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Chapter 37, The Locked Room of Memories (Part 4)
Last Updated:
2025-02-23 06:38:12
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A Twist In My Marriage Deal With The CEO Chapter 38, The locked Room Of Memories (Part 5)
Rami and I were watching TV in the living room, it was a quiet evening, I wanted to tell him about my father, I felt this was a good timing to talk about it. "Rami," I began, "I've been doing some digging. About my father." He looked up from his phone, his brow furrowed with concern. "Your father? Dema, I thought..." "I know," I interrupted, twisting my hands together. "I thought I was fine not knowing. But I'm not. I need to find him. I need to know… everything." A heavy silence hung in the air. Rami reached for my hand, his touch warm and reassuring. "Are you sure about this, Dema? This could open up old wounds." I met his gaze, my heart pounding in my chest. "I'm terrified, Rami. Absolutely terrified. But I have to do this. I have to face the past, no matter how painful it might be. I can't keep living with this… this emptiness inside me. I need answers. I need closure." He squeezed my hand gently. "And what do you plan to do once you find him?" "I… I want to meet him,
Last Updated : 2025-02-24A Twist In My Marriage Deal With The CEO Chapter 39, The Locked Room Of Memories Final Part
The wind whipped at my hair as we sat at the café by the sea, the rhythmic crash of waves a constant backdrop to our tense conversation. Mark, our lawyer, shuffled the thick envelope containing the money. Rami sat beside me, his hand resting reassuringly on my knee. Across from us, Uncle Ibrahim stirred his coffee, his eyes darting around the café as if he expected someone to jump out at any moment. He finally nodded, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. “Alright,” he said, his voice low. “Let’s go.”The drive was long and silent. The vibrant blues of the sea gave way to the monotonous browns and yellows of the desert. My stomach twisted into knots with each mile that stretched between me and the father I hadn’t seen since I was a child. Ibrahim finally pulled the car to a stop in front of a lone, tattered tent in the middle of nowhere. It looked as desolate and forgotten as I felt.“He’s here,” Ibrahim muttered, gesturing towards the tent. He led us to the entrance
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The waves crashed against the shore, a rhythmic sound echoing within me. Rami and I stood side-by-side gazing out at the sea. We’d just left my mother’s old aunt, a woman who held the missing pieces of my past. The meeting had been difficult, but necessary.“Are you okay?” Rami’s voice was gentle, a warm blanket against the chill of the sea breeze.“I’m fine,” I replied, trying to force a smile. “I will be. Eventually.” The truth was, the encounter had stirred up a whirlwind of emotions. But now, finally, I knew what had happened, what had led my life to this point. And strangely, that knowledge, though painful, was also freeing. “Now that I remember my past, now that I know what happened and what led me to who I'm today, I can move on. I can finally let go of the past. I know that I at least tried. I did what I could and I can finally say that I'll let it go without feeling guilty about anything, at least I know now that it was not my fault, none of it was.”Rami turned to
Last Updated : 2025-02-24A Twist In My Marriage Deal With The CEO Chapter 41, London Meeting Preparations.
"Karim, do you have those files I asked for? The ones for the london meeting presentation?" I asked, trying to keep the slight edge of panic out of my voice. This presentation was a big deal, and I was determined to nail it. "All set, Dema," he replied, a reassuring smile on his face. "Everything's in that folder on the shared drive, labeled 'london Trip - Q4 Projections'." "Thank you, Karim! You're a lifesaver," I breathed, relief washing over me. I quickly opened the folder and scanned the documents. "Okay, let's see... market analysis, competitor data, proposed budget... perfect!" I pulled up the presentation template on my laptop. "Right, let's start with the market overview," I said, already typing furiously. "We need to highlight the key growth areas and how our product fits into them." Karim leaned closer, reviewing the data with me. "I think we should emphasize the potential for expansion in the Asian market," he suggested. "Especially with the new features we're launch
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I called my team for an important urgent meeting, I wanted to express to them how grateful I was for their hard work, and let them know about the important presentation I was going to give."Everyone, thanks for coming in at such short notice," I said, trying to project an air of calm confidence, even though my heart was hammering against my ribs. Karim stood beside me, nodding in agreement. "We know you've all been working incredibly hard lately, and we wanted to take a moment to express our sincere gratitude."I glanced around the room, meeting the tired but determined eyes of my marketing team. Late nights, endless brainstorming sessions, and the constant pressure to deliver – I knew they were feeling it. They deserved this acknowledgment."The effort you've put into this new partnership opportunity has been nothing short of phenomenal," I continued, my voice gaining strength. "We've seen the dedication, the creativity, and the sheer grit you've all displayed. Karim and I have
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The gentle hum of the jet engines was a soothing backdrop to our conversation. London, here we come! I leaned back in my plush seat, a glass of chilled water in my hand, and glanced at Rami. He looked pleased, a small smile playing on his lips as he reviewed some documents on his tablet. Kareem, our marketing team lead, sat across from us, equally engrossed in his own device. Rami’s assistant, Sarah, was quietly taking notes, efficiently capturing every detail.“So, Dema,” Rami began, finally looking up, “I think we can all agree, this partnership is a game-changer.”I nodded, taking a sip of water. “Absolutely, Rami. The potential synergy is incredible. Their reach combined with our innovative products… it’s a perfect match.”Kareem chimed in, “From a marketing perspective, I’m particularly excited about the cross-promotional opportunities. We can tap into a whole new demographic.” He tapped his tablet screen. “I’ve already been brainstorming some initial campaign ideas. Think
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My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the crisp fabric of my suit. This was it. The London meeting. Securing deals with the top hotels in the city was crucial, a make-or-break moment for our company. I smoothed down my skirt, trying to project an air of calm confidence I definitely didn't feel. Beside me, Rami, our CEO and my Husband, he was the picture of relaxed power. He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze, his smile warm and encouraging. "Ready, Dema?""As I'll ever be," I managed, my voice a little shaky. I glanced at Karim, my marketing team leader. He gave me a thumbs-up, his usual easygoing demeanor a welcome contrast to the nervous energy buzzing around me. He’d prepped the presentation flawlessly, and I knew we had the data to back up our proposal. Still, these were London hotels. The big leagues.Just then, the door opened and Rami’s vice president, Mr. Harrison, strode in, followed by his assistant, Ms. Davies. Harrison nodded a curt greeting,
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Rami and I were on our way back to the hotel, he's been teasing me about how nervous I was during the meeting for a good hour now."Like a phone vibration mood," Rami had said, his voice laced with amusement.I glared at him, or at least tried to. My face was probably still flushed, a mix of adrenaline and mortification. "It was my first time, Rami. Give me a break."He chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound that usually soothed me. Tonight, though, it felt like he was poking fun at a particularly flustered kitten. "Oh, come on, I'm just messing around with you, but seriously I thought you were going to pass out.""Stop, or I'll hit you," I said, but a small smile was tugging at the corners of my mouth. It was true. I'd been a mess. The presentation, which I'd practiced a thousand times in my head, had turned into a blur of stilted sentences and shaky gestures. My voice had trembled, my notes had fluttered like nervous butterflies, and I was pretty sure I'd knocked over a glass of water."S
Last Updated : 2025-02-27
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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
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Dema hadn’t been sleeping well. I noticed it almost immediately—the dark circles under her eyes, the way her hands trembled slightly when she reached for her coffee in the mornings, the distant look in her gaze as if she were somewhere else entirely. It had been a full week of this, and it was eating away at her. She was exhausted, barely able to focus at work, jumping at the smallest noises. I hated seeing her like this. One morning, after catching her staring blankly at her computer screen for the third time in an hour, I pulled her aside. "Dema," I said, keeping my voice low, "if you need a break, take it. No one’s going to blame you." She hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip the way she always did when she was torn between pride and necessity. But eventually, she nodded. She went home that day, and I hoped—maybe foolishly—that rest would be enough. When I got back that evening, she was sitting on the couch, her knees pulled up to her chest, her fingers wrapped tightly around a
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The first time I said "I love you" to her was during our honeymoon. We were in a café by the beach when it started raining, and in that moment, everything felt magical—the most magical moment of my life. The words came out so spontaneously, so naturally, as if they’d been waiting forever to be said. I never knew love could be this easy. If I had, I would’ve searched the whole earth to find it. But I suppose I’m the luckiest man in the world—love didn’t make me chase it; it simply walked into my life, it walked in my company in jeans, and I didn’t have to suffer to have it.The first time I saw her sick, she looked so vulnerable—adorable, like a little kitten. I didn’t want to leave her side, but I had work the next day, so I slept in another room. Later, I realized how much it hurt her. I wish she had slapped me, knocked some sense into me back then. I was selfish. No—I’ve always been selfish.I take what I want and turn away, never learning to truly consider others. Growing up, t
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Before we boarded the plane to the Maldives, I knew I had to do something—something to show Dema that this wasn’t just a contract anymore. That she wasn’t just an arrangement to me. Not after everything we’d been through. Our wedding had been traditional, simple. No rings, no grand declarations—just signatures and obligations. Back then, I hadn’t thought much of it. But now? Now, the thought of her not wearing my ring, not having something that screamed mine in the way my heart had already claimed her, felt wrong. So I went to the most exclusive jeweler in the city. I didn’t just want a ring—I wanted the right ring. The one that would make her breath catch, the one that would make her eyes light up the way they did when she was genuinely happy. The saleswoman showed me countless designs, but the moment I saw it—a stunning, elegant piece with a diamond that caught the light like fire—I knew. This was Dema’s ring.I imagined sliding it onto her finger, the weight of it against her s
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It was August fifth.We had our first real fight—not just an argument, but a heated clash where we said ugly things to each other. I know I hurt her feelings, and I owed her an apology. I made sure to make that right. Looking back, I’m still not entirely sure what started it. The fight happened two days after a barbecue at my uncle’s house with my family. Most of the party, I was with my cousins, laughing and catching up. I assumed she was having a good time too, chatting with my mom and aunts—but apparently, she wasn’t. When we got home, she told me one of my cousins had been rude to her, even making mean comments, and that my mom hadn’t been kind either. At the time, I hadn’t noticed anything wrong. I told her they didn’t mean any harm, that she might be overreacting—but I realize now how that must have sounded. I was trying to lighten the mood, not dismiss her feelings. I took her out, hoping to distract her, but it didn’t work. Frustrated, I lost my patience and called her a
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The transformation in Dema over those few months was nothing short of astonishing. It wasn’t just her appearance—though that alone was enough to leave me speechless sometimes. Her clothing, once simple and practical, had shifted into something elegant, refined, as if she had always belonged in that world of sophistication. Her hair, always perfectly styled, framed her glowing face like a portrait. But more than that, it was the way she carried herself—her voice, steady and sure, her words deliberate and wise. She wasn’t just playing a part; she had grown into a woman who commanded respect without even trying. No matter the situation, I knew I could rely on her. Business meetings, family gatherings—it didn’t matter. She handled everything with a grace that seemed effortless, as if she had been born for it. Work came naturally to her; she had a sharp mind, a talent for reading people and situations that I admired. But the one thing that ever seemed to shake her was my family—especiall
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The first week of our marriage was… overwhelming—for both of us, but especially for her. I could see it in the way her shoulders tensed whenever my mother or aunties gave her another task, another expectation to meet. They weren’t making it easy for her, and I knew it. Tradition was one thing, but the way they scrutinized her every move, as if testing her worth, made me feel sorry for her. Still, she never complained. She just kept trying. Then there were the events—gatherings where the women floated around in designer gowns, their jewelry glinting under the chandeliers like it was part of their skin. She stood among them, beautiful but uncertain, her fingers twisting the fabric of her dress—something simple, something not a top brand. I caught the way the others glanced at her, the subtle arch of their brows, and it burned something inside me. Not because I cared about their approval, but because she did. And damn, did she learn fast. Every day, she absorbed something new—how to
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When we arrived at my parents' mansion, the grand entrance we made was everything I had expected—flashing cameras, exaggerated cheers, and the heavy weight of judgmental eyes following our every move. The party was already in full swing, the air thick with expensive perfume and roses. To my surprise, Dema handled it all flawlessly. She smiled at the right moments, greeted my relatives with just the right amount of polite warmth, and even managed to charm my notoriously hard-to-please uncle. I watched her from the corner of my eye, half-expecting her to falter, to show even a hint of discomfort—but she didn’t. Then, as if sensing my thoughts, she leaned in slightly, her voice low enough that only I could hear. "They're starting to doubt us," she murmured, her lips barely moving. "Your relatives has been staring at us for the past five minutes. We need to do something."I glanced over and sure enough, my relatives were watching us like hawks, their sharp eyes flickering between
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The moment I pushed open the door and stepped inside, my breath caught in my throat. There she was—Dema—standing by the window, the fading sunlight painting her in gold. The delicate embroidery on her dress shimmered, and the way her fingers lightly traced the edge of her dress, my chest tighten. She looked… breathtaking. Ethereal, even. Like something out of a dream I hadn’t dared to have. For a second, I just stood there, frozen. Words piled up in my mind—You’re stunning. You’re perfect. I don’t deserve this, deserve you. But my tongue felt heavy, my usual confidence slipping. This wasn’t just another negotiation, another deal. This was her. And the way she held herself, so still, so distant—something was wrong. I swallowed hard, forcing myself forward. Now wasn’t the time for poetry. The guests were outside, waiting. The contracts were signed. The alliance was set. “Dema,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “What are you doing? We don’t have time for second thoughts. Everyone’s
