All Chapters of A Twist In My Marriage Deal With The CEO : Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

The hospital room feels too bright, too sterile, as I gather the last of my things. My body still aches, a dull throb reminding me of what I’ve just been through. But that’s not what’s twisting inside me. It’s him. Rami. Standing there, clueless as ever, flashing that easy smile like nothing’s wrong. “You ready to go, Habibti?” he asks, reaching for my bag. I tighten my grip on it and brush past him without a word. Let him wonder. Let him think I’m just some hormonal mess, exhausted from giving birth. If he were paying attention at all, he’d know this isn’t about fatigue. His mother swoops in with her usual efficiency, cooing over the baby in my arms. “Mashallah, what a beautiful baby” she murmurs, her fingers brushing her tiny cheek. Then, to me, in that tone that’s half sweetness, half command: “Don’t worry, Dema, I’ll stay with you for a few days. You’ll need help.” I force a tight smile. I don’t want her there. Not now. Not when every glance at Rami makes my chest burn. B

I woke up to an empty bed, the space beside me cold and untouched. Rami wasn’t home—again. But for once, I didn’t care. I didn’t want to see him. The heaviness in my chest wasn’t sadness this time, just exhaustion. My hand instinctively rested on my belly, the gentle curve of my baby girl reminding me of what truly mattered. She was my focus now—we were my focus. No more waiting, no more begging for scraps of attention. If Rami wanted to disappear, let him. I stretched slowly, savoring the quiet. No arguments, no tension—just peace. For the first time in a long while, I felt like I could breathe. Today wasn’t about him. Today was about us and that was enough.Two days. Two whole days, and Rami hadn’t come home. And you know what? I didn’t care. Not enough to call, not enough to ask. When he finally walked through the door, I didn’t even glance his way. He lingered around, pretending like everything was normal, until two hours later, he finally decided to speak. "How’s the baby

It's 7 AM, and I'm still awake. My baby cried inconsolably throughout the night. I didn't know what was wrong with her. I fed her, changed her diaper, and put her in her crib, but she wouldn't settle down. Then she had a prolonged crying fit; I tried everything to soothe her—rocking, singing lullabies, even offering a pacifier—but nothing worked. Finally, as a last resort, I put on a YouTube video of children's colors, and she miraculously fell asleep watching it. Even after she finally drifted off, I couldn't rest. I tossed and turned, my mind racing. The worst part was replaying my conversation with my mother-in-law and her incredibly hurtful words: "It's just the nature of rich men like them." The casual cruelty of her statement stunned me. I couldn't believe she had endured such blatant disrespect and mistreatment for over thirty years. Part of me felt a deep sorrow for her, a sense of empathy for the pain she'd silently carried. However, that sorrow was quickly overshadowed by

Rami’s Diaries: July the third/ sunday Enough is enough.The rumors about me won’t stop. I’m so tired of explaining myself—to the public, to strangers online, and worst of all, to my own family. Every time I see my aunties, it’s the same question: "Rami, when will you settle down?" As if marriage is just some business deal I’ve been neglecting. And then there’s my cousin, who still looks at me with that hopeful glint in her eyes, no matter how many times I tell her, "You’re like a sister to me." It’s pointless. Being young and rich is supposed to be a blessing, right? But Not when the media turns your life into their personal cash cow. Every time I step out with a female friend—just a friend—the next day, there’s a headline painting me as some carefree playboy, flirting my way through the city. They love creating scandals. They love the drama. And worst of all, they love the version of me they’ve created—someone I don’t even recognize. I tried ignoring it, I really did. But how

Today, my new secretary impressed me. She organized my entire week’s schedule—flawlessly. Every meeting, every call, every deadline was precisely laid out. No mistakes, no overlaps. Finally, someone who actually pays attention to detail. I’ve noticed other improvements too. Her wardrobe, for one. When she first started, her clothes were… questionable. But now she wears proper formal attire. Neat, professional. And her skin—those acne scars have faded. Probably splurged on some decent skincare with her first paycheck. Smart move. She was so quiet at first. Barely spoke unless I asked her something, and even then, her answers were clipped. But lately, she’s been different. Asking questions. Offering suggestions. Not just blindly following orders. My assistant was right—hiring her is a good choice. After today’s meeting, she brought me my usual coffee—black, one sugar, just how I like it—then slipped back to her desk without a word. I scrolled through my phone, and there they were