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Chapter 89, Chapter 89, Broken Trust.
Last Updated:
2025-04-10 03:09:43
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I couldn’t stay in that mansion for even another second. Not after what I’d just found out. The maids who I considered my friends—had been lying to me this whole time. And Tala…Ya Allah , Tala. I thought she was different. I thought she was the first real friend I’d ever had. But no. Just another person playing a role, pretending to care. My hands clenched the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turned white. I didn’t even know where I was going. Just away. Away from the lies, away from the betrayal, away from the suffocating walls of that house that had never truly been a home. The road blurred in front of me, tears burning my eyes. I swiped at them angrily. Why did I keep letting myself believe things could be different? That people could be different? I drove until my head started spinning, until the weight in my chest made it hard to breathe. Finally, I pulled over near some public park—I didn’t even know which one. The engine cut, and silence rushed in, heavy and suffocat
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The keys to the beach house felt heavy in my hand—not from weight, but from possibility. This was mine. Entirely mine. No compromises, no opinions to consider except my own. The salt-kissed air rushed past me as I pushed open the door, the empty rooms echoing with potential. I walked through the bare space, my fingers trailing along the walls, already imagining the colors they would wear. Soft, grey and sky blue? Or maybe something bolder, like the deep turquoise of the ocean at dusk? I smiled. I’ll decide later. Every choice would be mine, down to the smallest detail. The living room was bathed in golden afternoon light, and I tilted my head up, picturing a chandelier—something delicate but striking, like crystal droplets catching the sun. Not the kind you’d find in a showroom, but something unique, something that felt like it belonged only here. I crouched, pressing my palm against the cool tile floor. These would have to go. Maybe something in a pale, weathered stone, or hand
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I hadn’t planned on going back to the office so soon, but my team needed me—and honestly, I needed them too. For the first time in weeks, I actually wanted to step back into that world. I stood in front of my closet, running my fingers over fabric until I found it—the burgundy suit, sharp and elegant, the color rich against my skin. I paired it with gold: a delicate bracelet, small earrings, and a simple necklace that caught the light just right. No makeup—my skin was still healing, still tender from the last breakout—but for once, I didn’t care. The confidence wasn’t in the coverage; it was in the way I carried myself today. When I walked into the office, I could feel the shift before anyone said a word. The murmurs, the glances, the way conversations paused just a beat too long. My heels clicked against the floor, steady, sure. "Dema!" Sarah from was the first to speak, her eyes widening. "You look—" "Different?" I finished for her, smiling. She shook her head. "Refreshed."
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The furniture store is vast, filled with endless possibilities, but my eyes are immediately drawn upward—to the chandeliers. Dalia walks beside me, her fingers trailing over a catalog as she hums in thought. "That one,"I say suddenly, pointing to a stunning spiral glass chandelier. Its delicate branches twist like a frozen tree caught in mid-growth, each piece catching the light in a way that makes it shimmer like ice. Dalia tilts her head, studying it before smiling. "An excellent choice. It’s unique—just like you."I grin, pleased. "Exactly what I was thinking." We move to the living room section next, and I run my hand over the fabric of a sleek grey couch. It’s soft but sturdy, and when I spot the dark green pillows, I know it’s perfect. "These," I say, arranging them against the back. "With that organic wood table—see how the grain flows?" Dalia nods approvingly. "Moody and elegant. Now, curtains?"I scan the options, searching for something that ties it all together—deep
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I was lounging on the sofa, scrolling through furniture magazines on my phone,saving ideas for the beach house decoration. The more I looked, the more I got excited for Thursday. The door creaked open, and Rami walked in, hands in his pockets, a small smirk playing on his lips. “I took the day off,” he announced. I glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “Why?” He shrugged. “Thought we could go shopping. Unless you’ve changed your mind about the whole redecorating thing.” I sighed, tossing my phone aside. “Actually, I have. I was just thinking—the furniture in the mansion is classic. It’s refined. Changing it would be a waste.” Rami chuckled, shaking his head. “So all those hours of browsing were for nothing?” “Call it a change of heart,” I said dryly. “Well,” he said, stepping closer, “since I already took the day off, we might as well go out. Get dressed—I’m taking you to that new Palestinian restaurant everyone’s talking about.” A smile tugged at my lips. “Fine. But only bec
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I clutched the black eyeliner in my hand, my fingers tightening around it like a vice. The second Rami slid back into the car with that damn Kunafa box, I held it up, my voice sharp. "Whose is this?" He barely glanced at it before shrugging. "I don’t know. If it’s not yours, maybe it’s my secretary’s. She came with me to the last meeting—probably dropped it." Probably dropped it. The words echoed in my head, mocking me. I felt heat rise in my chest, my pulse hammering. "Of course she dropped it," I snapped, my voice trembling. "While she was laughing hysterically at your silly jokes, right?" Rami’s eyes widened, startled. "Dema, stop yelling. We’re in the middle of the street—" I didn’t care. The image of her—whoever she was—sitting in my seat, laughing, touching his arm, fixing her makeup in the mirror—it played over and over in my mind. My breath came fast, my vision blurring at the edges. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I dropped into the passenger seat, my voice flat. "Ta
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I stepped into the beach house, the salty breeze still clinging to my skin. The living room was the only furnished space so far, so I dropped my bag of clothes near the couch with a tired sigh. Alhamdulliah for the early delivery service, I thought, running a hand through my hair. Without that couch, I’d be sleeping on the floor tonight. I sank into the cushions, letting my body melt into the softness. Closing my eyes, I exhaled, the tension of the day slowly slipped away. The house was so quiet—no city noise, no chatter, just the rhythmic crash of waves outside. The sound seeped in through the large windows, steady and calming, like the ocean was whispering to me. This is peace.For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe.I scrolled mindlessly on my phone, the blue light harsh against my tired eyes. Sleep wouldn’t come, and I hadn’t thought to bring a blanket—just this thin coat draped over me like a sad excuse for warmth. Please don’t let me wake up sick tomorr
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With Dalia’s help, I had finally managed to turn my empty house into a home. The past few days had been a whirlwind of shopping trips, debating over fabric swatches, and measuring spaces to make sure everything fit just right. But now, standing in the middle of my newly furnished bedroom, I couldn’t help but smile. The furniture we’d chosen was perfect—modern, yet warm. The bed frame was a sleek white with soft, rounded edges, and the matching dresser had delicate gold handles that caught the light just so. Dalia had convinced me to add touches of light pink in the décor—throw pillows, a cozy rug, and even the curtains had a subtle blush hue. At first, I’d been hesitant, afraid it might feel too girlish, but now, seeing it all come together, it felt right.It felt like me. “See?” Dalia nudged me with her elbow, grinning. “I told you the pink would work. It’s elegant, not childish.” I ran my fingers over the smooth surface of the nightstand, still marveling at how different the roo
Last Updated : 2025-04-13
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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
A Twist In My Marriage Deal With The CEO Chapter 136, Rami's Dairies Part 11.
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
A Twist In My Marriage Deal With The CEO Chapter 135, Rami's Dairies Part 10
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
