of myself. I need air, I need…something. Anything. I push myself up, my legs shaky and unsteady. The maids cluster around me as I head for the door. "Madam, where are you going?" Their voices are a soft, concerned chorus, but I can't bring myself to answer. I just shake my head and walk away, the click of my heels on the marble a sharp, defiant sound. The car is a cold, metallic comfort. I drive, not knowing where I’m going, just needing to move, to escape the suffocating stillness of my apartment. I find myself by the sea, the rhythmic crash of the waves a constant, soothing pulse.
Последнее обновление : 2025-04-01A Twist In My Marriage Deal With The CEO Chapter 84, Rola's Side Of The Story.
The café was quiet, the sound of distant chatter barely reaching our corner table. Rola sat across from me, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup, her eyes guarded but not unkind. My chest tightened. I had rehearsed this moment in my head a dozen times, but now that it was here, the words felt heavy. "I’m not ready to leave him," I admitted, the confession spilling out before I could soften it. Her gaze flickered up, surprise flashing in her eyes. "My heart is still… attached. But I can’t ignore the way things have been." Rola exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction. "Then why are you here, Dema?" "Because I need to understand," I said, leaning forward. "I need to hear your side—what really happened between you and Rami. Why you broke the engagement." My voice wavered, but I held her stare. "If there’s anything I can do to change him, I want to try. But I need to know if you're willing to help me." The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken words. Fo
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Rola and I were silent. We had agreed to work together, but the awkwardness of the situation was still pressing on us.After a few minutes I finally had the courage to break the silence, I said "I never had anyone before him, Rola. No family, no love—nothing. Rami was the first person who made me feel like I mattered. He gave me things I never even dreamed of having... not money, but the way he showed me the world. Made me believe I was worth something." My voice cracks, and I press a hand to my chest, like I can physically hold the ache inside. "That’s why I can’t just walk away. He’s my first love—my only love. But every lie he tells me feels like a knife twisting deeper. And now... now I keep wondering if there’s more. If he’s cheating, if he ever really loved me at all." A bitter laugh escapes me. "It’s driving me insane, Rola. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep—I just keep replaying everything in my head. And I know... I know I have to end this. Because if I don’t, he’s going to des
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The door clicked shut behind me, sealing away Rola’s words, her promises, her plan. The air in our home felt heavier now, thick with the weight of what I had just agreed to. Or maybe it was just the silence—the kind that settles when you stop fighting. I kicked off my shoes, not bothering to line them . The old me would’ve cared. The old me would’ve smoothed her hair, touched up her lipstick, made sure my bedroom smelled like lavender instead of the smell of chips that I had last night. But that woman was fading, peeling away like old paint. Rami was on the couch, his fingers tapping against his phone, the glow of the screen reflecting in his tired eyes. He didn’t look up when I walked in. Good. Less effort for me. I grabbed a bag of chips from the cupboard, the crinkling sound too loud in the quiet. I didn’t care if it was noon or midnight. I didn’t care if he wrinkled his nose at the smell of salt and grease. Let him. “You’re eating that now?” he finally asked, his voice fla
Последнее обновление : 2025-04-07
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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
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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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For the longest time, I truly believed our marriage was perfect—or at least, that it should have been. I thought love was simple: give her gifts, smile at her, and she’ll be happy. I told myself that if I loved her deeply, that was enough. After all, shouldn’t love mean acceptance? Shouldn’t she love me for who I am, flaws and all? But I was wrong. Looking back, I realize now how little effort I truly put into nurturing our relationship. I took her presence for granted, assuming that as long as I cared for her in my own way, she would stay content. I didn’t see the cracks forming between us—the quiet disappointments, the unspoken frustrations. Love isn’t just about feeling; it’s about doing, about showing up every day in ways that matter to the other person. And I failed at that. One of the biggest issues between us was how I acted around other women. She tried, more than once, to tell me how much it hurt her—the way I laughed too easily at their jokes, the way my friendliness som
