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chapter 14, Things don't add up.
Last Updated:
2025-01-27 02:12:38
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As I stood in front of the mirror, the soft glow of the vanity lights illuminated my reflection. I was in the final stages of getting ready for the commercial event featuring Rami's company, and my heart raced with a mix of excitement and nerves. I carefully adjusted the collar of my blouse, making sure it sat perfectly against my skin. The dress I had chosen was elegant yet professional, a deep navy blue that complemented my complexion. I wanted to make a good impression—not just for myself, but for Rami and his company.Just as I was applying the final touches of makeup, I heard the soft click of the door opening behind me. I turned slightly to see Rami walk in, and my breath caught in my throat. He looked stunning, dressed in a tailored suit that screamed luxury. The fabric glimmered under the lights, and I could tell it was one of those high-end brands that only a select few could afford. His confidence filled the room, and for a moment, I was taken aback by how effortlessly he ca
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Today I woke up sick, each time I cough, it feels like my skull is going to split open. I knew I shouldn't have gone into the office yesterday, even though we were short-staffed. Now, I'm paying the price. I squint at my laptop screen, trying to focus on the budget report. It's a blurry mess of numbers. Thank goodness for video conferencing. At least I can supervise the team remotely."Dema, habibti, you look terrible." Tala's voice is soft and concerned. She's holding a steaming mug, the fragrant scent of mint tea wafting towards me. "Here, I made you some tea. It will make you feel better."I manage a weak smile. "Thanks, Tala. You're an angel." I take the mug gratefully, the warmth seeping into my chilled hands. "How's my temperature?"Tala places the back of her hand on my forehead. "Still a little high. You should rest, Dema. Don't worry about work. They can handle it."I know she's right, but I can't help but feel guilty. "I just need to finish reviewing this report..." I trail
Last Updated : 2025-01-29A Twist In My Marriage Deal With The CEO Chapter 17, A declaration of War
The salt spray kissed my face as I stepped out of the car, the scent of the ocean a welcome counterpoint to the nervous flutter in my stomach. Rami's s uncle's beach house was always a scene, a whirlwind of extended family, boisterous laughter, and the inevitable comparisons. I smoothed down the silk of my dress, a masterpiece from a boutique in the city and adjusted the oversized sunglasses perched on my nose. "You look like you're going to the Oscars, not a family barbecue," Rami grumbled, his brow furrowed. I rolled my eyes, a practiced move. "Rami your mother will be there. I can't just show up in jeans and a t-shirt. I have to look the part." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "The part of what? A fashion magazine cover? You're going to feel suffocated in that thing." "And you'd rather I show up looking like I haven't left the house in weeks? Let's be realistic, Rami. Appearances matter. Especially when your mother is around." He knew I was right. Rami's mother, bles
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A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I stared out the window. Another gray day, mirroring my mood. It had been days since that awful barbecue party, and the dark cloud hanging over me hadn't budged. My maids, bless their hearts, had tried their best to cheer me up. "They're just jealous, Dema," they said, bustling around me with cups of mint tea and plates of delicate pastries. " They are jealous of your beauty, your style, and your husband's love." It sounded nice, a comforting little fairytale. But I wasn't a fool. I knew the truth and what I'd seen, the thinly veiled insults, the pointed whispers, the way they’d all huddled together, excluding me, their smiles tight and fake. They hadn't been jealous. They'd been… spiteful. And the worst part? My husband's indifference toward the whole situation. I’d tried to tell him, of course. The moment we got home, I’d poured out my heart, the hurt bubbling over. I’d expected comfort, a reassuring hug, maybe even a word or two of reprimand for h
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The silence in this apartment is deafening. It’s a thick, heavy blanket that smothers every other sound, including the insistent buzzing of my phone. I know who it is. Probably the maids they’ve been trying all day. I haven’t eaten since last night. My stomach growls, a hollow, echoing complaint, but I ignore it. Food feels… unnecessary. Everything feels unnecessary.I stare at the peeling paint on the opposite wall, tracing the faded pattern with my eyes. This apartment… it’s a relic. A ghost of a life I used to live. A life I thought I’d escaped. And yet, here I am, back in its dusty embrace, feeling just as lost and empty as I did before.A memory flickers. Warm, like a hearth fire in the dead of winter. Professor El-Masri. Her kind eyes, the gentle curve of her smile. She’d seen me, really seen me, back when I was nothing but a shadow drifting through the university halls. Homeless, hungry, and utterly alone. Everyone else just saw the surface – the quiet girl who always sat in
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The heavy oak doors of the mansion swung shut behind me, the click echoing in the vast, marble-floored hallway. My visit with Professor El-Masri had refreshed me, my mind finally found peace after our discussion. A chorus of greetings met me as I stepped inside. "Welcome home, Madam Dema," the maids chimed, their smiles warm and genuine. A trolley laden with fragrant dishes was wheeled forward. "We've prepared your favorite, Madam. Please, have something to eat."I offered a polite smile. "Thank you, but I'm not hungry. I need to get back to work." The aroma of the food was tempting, but the urgency of my projects overshadowed any appetite. "Perhaps later," I added, hoping to soften my refusal.I've wasted so much time sulking, it was time to get back to work.I headed straight for the library, the familiar scent of old books a comforting presence. The room was a sanctuary, a world away from the bustle of the city. I settled into my chair at the large mahogany desk, the smooth
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The suitcase lay open on the bed. I meticulously folded a floral sundress, picturing myself twirling in it on a white sand beach. Maldives, I thought, the word itself a whisper of paradise. Rami had outdone himself. A honeymoon in the Maldives! I still couldn't quite believe it.He called from downstairs, "Dema, habibti, I'm leaving now, be ready in 15!""Okay!" I called back, my heart fluttering with anticipation. I zipped up the suitcase, a little too excited, and grabbed my passport. As I headed downstairs, I noticed Rami wasn't in the car."Just popping into the jewelry store,I won't be late," he said when I called him, He was back quickly, though, slipping a small, velvet box into my hand."What's this?" I asked, my fingers trembling as I opened it. Inside, nestled on a bed of satin, was the most exquisite ring I had ever seen. It was a delicate band of platinum, and the diamond… the diamond was breathtaking. It seemed to catch the light from every angle, sparkling with an inner
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Rami and I decided to treat ourselves to a full spa day. It was just what we both needed. I settled in for a manicure, choosing a soft pink that I thought would complement my skin tone. "Habibi, what do you think of this color?" I asked him.He answered that it suited me so well, then he disappeared into a quiet room for a massage. I could practically feel the tension melting away from him just thinking about it.After my nails were perfect, it was my turn for some pampering. I opted for a facial and a relaxing massage. While I was being slathered in creams and having my muscles kneaded, Rami mentioned he was going to soak in a hot bath. He said he'd be waiting when I was done.A couple of hours later, we emerged from the spa feeling completely rejuvenated. My skin felt baby-soft, my nails looked great, and my body was relaxed and loose. Rami looked equally refreshed, his face relaxed and his shoulders no longer hunched. It was the perfect way to spend the day together. "So, where sha
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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
A Twist In My Marriage Deal With The CEO Chapter 146, Rami's Dairies Part 21.
Love is such a complicated matter. It is very mysterious to me, especially identifying love. Identifying your own emotions is the tricky part. Do you really love this person, or do you just like this person? Do you love them despite their flaws? Do you love them as a whole, or do you just love a specific quality about this person ? Would you still love this person if they lost everything? Would you still love them if they changed? These questions have been on my mind my whole life, and I’ve given up on finding answers. I thought I loved Bayan, yet I moved on with my life just fine after she disappeared. I thought I liked Rola, but when she broke our engagement and left, I didn’t feel anything—I didn’t even shed a single tear. But when I realized for the first time that I could lose Dema, it frightened my soul. For the first time, I felt like my entire world would crash. --- I’ve never felt anything like this before with anyone else. Yes, I admit I’ve been with many wo
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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."
A Twist In My Marriage Deal With The CEO Chapter 144, Rami's Dairies Part 19
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
A Twist In My Marriage Deal With The CEO Chapter 143, Rami's Dairies Part 18.
Dema wasn’t just my wife—she was my first real friend, the first person who truly saw me.Before her, no one had ever asked about the things that brought me joy—not out of obligation or strategy, but simple curiosity. She was the one who listened when I rambled about random historical facts, who remembered the names of my childhood pets, who laughed at my terrible jokes not because she had to, but because she genuinely found them funny. With her, I didn’t have to perform or posture. For the first time, I felt like I could just exist and that would be enough. She taught me things I never realized I was missing—small, sacred acts of love I’d never witnessed growing up. She was the first person to cook my favorite meal just because she noticed I’d had a long day. The first to show me how to hold someone’s gaze until the world fades away, how to listen not just to words but to the spaces between them. She showed me how to celebrate the details—the way someone’s nose scrunches when they
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My whole life, I’ve known that people liked me—not for who I was, but for where I came from. Growing up, I attended an elite international school, the kind reserved for the children of diplomats, CEOs, and old-money heirs. It was a world of polished hallways and whispered connections, where last names carried more weight than personalities. My parents never let me forget my privilege. "You deserve only the best," they would say, as if excellence were an inheritance rather than something earned. Their words were laced with unspoken rules Only associate with those who match your status. Never lower yourself. Remember who you are.But the irony was suffocating. Even among the privileged, I was treated differently—like some kind of crown prince in a kingdom of lesser nobles. At first, I thought it was because of my family’s wealth, or maybe my father’s influence in certain circles. But the truth was far more transactional. The other children didn’t befriend me; they were assigned to me. T
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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
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Dema was incredible today. She spoke with confidence, delivered her best performance, and impressed everyone at the meeting. I’ve never been prouder of her. Though I could tell she was nervous, she didn’t stutter or hesitate—not even once. Afterward, I teased her about it just to mess with her, but the truth is, she was absolutely amazing. Following the meeting, I treated everyone to dinner. It was a fun and enjoyable time, but what I really wanted was to unwind alone with my brilliant, lovely wife. So we retreated to our hotel room and spent the rest of the night together—just the two of us. "I’ll take you shopping tomorrow," I told her later, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Get you whatever you want—designer dress, shoes, a new bag. Name it, it’s yours." She laughed softly, shaking her head. "Actually, I’ve decided to stop buying top brands. I’m boycotting."I blinked. "Boycotting? Since when?" "Since I realized how much waste they produce, how they exploit wo
