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Chapter 91, My Own Space.
Last Updated:
2025-04-11 03:10:14
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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
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I set my foot down, finally feeling the weight of my own resolve. I wasn’t backing down this time. The beach house was where I wanted to be, and if Rami wanted to stay with me, he was welcome—but I wasn’t going back to that mansion. I looked at him, watching his face shift from confusion to outright shock. His dark eyes widened slightly, his lips parting as if he wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words. Good. He needed to understand that this wasn’t a negotiation. "My decision is final," I said, crossing my arms. "Nothing’s going to change my mind." He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Dema, I get it. Honestly, I’ve always thought the mansion was too much sometimes. A smaller home sounds… nice." I raised an eyebrow. "Then what’s the problem?" He hesitated, his shoulders tensing. "It’s not that simple. The mansion is worth millions. And it’s not even really mine—it belongs to my parents. If I just abandon it, they’ll think I’m some ungrateful brat." I scof
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The last of our clothes are folded neatly into suitcases, and I take a slow look around the bedroom—our bedroom—one last time. The mansion feels different now, like a grand stage we’re stepping away from, though Rami insists we’ll still use it for formal events. "Parties, meetings, family gatherings" he said. "But our home will be the beach house now."I like the thought of that. The beach house is ours in a way this place never could be. Still, as I zip up the final bag, a bittersweet feeling settles in my chest. Rami is already heading downstairs to load the car, but I linger. There are goodbyes I need to say. The staff has gathered in the foyer—some smiling, others with tears in their eyes. My throat tightens as I walk toward them. These people have been more than just employees; they’ve been my companions, my protectors, my friends in a world that often felt too cold. I thank each of them, squeezing hands, offering hugs. When I reach Tala, my voice nearly breaks. "You’ve
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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
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