Semua Bab A Twist In My Marriage Deal With The CEO : Bab 171 - Bab 180

The phone trembled in my hand as I listened to Rami's carefully controlled voice. My Husband was trying so hard to sound composed, but I had known him for a long time now. I heard the strain beneath every word."It's being handled, dear. The lawyer knows what he's doing."I pressed my lips together, the taste of cardamom from my abandoned coffee turning bitter on my tongue. I had spent the morning going back and forth, Rami had been stressed for days, seeing him like this broke my heart."How can he do this to his own son!"I said this morning to Tala who had come over to help me with Farah and try to cheer me up."Calm down dear" Tala told me switching to the Syrian dialect of her childhood. "I'm making mloukhieh, your favorite."I sighed, I tried to take her advice and calm down, then I smiled warmly at Tala "Thank you dear, you're always there for me, You're the best." Tala returned the smile and said "you're welcome, now please change your clothes and come to the garden outside,

The mall was bustling around us, bright lights and chatter filling the air as Rami and I strolled past storefronts. His phone rang, and when he answered, his face lit up in a way I hadn’t seen in months. "That’s amazing! Thank you yes, thank you so much," he said, his voice brimming with relief. He ended the call and turned to me, grinning. "Dema, you won’t believe it my father backed down. The lawyer just told me they’re settling."I threw my arms around him, laughing. "That’s incredible, Rami! I’m so happy for you." And I was. But beneath the excitement, something nagged at me a quiet unease I couldn’t shake. His father didn’t just give up. Not like this. Still, I pushed the thought aside. Maybe, for once, things were finally going our way. Three days later: The office was unusually quiet, the hum of computers and murmured conversations the only sounds. I was reviewing contracts when the door slammed open, making me jump. Karim stood there, his face pale, eyes wide. "Dema!"

The apartment is too quiet tonight. The kind of quiet that presses against my ears, making every small sound the hum of the refrigerator, the distant honking of cars outside—feel too loud. I sit on the couch, my fingers tapping restlessly against my knee, waiting. Rami should be home soon. He’s been gone all day again, running between lawyers’ offices, courthouses, and the hushed, polished halls of businessmen who might, be able to help. Every morning, he leaves before the sun is fully up, dressed in sharp suits that hide how little he’s been sleeping. Every night, he comes back looking like a ghost of himself, his eyes hollow, his movements slow with exhaustion. I hear the key turn in the lock, and my shoulders relax just a fraction. The door opens, and Rami steps inside, his tie loose, his jacket slung over his arm. He doesn’t say anything, just gives me a tired smile, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes, before heading straight for the shower. The water turns on a moment later

The apartment is quiet now, the tension from earlier softened but not gone. Rami sits on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. I settled beside him, my fingers brushing his arm. "We could leave," I say. He turns his head slightly, brow furrowing. "Like your mother did," I continue. "We could go to Amman. Stay with her for a while. Or even buy a house there and start fresh." He exhales sharply, shaking his head. "It's not that easy, Dema." "Why not?" I shift to face him. "We're still young. We have experience and skills, we could start something new. Collaborate with local businesses. Build again." His jaw tightens. "Just like that? After everything?" "Yes. Just like that." I take his hand. "It won't be the same, but it could still be good. We just have to be brave enough to try." He doesn’t answer right away, his thumb tracing slow circles over my knuckles. "I need to wait," he says finally. "See what the negotiations bring. See what happens, if I'll have

The moment we step out of Queen Alia International Airport, a crisp breeze greets us, completely different from Dubai's heavy, humid air. I inhale deeply, catching scents of earth and something faintly herbal in the wind. Farah squirms in my arms, pointing excitedly at everything, the olive trees lining the road, the buildings in the distance, the way the sunlight falls differently here, softer somehow. Rami hails a taxi, his movements more relaxed than I've seen in months. The driver helps load our luggage while Rami effortlessly slips into the Jordanian dialect, bargaining the fare with an ease that surprises me. It's a side of him I rarely saw in Dubai, he's confident, more comfortable, he's at home in his skin. As we drive through Amman, I press my face to the window like a child. The city unfolds in layers, white stone buildings stacked on rolling hills, streets buzzing with life but at a slower rhythm than what we left behind. Farah squeals as we go up a particularly steep h