Chapter 26

Lamia’s Point Of View

The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of our penthouse bedroom, bathing everything in a golden haze. I was already awake before the light touched my skin, sleep had been brief and restless. Not because I was sick anymore, that was four days ago, but because Rani was becoming harder and harder to read.

Two years ago, I never thought I’d still be here. I didn’t even want to be married to her in the first place. Neither did she. Back then, we were two women with our own lives, our own lovers, and no space for each other. I had Peterson. She had Markus. And this marriage was just a forced alliance between two powerful families.

But then everything broke.

Peterson came back into my life, and for a moment, I was weak. I believed we could still make it work. But I didn’t know he would turn out to be a monster. I’ll never forget the day he pushed Rani. The blood. The cold, white hospital walls. The doctor’s face when she said to me that the baby didn’t make it.

I think something inside me died that day too.

I broke up with Peterson immediately, and since then, I’ve been trying to put the pieces back together. Not for myself. For Faisal. For Rani. For the family we accidentally built.

I padded quietly across the hardwood floors, already dressed in a white blouse tucked into tailored cream slacks. My morning routine was calm, focused. I had to meet with the engineers by ten, and the quarterly review of the Al-Gaddafi Oil and Gas Ventures board was scheduled after lunch. But my mind kept returning to the way Rani looked at me yesterday, like she was starting to see me again. Not just as the woman who hurt her. Not just as the woman she hated.

But maybe… maybe something more.

I didn’t expect her to fall for me. I knew she didn’t love me. And to be honest, I didn’t love her either at the beginning. But things change. Feelings shift. Time bruises and then heals. And now… I think I could love her. I think I already do.

The hallway was quiet. I could hear faint voices downstairs, probably Nina or Manang Sally with Faisal. I walked past our nursery and paused at the door, peeking in. Faisal was cooing in his crib, holding one of the plushies I’d brought back from Dubai. His smile was everything. The reason I kept going.

“Good morning, anak,” I whispered, brushing a hand gently over his soft head. “Mama’s gonna try again today. Just like yesterday. Until she says yes.”

I stepped back and closed the door softly behind me, drawing in a long breath.

The war between Rani and me may have started with hate. But I was going to fight for something better now.

Even if she never loved me, I would love her enough for both of us.

And one day, maybe she’ll let me in again.

Just maybe.

——

I left the penthouse with a coat draped over my arm and my tablet tucked under the crook of the other. The morning air was crisp, and the soft hum of BGC traffic filled the background as my driver opened the back door of the sleek black Maybach waiting at the curb.

I didn’t need reminders of who I was. The moment I stepped into the car, notifications flooded in, executive memos, refinery status reports, market updates, and a message from my assistant confirming lunch with a delegate from Dubai.

The world didn’t stop for heartbreak or guilt. Especially not for people like me.

As the car pulled away from the curb, I looked out the window with calm detachment. There, the skyline towered, each building a reminder of battles fought and empires carved out of sheer will. I wasn’t just a daughter of the Al-Gaddafi dynasty. I was Lamia Al-Gaddafi. CEO of Al-Gaddafi Oil and Gas Ventures, a company I built with my own hands under my family’s empire. My name was etched into the steel bones of this nation’s economy.

Everyone knew it, Lamia Al-Gaddafi was the second richest person in the country. Only one man held more than me, and even he respected me enough to keep his distance in boardrooms.

My own father.

But wealth wasn’t power.

Power was the silence that filled the room when I entered. It was the weight of my voice in national energy policies. It was the way oil flowed, how trade bent around my decisions. I didn’t need to prove myself anymore.

And yet…

And yet, none of that mattered when Rani looked at me with cold eyes.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime as I arrived at my company’s headquarters. The building rose like a monolith in Makati’s financial district, glass, steel, and dominance wrapped in elegance. As I stepped into the lobby, employees greeted me with reverent nods. Security and executives alike stood a little straighter.

Still, I walked past them all in silence, stilettos echoing sharply against the marble floor, until I reached the private elevator.

“Good morning, ma’am,” said Felicia, my executive assistant, falling into step beside me. “Your schedule is tight. You have an 8:30 refinery report briefing, the 9:15 strategic advisory call with the U.S. partners, and the media sit-down later this afternoon.”

“Clear the 2 PM,” I said without slowing. “I’ll be sending flowers to Rani Paragon Enterprises again. And write the note yourself this time, I’ll send you what to write. Something… better.”

Felicia blinked, but didn’t question me. She knew who the flowers were for.

As the elevator carried me up to the executive floor, I let my eyes close for a moment.

Being the second richest person in the country didn’t make me immune to regret. Or to love. It just meant I had more time, more reach, and more power to try again.

To win her back.

And if Rani Hidalgo ever gave me another chance… the world could watch as its strongest woman loved the only one she couldn’t conquer.

Yet.

——

As I settled into the sleek leather chair in the conference room, the city’s skyline framed by the massive windows behind me, I could feel the weight of responsibility settle heavily on my shoulders. This wasn’t just any briefing, it was the refinery report, the heartbeat of Al-Gaddafi Oil and Gas Ventures. Every barrel produced, every environmental compliance metric, every operational hiccup mattered. This was where our future profits were forged and where reputations could be won or lost.

The room hummed softly with anticipation as the key managers and department heads filtered in, some with confident strides, others visibly tense. I scanned the faces quickly. Rajiv, the operations director, sharp-eyed and methodical. Mei Ling, head of environmental compliance, always the voice of caution. Omar, the finance lead, who never missed a detail, and a few others who had been with the company for years. This was my team. My allies.

Rajiv began the presentation with a smooth click, and the first slide illuminated the screen: Monthly Refinery Output, April 2025. The numbers were promising, slightly above projections, thanks to the recent efficiency upgrades. “We achieved a 5% increase in crude processing capacity this month, bringing total output to 1.2 million barrels per day,” he reported crisply.

I nodded, eyes scanning the graphs. “Good. And the maintenance downtime?”

“Reduced by 10%, Ma’am. The new predictive maintenance software has helped us identify equipment wear before failures occur,” Rajiv answered, pride evident in his tone.

Mei Ling then took the floor, her voice steady but firm. “On the environmental front, we continue to meet all national emissions standards, and the installation of the new scrubbers has reduced sulfur dioxide emissions by 15%. However, there was a minor spill incident last week in the northern storage tanks, about 200 liters of crude leaked.”

My eyes narrowed slightly. “What caused the leak? And what steps have we taken to address it?”

Mei Ling flipped to a slide showing photos and a timeline. “A faulty valve was identified as the culprit. Our response team acted within 30 minutes, containing and cleaning the spill before any contamination reached nearby water sources. We’ve replaced the valve and are conducting a full inspection of all similar equipment.”

I allowed myself a moment to exhale. “Good work on the swift containment. This is exactly why we emphasize rapid response.”

Omar then presented the financial implications. “The incident resulted in a projected loss of around 250,000 pesos, including cleanup costs and minor operational delays. But overall, refinery profit margins remain steady at 22%.”

I frowned. “Margins can’t just stay steady… we need growth. What’s our strategy to improve efficiency further?”

Rajiv answered immediately, “We’re exploring automation in key processes to reduce human error and downtime. Also, investments in AI predictive analytics could optimize crude blending and yield higher outputs.”

I leaned forward, steepling my fingers. “What’s the timeline and projected ROI?”

“Implementation could begin in Q3, with full integration by year-end. We expect a 7-10% increase in efficiency and a payback period of under two years,” Rajiv explained.

“Make it happen. Keep me updated weekly,” I said firmly.

The discussion shifted to safety protocols. I stressed the importance of ongoing training programs after a slight increase in minor incidents was reported last quarter. “No accident is minor if it threatens lives or morale,” I reminded them.

Mei Ling added, “We’re also pushing for greener initiatives. Solar panels have been installed on several facility rooftops, cutting down on non-renewable energy consumption by 12% so far.”

I smiled slightly. “Excellent. This is the future of energy, and we need to lead… not follow.”

After nearly two hours of intense back-and-forth, analyzing data, asking tough questions, and mapping out action plans, the meeting began winding down. I could feel the fatigue creeping in, but the fire of ambition burned just as fiercely.

Before dismissing the team, I took a moment to remind everyone, “Remember, we don’t just produce oil, we build trust. Our shareholders, our communities, our employees depend on us to operate responsibly and innovate constantly. I expect all of you to carry that commitment every day.”

As the managers gathered their papers and nodded with renewed focus, I looked out the window again. The sprawling city below was a web of lights and energy, much like our company, pulsing with potential and challenges.

This was more than a job. This was my battlefield. And I was determined to win.

By the time I finished the refinery briefing, the clock on the sleek digital panel read 9:05 AM. I barely had time to breathe, but the day was far from over. I checked my schedule again, 9:15 AM Strategic Advisory Call with our U.S. partners.

I moved swiftly from the conference room to my private office, the polished floors echoing my steps. The panoramic windows showcased the early morning sun filtering over the Laguna hills, but I was already immersed in the mental battlefield ahead.

As soon as I settled in, my assistant signaled the call was ready. I clicked the link, and within moments, the screen populated with familiar faces, our key American partners from Silverline Energy Group, the firm that had been collaborating with us for years, holding significant stakes and expertise in the oil market.

The lead advisor, Thomas Caldwell, a seasoned veteran with a reputation for sharp negotiation and an unrelenting drive for growth, greeted me with a measured nod. Beside him were Jessica Morgan, their energy market analyst, and Mark Rivera, legal counsel.

“Good morning, Lamia. Hope you’re well,” Thomas began, his voice smooth yet businesslike.

“Good morning, Thomas, Jessica, Mark. I’m well, thank you. Ready to discuss our upcoming joint venture strategy,” I replied, settling into my chair, already mentally reviewing the briefing papers I had prepared the night before.

Jessica was first to speak, pulling up a detailed market analysis. “Our data shows that despite global pressures on fossil fuels, there’s still a robust demand in Southeast Asia, especially with the ongoing industrial growth in the Philippines and neighboring countries. This positions our collaboration perfectly for expansion.”

I nodded. “Agreed. The local demand projections are solid, and our recent refinery upgrades will position us well to meet increased production needs. But we have to be cautious, regulatory landscapes here are tightening, especially with environmental policies evolving.”

Mark jumped in. “That’s why our legal team has been working on ensuring all contractual terms reflect these upcoming changes. We need flexibility clauses to adjust operations without breaching compliance.”

“Excellent foresight,” I responded. “We’ll coordinate closely on that front.”

Thomas then shifted the conversation to the crux of the matter. “The question is, how do we allocate capital investment for the next fiscal year? Silverline is prepared to increase funding, but we need clear priorities, refinery expansions, green energy projects, or perhaps acquisition of upstream assets?”

I took a deep breath, weighing our internal capabilities and strategic goals. “From our side, refinery capacity is a priority to meet immediate demand. However, we’re equally committed to sustainability initiatives. Our solar installation program on site has been a promising pilot, and we want to scale renewable energy integration.”

Jessica added, “From the market trends, investors are increasingly favoring companies with strong ESG (Environmental, Social, Governance) commitments. Balancing traditional output with green projects could boost our market valuation significantly.”

I smiled inwardly, this was the nuance of leadership… balancing profitability and responsibility.

“Then here’s my proposal,” I said. “Allocate 60% of the next round to refinery modernization and operational efficiency improvements, automation, predictive analytics, and maintenance tech. The remaining 40% should fund expansion of renewable infrastructure, solar, waste heat recovery, and perhaps a feasibility study on biofuels.”

Thomas considered this, then nodded slowly. “A reasonable split. It shows commitment to growth and sustainability. Silverline will back that fully.”

Mark raised a practical concern. “We should also consider risk mitigation, especially given geopolitical tensions that could affect supply chains and trade routes.”

I agreed. “We’re already diversifying crude supply sources and reinforcing our logistics partnerships to avoid bottlenecks. Additionally, we’re monitoring the regulatory shifts closely.”

Jessica pulled up another slide detailing projected cost breakdowns, expected ROI timelines, and potential risk factors. We spent nearly thirty minutes dissecting each item, debating forecasts, adjusting parameters.

At one point, Thomas turned to me, “Lamia, what’s your view on potential partnerships with emerging tech startups for carbon capture and storage?”

I leaned forward, interest piqued. “It’s an exciting frontier. We’re evaluating a few promising companies locally and internationally. If integrated effectively, this could revolutionize our carbon footprint. I’d recommend setting aside a small R&D fund within our budget to pilot these technologies.”

Mark nodded approvingly. “Good strategy. It aligns well with future-proofing the business.”

The call moved into discussing timelines, reporting structures, and governance for the joint venture. I assured them that transparency and rigorous accountability would be our standards.

As the hour mark approached, I summarized, “To wrap up, we’ll proceed with the proposed 60-40 capital allocation, initiate pilot projects in renewables, continue rigorous regulatory compliance, and maintain open channels for risk assessment. I will coordinate with your teams for a detailed action plan within two weeks.”

Thomas smiled. “Excellent, Lamia. This is the partnership we’ve envisioned. Looking forward to the next phase.”

Jessica and Mark echoed their agreement, and the call ended on a positive note.

I leaned back in my chair, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away. The stakes were high, but so was the reward. This was not just about oil and energy, it was about legacy, innovation, and securing a future for our family, our company, and our country.

For a moment, I allowed myself to breathe, then my thoughts flickered to Rani and little Faisal. Balancing the business empire and the fragile threads of family was my constant challenge, but one I was determined to master.

The call ended, but the weight of the conversation lingered as I closed my laptop and gazed out at the city skyline. The energy sector was a relentless beast, but today’s discussion had been a victory, a step closer to steering our company into a more sustainable future. Yet, beneath the surface, a quiet tension tugged at me. The delicate balance of business, family, and the past was never far from my thoughts.

I gathered the briefing documents I’d prepared for my next meeting and headed out of my office. The corridors buzzed with activity as my team hustled to keep up with daily demands. My assistant briefed me on urgent emails and requests piling up, investor queries, supplier negotiations, and internal reports.

But my next move wasn’t just about business.

I had to check in on Faisal.

Balancing the demands of the boardroom and my son was a constant juggling act. Today, with Rani’s schedule equally packed, I was determined to spend a precious moment with him. I made a mental note to call the nursery and arrange for Faisal to be brought to my office during lunch.

Before that, however, I needed to finalize details with our legal department about the new compliance measures. I moved toward the conference room, mentally reviewing points for the upcoming internal review.

Yet, as I walked, my phone buzzed quietly. It was a message from Rani.

Wifey
Lunch at 12:30? Faisal misses you.

A small smile crept onto my lips.

The old wounds from Peterson’s betrayal, and the heartbreak of losing our child, still echoed in my heart, but moments like this, the fragile, tender threads, were beginning to mend something between Rani and me.

I paused for a moment, feeling the weight of what lay ahead. Our marriage, once a battlefield, was slowly becoming a partnership, forged in the fires of pain but tempered by shared love for our son.

My next move was clear, not just in business, but in life. I would show Rani that I was here, committed not only to our company but to our family. Whatever shadows from the past remained, I was ready to face them.

With renewed purpose, I stepped into the conference room, ready to tackle the day’s challenges, and hopeful for the softer moments to come.

The clock struck 12:30 as I waited in my office, the soft hum of the city below barely audible through the thick glass walls. A small playpen sat near the window, filled with Faisal’s favorite toys, carefully arranged by the nanny earlier that morning. His laughter and babbling always brought a strange warmth to my otherwise high-powered, high-stress day.

Just then, the door clicked open, and Rani stepped in. She looked impeccable as always, polished hair, flawless makeup, and that signature confident stride. But behind her poised exterior, I could sense the weight she carried, the same weight I felt every day.

“Hey,” I greeted quietly, standing up to meet her halfway. “Thanks for bringing him.”

Rani smiled, exhaustion flickering briefly in her eyes before she quickly masked it. She bent down, picking up Faisal from the nanny who followed quietly behind.

Faisal’s tiny arms reached out to me, but then he turned and nestled into Rani’s neck, letting out a contented sigh. The sight made my chest ache with a bittersweet tenderness. For all the chaos surrounding us, this moment was pure.

“Hi, little man,” I whispered, running a finger gently through Faisal’s soft hair.

Rani settled into the chair beside me, placing Faisal carefully on her lap. His bright eyes searched the room, curious and lively, though his babbling was still baby-like, not yet words.

“He’s growing fast,” Rani said, watching him with a mixture of pride and something deeper, maybe guilt, maybe longing.

“I know,” I replied. “Almost a year now.”

Our eyes met briefly, an unspoken understanding passing between us. The past still lingered, a wedge carved by Peterson’s reckless violence that cost us our baby, but today wasn’t about that. Today was about healing, about building something new, however fragile.

I pulled up the laptop on my desk. “I managed to finalize the revised compliance plan. Would you like me to send it to your team?”

Rani nodded. “Yes, please. I want to review it thoroughly before the next board meeting.”

As I typed, she watched Faisal closely. “You know,” she said softly, “I was thinking about his first birthday next month.”

I looked up, surprised but pleased she brought it up. “I want it to be special. Not just for him, but for us too. A new chapter.”

Rani’s gaze softened, the usual diva armor giving way to something more vulnerable. “I want to make it perfect,” she admitted. “Something luxurious, but intimate.”

I smiled. “I was thinking maybe the gardens at the Hidalgo residence? The space is perfect for kids, and plenty of room for our family.”

She nodded, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll have my secretary start on the invitations. Maybe keep it low-key. No drama.”

I laughed softly, “Low-key, coming from you?”

“Hey,” she said, smirking, “I can be subtle when I want to.”

The lightness between us was a rare gift.

Then, our conversation shifted to Faisal again. I mentioned how he’d started reaching for things, his favorite stuffed elephant, and how he would squeal happily when he saw us both.

Rani reached down to tickle his tiny feet, and Faisal erupted into delighted giggles, reaching up for her face.

“He’s lucky,” I whispered, “to have a mother who fights so fiercely for him.”

Rani’s eyes glistened, but she said nothing. Instead, she hugged Faisal tighter, her expression softening into pure love.

For a moment, I wondered if we could really find a way to put the past behind us to build a family that survived the storms.

“Thank you for today,” I said quietly, breaking the silence. “For being here… for us.”

She looked up, eyes meeting mine steadily. “We’re in this together, Lamia. For Faisal.”

The words felt like a promise, a fragile thread weaving our fractured lives closer.

Outside, the city bustled on, but in that quiet room, with our son between us, the future felt just a little bit brighter.

The soft clink of silverware on plates mixed with the faint murmur of the city beyond the glass as lunch wound down. Faisal, now full and content, lay nestled in Rani’s arms, his eyelids fluttering with sleepiness. The quiet hum of the air conditioning filled the brief silences between us.

I watched Rani carefully as she traced gentle circles on Faisal’s back. Her sharp, confident demeanor softened into something tender, a side she rarely let the world see. For a moment, the years of cold war between us seemed to dissolve, replaced by this fragile truce born from our shared love for our son.

“I’ve been thinking about the invitations,” Rani said softly, breaking the comfortable silence. “I want it to feel personal. Not just the usual guests, but people who really matter to us.”

I nodded, heart aching slightly. The idea of “us” still felt foreign sometimes, but I was willing to try.

“Maybe we could ask Kristof and Patricia? And your parents, of course,” I added, my voice hopeful.

Rani’s lips twitched into a rare smile. “Definitely. And I think Babba and Mama would want to come too.”

Faisal stirred, his tiny fingers curling around a strand of Rani’s hair. She looked down at him, eyes full of warmth and exhaustion.

“He’s growing so fast,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion.

I swallowed hard, trying to hold back the flood of feelings. “He’s our miracle,” I said simply.

She glanced at me, and for a heartbeat, our eyes locked, no animosity, no bitterness, just shared history and a fragile hope for what could be.

“Lamia,” Rani said quietly, “thank you. For trying. For not giving up.”

I reached over, squeezing her hand gently. “We owe it to him. To Faisal.”

The weight of those words settled between us. The storm of the past still loomed, but in that moment, in the quiet aftermath of lunch, I dared to believe we could find our way… together.

Outside, the sun peeked through the clouds, casting a warm glow on the city below. And as Faisal’s soft breathing slowed in Rani’s arms, I felt a flicker of peace, fragile, but real.

——

The soft afternoon sun filtered through the penthouse windows, casting a warm, golden glow over the living room. I watched quietly as Faisal finally drifted off to sleep in Rani’s arms, the tension that once filled the space easing into something fragile and peaceful. The city’s distant hum was a gentle reminder of the world outside, but in here, it felt like time had slowed down.

Rani carefully stood and, with surprising tenderness, settled Faisal into his crib. I could see the exhaustion etched on her face, the weight of the day finally catching up to her. Despite everything between us, seeing her like this, so delicate with our son, stirred something soft inside me.

I carried a tray with two cups of tea from the kitchen, my footsteps light as I entered the living room. Our eyes met, and for a moment, words weren’t necessary. There was an unspoken understanding, a quiet bridge between us slowly taking shape.

Rani took a slow sip of her tea and finally spoke. “We need to figure out the details for Faisal’s first birthday,” she said, her diva tone softened but still unmistakable. “I want it to be perfect. No compromises.”

I set the tray down gently and smiled faintly. “I’ve been thinking the same. Maybe something outdoors, with all the people who matter… family, friends. Faisal’s world.”

She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You sound like you’re already planning his future.”

“I am,” I said, my voice warm and steady. “He deserves the best. And so do we.”

For a moment, the past, the heartbreak, the mistakes… felt miles away. The weight lifted just enough to let hope slip quietly in.

Rani’s fierce diva mask melted away, revealing a vulnerable truth. “You know, even though I’m the boss at work, when it comes to Faisal… I think I’m still learning how to be a mom.”

I stepped closer, a gentle smile softening my lips. “We’re both learning. Together.”

We settled into a comfortable silence, letting the warmth of this new beginning wrap around us. Outside, the city buzzed on, but inside the penthouse, a fragile hope was blooming, one that felt like the first step toward healing.

The morning sunlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm glow over the penthouse. I watched Rani, fierce and focused, standing by the whiteboard with that signature diva intensity that could command a room without raising her voice. She was sketching out every detail of Faisal’s first birthday, like it was the most important event in the world… because, to her, it was.

I leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, a small smile tugging at my lips. “You really want this to be a big event,” I teased gently, trying to soften the tension I saw in her sharp eyes.

She didn’t look away from the board right away. “Of course,” she said, voice steady and sure. “It’s Faisal’s first birthday. A milestone. Not just some party, but a statement, that he deserves nothing less than elegance, class… no compromises.”

Her passion was contagious. I stepped forward slowly and took the marker from her hand, surprising both of us. “Let me help you.”

I saw her glance up, startled for a moment, then meet my gaze. “Help me? Since when do you care about party planning?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and smiled softly. “Since I realized how much this means to you… to us. For Faisal.”

We began planning together, the whiteboard filling with lists of guests, themes, caterers, entertainment, decorations. Our styles were different, her diva perfectionism sometimes clashing with my practical touch, but that tension sparked something new. We found a rhythm, a shared vision blossoming right there in the sunlight.

“Outdoor garden theme,” Rani decided, “light pastels with bold floral accents.”

I nodded, “I’ll take care of the invitations. I know a designer who can make them exquisite.”

She tapped the board thoughtfully. “And the cake, it has to be unique. Not just a regular baby cake.”

I grinned. “Leave that to me. I’ll find the best pâtisserie.”

As we talked, I saw the walls around her heart slowly soften, little cracks forming that I’d never dared hope to see. It was like we were building something fragile but real, something worth protecting.

Later, we sat on the couch, coffee cups in hand, the whiteboard wiped clean but our plans etched into our minds.

“We’re really doing this,” she murmured, her voice almost vulnerable.

I smiled softly. “Together.”

In that moment, I knew Faisal’s birthday wasn’t just about a party. It was about us, about healing, about building a future that was more than just an arrangement. It was about becoming a family.

Rani shifted on the couch, crossing one leg over the other, a playful spark flickering in her eyes as she glanced at me. “You know, I never thought I’d be this invested in party planning. Especially not with you.”

I let out a soft chuckle, running my fingers through my hair. “Well, miracles happen. Maybe I’m rubbing off on you.”

She smirked, that familiar diva edge still there but softened by something warmer. “Or maybe I’m just realizing that Faisal deserves the best from both of us, no matter how much I want to pretend I don’t care.”

Her words hit me somewhere deep. I reached out and gently took her hand, wanting her to feel I was here, fully present. “That’s what I’ve been trying to say all along. It’s about him. Not us. Not the past.”

I watched her eyes flicker down to our hands and then back up, vulnerability breaking through the layers she usually hid behind. “I hate that things got so messy before. That he lost his baby sibling because of Peterson. Because of me… because of everything.”

I squeezed her hand, wanting to take some of that pain away. “You didn’t lose him, Rani. We still have Faisal. And I want us to give him a childhood full of love, even if it’s complicated.”

Her breath hitched slightly, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I want that too. For Faisal’s sake, I want us to at least try.”

Hope warmed my chest as I smiled, feeling the fragile threads of something new weaving between us. “We will. One step at a time.”

She nodded, the heaviness on her chest seeming a little less burdensome. “Okay. So, tell me about these invitations. Who’s the designer you’re thinking of?”

I brightened, excited to share this part of the plan. “Her name is Mikaela. She does bespoke designs, elegant, modern, and just the right touch of whimsy. I’ll send you her portfolio after.”

Rani leaned back, the corner of her mouth lifting into a small grin. “Good. And the cake?”

“Chocolate and raspberry,” I said confidently, imagining the rich flavors. “Decadent but fresh. And I’ll make sure it looks like a work of art.”

Her laugh was genuine and soft, filling the room with warmth. “See? Maybe this party won’t be a total disaster after all.”

I rested my head gently on her shoulder, feeling the steady beat of her heart beneath me. “Not with you in charge, it won’t.”

For a moment, we simply sat there, two women bound by circumstance, slowly weaving our fractured lives back together for the little boy who depended on us both. And in that quiet space, I dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, we could build something lasting.

I watched Rani as she rubbed her temples, the fierce diva energy I’d come to know softening into something more thoughtful. When she spoke about shutting down for a whole month, handing over everything to our secretaries, a surprising wave of hope stirred inside me.

“A whole month?” I asked, my voice barely hiding my surprise. “That’s a lot to hand off, but… maybe it’s what we need. We haven’t really taken time for ourselves or for Faisal.”

I could see the exhaustion in her eyes, the same fatigue I felt every day. She sighed, and her words hit me with unexpected clarity.

“What if we really did it?” she said. “Let Elise and and who ever your secretary is, handle the day-to-day, and we focus on what really matters. No nonstop meetings, no constant deadlines.”

I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of responsibility lift just a little. The idea of stepping back scared me, business was my life, but the thought of breathing, of living beyond the grind, was tempting.

Rani’s smirk returned briefly, that diva confidence I once wanted to clash with but now appreciated.

“Rani Hidalgo, queen of delegation,” she joked.

I laughed softly, letting myself imagine a new version of us.

“And Lamia Al-Gaddafi, the woman who knows when to rest.”

The words felt like a promise, one I desperately wanted to keep. I reached out, squeezing her hand gently, a silent vow between us.

“One month. No excuses,” I said firmly.

Her nod was steady, and in that moment, I knew we were choosing something bigger than work or business, choosing to heal, to rebuild what was broken. For Faisal, for us. For the first time in a long time, hope felt real.

I stayed there, my head resting lightly on Rani’s shoulder, feeling the rhythm of her breathing, steady, warm, a little hesitant still, but softer than I remembered. The kind of softness that doesn’t happen overnight, that has to be earned. And maybe we were earning it, one hour, one conversation at a time.

She didn’t push me away. She didn’t make a joke to break the moment. She just let me be there.

In the quiet, I let my thoughts wander. A year ago, this would’ve been impossible, me here, her letting me close, both of us planning something together like two women who’d chosen each other, not like two people thrown into a marriage by our families. It was strange how time and heartbreak could rearrange everything. I thought of Faisal, of how he changed the very foundation of our lives. We were broken, Rani and I, in ways we never said aloud. But somehow, in our shared love for him, we were finding new ground.

Rani finally sighed, just a little. “He’s going to love it, isn’t he?”

I turned my head to look at her face. “He won’t remember it. But he’ll feel it. The joy. The safety. The love.” I swallowed. “That’s what I didn’t give him before. That’s what I want to give now.”

Her eyes shifted to mine, unreadable for a beat. Then she nodded slowly. “You’re different now.”

“I’ve had to be.” I kept my voice steady. “When you lose someone that small, that innocent… everything changes. And seeing you carry that grief… carry it because of what he did, because I let him get close again…” I shook my head. “It broke something in me.”

Rani was quiet, her hand still resting in mine. “It broke me too.”

My throat tightened. “I know.”

Another silence passed, but this one didn’t feel heavy. It felt like breath. Like we were both learning how to share space again without it caving in.

“I still don’t trust you completely,” Rani said, not cruelly, but honestly, and I appreciated that.

“I don’t blame you,” I answered without flinching. “But I’m going to keep trying. Until I earn it.”

She looked at me, long and searching, and I didn’t look away.

Finally, she let out a short laugh, almost tired. “God, you’re annoying when you’re sincere.”

I smiled. “Better than when I was arrogant.”

“That’s debatable.”

I leaned back a little, just enough to watch the smile flicker at the corner of her lips. “You really want pastels for the garden?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Yes. With bold floral accents. Don’t argue with me on this.”

I raised both hands in mock surrender. “Okay, boss. Pastels and florals it is.”

She exhaled and leaned her head back against the couch, tilting it just enough so our arms still touched. We sat like that, not speaking for a long while, listening to the quiet buzz of the city beyond the windows and the occasional stirrings of our son upstairs.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t healed. But for the first time in months, it felt like we were… possible.

And maybe that was enough, for now.

——

The sky outside melted into twilight, casting deep lavender shadows across the city skyline. Inside the penthouse, the warm amber lights had already been switched on. It was quiet, peaceful, the kind of evening that didn’t demand grandeur or drama. Just presence.

I stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up as I stirred the pot of creamy spinach soup I decided to make myself. Manang Sally had offered, of course, but I needed to feel useful tonight. I needed to be part of the rhythm of our small, strange family. Rani had been upstairs with Faisal, giving him his last bottle and singing to him softly, off-key, but tender. It made me smile, hearing her like that. Like a mother. Like his mother.

When I heard her steps come down the stairs, I called out without turning around, “Soup’s almost done.”

She stepped into the kitchen a moment later, arms folded across her chest, eyes squinting slightly. “You cooked?”

“I can cook, you know.”

She smirked. “I know. I just never see you do it unless you’re trying to prove a point.”

I glanced over my shoulder at her, rolling my eyes. “Maybe I am.”

“Point taken,” she said, softer this time, as she walked over to the dining table.

By the time I ladled the soup into two deep white bowls and set them down beside fresh bread, the silence between us felt companionable, not tense. We both sat down, and for a few moments, we simply ate, two tired women, two complicated hearts, but one home.

Rani dipped her spoon into the soup and took a taste. Her eyes widened slightly. “Damn. This is actually good.”

“Actually?” I echoed with mock offense.

She grinned around the edge of her spoon. “Don’t get cocky. It’s one bowl of soup.”

“But it’s one bowl of soup that I made… for you,” I said, lowering my voice just slightly, meeting her eyes.

Her playful expression wavered for a second, like something unspoken passed behind her gaze. Then she looked down and tore a piece of bread. “Thanks.”

We ate in quiet for a little while, the sound of cutlery gentle against porcelain. The soft hum of the city lights outside made the whole world feel tucked away.

“Faisal went down easy?” I asked.

She nodded. “He was exhausted. I think the new toys from Mama and Babba wore him out.”

I chuckled. “They keep trying to outdo each other.”

“They’re obsessed with him,” Rani said, but there was a fondness in her voice.

“You love that, don’t you?”

“I do,” she admitted. Then, glancing at me, “I didn’t think we’d get here.”

“Neither did I,” I murmured.

She looked like she wanted to say more, but instead, she broke off another piece of bread and handed it to me, her fingers brushing mine just briefly. “So. Are we going pastel floral or full-on garden luxury for his birthday?”

I accepted the bread and smiled. “You’re not letting go of that floral theme, huh?”

Rani leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs as she studied me. “Lamia Al-Gaddafi, the most powerful oil and gas executive in Asia, is scared of a few peonies?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Terrified.”

We finished dinner that way, banter weaving into real talk, past grievances softened by new intentions. After we cleared the table, I stood beside her at the sink as we washed the dishes together, something neither of us did often, but somehow made sense tonight.

She handed me a plate to rinse. “I still don’t trust you fully,” she said again, quiet but clear.

“I know,” I replied. “I’m not asking you to. I just want a chance.”

Rani didn’t respond right away, but her hand lingered beside mine under the running water. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of her skin.

That was enough for me.

For now.

The city had long gone quiet by the time we made it upstairs. The penthouse lights were dimmed now, casting soft golden shadows over the floor as I walked into our bedroom behind Rani. My bare feet sank into the plush rug, and I inhaled the faint scent of lavender that clung to the sheets, a scent she liked, and I had started to love without noticing.

Rani had already changed into a silk robe, deep sapphire blue, the sash tied loosely at her waist. Her hair was still slightly damp from the quick bath she took before bed, strands curling against the nape of her neck. She was by the crib now, leaning over to check Faisal one last time. The way her fingers gently tucked the blanket around his small body made my chest ache in a way I wasn’t ready to name.

“He’s warm,” she murmured, barely above a whisper. “Not fever-warm. Just… cozy.”

I smiled, stepping beside her. Our son’s breathing was slow, peaceful. His little hand was curled near his cheek, his thumb close to his lips. He looked so much like Rani when he slept, calm, unreadable, but utterly beautiful.

“I think he’s growing again,” I said, brushing his forehead with my knuckles. “He looks longer.”

Rani chuckled softly. “Probably because of all the food your mom keeps sending. I think Babba wants to fatten him up like a calf.”

We both laughed quietly, and for a second, it felt… easy. Like the version of life we were building, tentatively, imperfectly… wasn’t just a dream.

Once we were both sure Faisal wouldn’t stir, we backed away from the crib. Rani turned off the floor lamp, leaving only the bedside light casting a faint, buttery hue across the room. She slid into bed, adjusting her pillow behind her back, and I followed suit on my side.

For a moment, there was just silence between us. Not cold or tense, just… full. Like there were things neither of us had yet found the courage to say.

Rani broke it first. “That dinner… it felt normal.”

I turned my head to look at her. “Because we’re trying.”

“No,” she said, her voice quiet. “Because we care.”

There was a truth in that I couldn’t ignore. I folded my arms over the blanket, turning on my side to face her better. “I do care. More than I’ve ever known how to say. But… it doesn’t erase everything that’s happened.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze trained on the ceiling now. “I still remember the day I lost the baby. Every second. Every breath. The hallway… the screaming. The look in your eyes.”

My throat tightened. “I hated myself for weeks after that.”

Rani finally turned to look at me, her face unreadable. “Why?”

“Because you looked at me like I was the one who killed her. Like I let it happen. And maybe… maybe a part of me did.” My voice wavered despite myself. “I was so wrapped up in trying to chase something familiar with Peterson that I didn’t even see what I was losing.”

She was quiet, and I thought for a moment she might turn away. But instead, she reached over, her fingers brushing lightly against my hand where it rested on the blanket.

“I did look at you that way,” she whispered. “Because I didn’t know how else to survive it.”

“I know,” I whispered back, my fingers curling gently around hers. “But I’m still here. Still trying.”

Her eyes softened, and for a moment, they shimmered under the bedside light. “Do you think we’ll ever be… normal?”

I let out a slow breath. “I don’t know what normal is anymore. But maybe we can have something better than what we started with. We didn’t choose each other, but we’re choosing this now. Choosing him.”

Rani’s hand squeezed mine, and she shifted closer on the bed. The space between us felt less like a gap now and more like a choice, one we had the power to cross. She laid her head against my shoulder carefully, slowly, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed. I didn’t move. I let her be there.

“Do you remember,” she murmured, “how we used to argue about whose side of the closet was bigger?”

I snorted. “You mean when you accused me of owning a palace worth of shoes?”

“You do,” she said, her tone light but fond.

“And you own a boutique’s worth of bags,” I shot back, amused.

She laughed, and that sound, it settled something in me. A softness I hadn’t known I missed until I heard it again. Her laughter. In our room. At night. Not forced. Not guarded.

She let out a tired breath and closed her eyes. “Maybe this is enough. For now. You, me, and Faisal. Sharing a bed, planning his birthday, fighting over closet space.”

I leaned down slightly, kissing the top of her head. “It’s more than enough.”

Rani didn’t say anything else after that. She just nestled in a little closer, one hand still holding mine, the other resting over her belly, where our lost daughter once was. I laid my other hand over hers and closed my eyes.

The world outside could keep spinning. There was peace here… for now.

And for the first time in a long time, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, we were finding our way home.