Chapter 34

Rani’s Point Of View

I woke up to the faintest trace of morning sunlight creeping through the sheer ivory curtains, cutting soft golden lines across the silky comforter that was half-kicked off the bed. The air inside the room was still heavy, not from heat, but from the echo of last night.

And gods… last night.

I exhaled slowly as I opened my eyes, my body immediately giving me away. I didn’t need a clock to know what time it was, my bones were sore, my hips ached in the kind of way that curled pleasure and punishment into one delicious memory, and every stretch reminded me who I belonged to.

Lamia.

The name pulsed in my chest the way her kisses had marked my skin hours ago, hot, deliberate, and worshipful.

I stayed still, trying not to groan as I shifted just slightly under the sheets. My whole body was thrumming with the aftermath of everything she’d done. I had been with my ex-boyfriend before, I knew what it was like to be wanted, to be touched.

But this?

Last night wasn’t about sex. It was about being devoured. Claimed. Loved, but not gently. Not softly. Lamia had made it clear in every kiss, in every curl of her fingers inside me, in every heated moan into my throat… that I was hers. Completely.

And she didn’t stop. Not even when I told her I couldn’t anymore. Not when my voice was already hoarse and my thighs were shaking. Not when the world outside had long gone to sleep and all that existed was the rhythm of her name on my tongue.

We didn’t stop until past midnight, 12 AM. And the funny thing was, I didn’t even realize time was moving.

I turned slowly, carefully, and smiled when I saw her. Lamia was still fast asleep, one arm thrown over my waist, her other hand curled beneath her cheek. Her hair was a wild halo around her face, her lashes long, her lips parted slightly with the kind of innocence that didn’t match the fire she unleashed in the dark.

She looked so peaceful. So completely undone.

And that made me want to kiss her all over again.

But first I blinked, suddenly remembering something important.

Faisal.

My brows furrowed, scanning the room automatically, though I knew he wasn’t here. There were no tiny baby socks on the floor, no half-empty milk bottles on the nightstand, no sleepy whimpers from our little boy curling between us like usual.

Where was he?

I sat up slowly, wincing again as my muscles protested. “Shit,” I whispered under my breath, dragging the sheet over my chest even though Lamia was the only one in the room. My eyes flicked to the clock on the wall, 8:21 AM.

Had we… actually forgotten our child last night?

A soft giggle bubbled up in my throat. We had been so caught up in each otherx so tangled in limbs and silk sheets and kisses that didn’t want to end, we hadn’t even noticed where Faisal ended up sleeping.

I could only assume that one of Lamia’s grandparents had taken him in, maybe after hearing the faint sounds of our… let’s say, devotion. The thought made my cheeks burn. Gods, Jidda Maryam and Jaddi Ishaaq probably knew.

Still, I couldn’t even bring myself to feel embarrassed. Not after last night. Not after the way Lamia held me after, skin against skin, kissing my temple over and over like she was memorizing the beat of my soul.

It was more than physical. There was something else in her touch. Something that whispered, you’re mine, and I’m never letting go.

And the wildest part?

I didn’t want her to.

I looked back at her, still sleeping, the soft rise and fall of her chest slow and steady. I reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face, my fingertips lingering on her brow.

“You ruined me,” I whispered, smiling to myself.

She stirred slightly but didn’t wake. I leaned down and kissed her shoulder softly, my lips lingering on the mark I left there the night before.

And then I slipped out of bed, wobbly but grinning, knowing full well that my diva wife was going to be smug as hell when she woke up, especially once she saw me walking funny.

But also knowing that I wouldn’t trade this ache, this chaos, this mad love for anything else in the world.

Not even for sleep.

——

After the longest, most luxurious bath of my life, soaking in Lamia’s grandmother’s clawfoot tub, surrounded by rose-scented oils and thick steam, I finally stepped out, still sore in places I didn’t know could be sore. Every muscle hummed with memory, and as I wrapped the robe around myself, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the foggy mirror.

God. I looked wrecked. The good kind. My hair was pulled up in a soft bun, my skin glowing in that subtle, unmistakable way. My lips were still a little swollen, my collarbones littered with faint marks. Lamia didn’t leave me bleeding or anything dramatic like that, she was too refined for that, but she made her presence known.

And gods, I loved it.

I sighed, smiled, and slid into a loose cream knit dress that fell just below my knees. It hugged me gently, not too tight, thank the heavens. I paired it with gold sandals, swiped on a bit of oil for that effortless shine, and took one last look at myself before heading downstairs.

The moment I stepped off the last step of that grand marble staircase, the scent of warm spices and Arabic coffee hit me like a nostalgic embrace. Cardamom, cinnamon, freshly baked khubz, a hint of honey. The dining hall was glowing in the morning light, massive glass doors letting in golden sunbeams across the long table already filled with silver trays of food. Everything looked like a painting. eggs with za’atar, roasted tomatoes, olives, dates, labneh, baskets of bread, and at the head of it all sat Jiddi Ishaaq and Jidda Maryam, looking regal as ever.

“Ahhh,” Jiddi said the moment he saw me, setting down his glass of fresh juice. “The sleeping queen descends!”

Jidda Maryam laughed, her gold bangles jingling on her wrist as she motioned for me to sit. “Did our granddaughter keep you up too long, habibti?” she asked with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

I blinked. Then laughed. “I… I plead the fifth,” I said, biting back my blush as I took the seat they had clearly saved for me, right next to them at the head of the table.

“Poor thing,” Jiddi clucked teasingly. “She was always like that even as a teenager. Once she gets what she wants…” He winked dramatically and popped a date into his mouth.

“Oh my god,” I muttered, covering my face with my hands as I shook my head. “I am not doing this before breakfast.”

“You already did it, dear,” Jidda teased, sipping her mint tea with all the elegance in the world.

They laughed together, the way only grandparents could, warm, playful, and entirely too observant for their own good.

Then, before I could even think of a way to change the topic, my eyes caught something on the far side of the room and my heart immediately melted.

Faisal.

He was toddling along slowly, his tiny fingers wrapped around one of the maids’ hands, who was gently guiding him across the tiled floor. He looked like he was concentrating so hard, little brows furrowed, arms out for balance as he took clumsy step after clumsy step.

“Oh my God,” I breathed, my voice catching as I stood up instinctively. “He’s… is he walking again?”

“He’s been trying all morning,” Jidda Maryam said proudly, watching him with soft eyes. “He took a few steps already, and now he’s doing more. Very determined, just like his ummah.”

I walked slowly toward him, crouching a little as I stretched my arms open.

“Come on, baby,” I whispered, heart in my throat. “Come to Mama…”

Faisal squealed when he saw me, letting go of the maid’s hand for a moment as he stumbled, regained his balance, and took three slow, wobbly steps straight into my arms.

I caught him with a laugh, spinning him just a little before planting kisses all over his soft cheeks. “You did it again!” I beamed, hugging him tight. “My brave boy!”

He giggled, his little hands grabbing onto my cheeks.

“He missed you last night,” Jiddi said with a chuckle. “He kept crawling to your room like he knew something scandalous was happening in there.”

“Oh my God, Jiddi!” I cried, turning red all over again.

Jidda Maryam laughed so hard she had to set down her cup. “What? We’re old, not blind!”

I shook my head, laughing with them, completely swept up in the absurdity of how much I loved these people, this place. And how they loved me. Not just because of Faisal. Not just because I was Lamia’s wife. But because I was Rani. And they accepted me fully, wild moods and sharp tongue and diva energy included.

I walked back to the table with Faisal in my arms, letting him nibble on a piece of soft bread while I settled into my seat. The food tasted even better today, maybe because my chest was full, with pride, with love, with this strange warmth I hadn’t felt in so long.

This family… this breakfast… this life we were building.

Even with all the drama. Even with exes and confessions and tulips in trucks.

It was worth every second.

——

I had just managed to get a few spoonfuls of shakshuka into my mouth while balancing Faisal on my lap when I heard the faint creak of the grand staircase behind me. The entire dining hall shifted with an invisible pause, like something was about to happen. I didn’t even have to look. I felt her. That presence. That slow, sultry energy that belonged to exactly one woman in the entire planet.

Lamia Al-Gadaffi.

Or as I’ve come to learn from her grandparents recently… Monique.

I turned my head lazily, already smirking, expecting her usual morning stride, all poise and grace and quiet danger, but when I saw her, I almost choked on my orange juice.

“Ya Allah,” Jidda Maryam gasped softly behind her mint tea.

Even Jiddi Ishaaq paused, his fork midway to his mouth, eyebrows shooting up in amused disbelief.

Because there she was, my wife, slowly descending the wide staircase in nothing but her satin robe, the ivory one that slipped off one shoulder so effortlessly, barely clinging to her body like it was afraid to touch skin that holy. Her long hair was damp and pushed to one side, a few dark strands clinging to her jaw. Her legs peeked out from every step, smooth and bare. And then the pièce de résistance… the marks.

Oh my God.

There were so many of them.

The lovebites from last night had bloomed like wildflowers, soft purples and pinks dotting her golden skin, trailing down from the base of her neck to the space just above the slight curve of her chest. My artistry was on full display. And Lamia? She wasn’t even trying to hide them.

No concealer. No scarf. No remorse.

She owned it. She owned me.

She knew what she was doing.

And the worst or best part? She was smirking. Just slightly, with that Mona Lisa mystery in her mouth, as she strolled straight toward the table like it was another day in paradise.

“Good morning,” she murmured, her voice husky and smooth from sleep, but still laced with something unspoken, something wicked, as she leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of Faisal’s head, then brushed her lips across my temple like nothing had happened.

I turned to stone.

Heat crept up my spine in an instant. I was suddenly very aware of my body, my skin, the tingling echo of last night, the way her hands gripped my waist, the sound of her breath when she bit down, the way she whispered my name like a prayer and a threat. I couldn’t believe she just walked in like that.

“Monique,” Jidda said with the sternest grandmother tone she could muster, eyes narrowed but glinting. “What kind of entrance is this?”

Lamia smiled softly, slipping into the empty seat next to me, her legs crossing with feline ease. “An honest one, Jidda,” she said, pouring herself a cup of Arabic coffee without a flicker of guilt. “Rani deserved that kind of honesty.”

“La hawla wala quwwata illa billah,” Jiddi muttered, laughing under his breath and shaking his head. “We did say we wanted this marriage to be real.”

“It’s too real,” Jidda grumbled, though she was clearly amused as she watched Lamia butter her flatbread like she hadn’t just paraded her love-bitten self in front of the whole ancestral household.

Meanwhile, I was still recovering.

Still fanning my face internally, still trying to act unbothered, still spooning food into Faisal’s mouth like I wasn’t five seconds away from dragging Lamia back upstairs and showing her what payback looked like.

“You could’ve warned me,” I hissed under my breath, leaning just slightly toward her as I passed her a plate of grilled halloumi.

Lamia leaned closer, her fingers grazing mine as she took it from me. “You weren’t complaining last night,” she whispered, her voice thick with amusement and that God-damned husk.

“Because I didn’t know you’d walk into breakfast looking like a walking crime scene,” I whispered sharply.

“Oh, please. I’m the victim,” she said with a smile too innocent to be real. “You’re the one with sharp teeth.”

I nearly choked on my own heartbeat.

Across the table, Jidda Maryam cleared her throat and picked up a fresh date. “I’m glad to see you both enjoying your marriage,” she said, her words half sarcasm, half affection.

“We are,” Lamia said, turning toward her grandparents with that cold-glass-of-water elegance only she could wear. “And it’s only going to get better.”

I looked at her then, at that quiet certainty in her expression that calm confidence, and despite the embarrassment, despite the teasing, despite the open display of what we’d shared just hours ago… I couldn’t help but smile.

Because I believed her.

And maybe I liked this feeling, this blend of desire, drama, and domestic chaos. This was our life now.

Me. Lamia. Our son. Her grandparents. The teasing. The tension. The scandalous mornings.

It was everything I never thought I’d love.

And I was never going back.

——

By noon, the entire mansion had slowed into a kind of lazy, sun-soaked lull. We were all gathered in the massive living area, which honestly felt more like a royal cinema disguised as a living room. High ceilings, golden chandeliers, cushioned walls, floor-length curtains that fluttered with the occasional Dubai breeze. Every plush velvet seat in that room had probably hosted diplomats or royalty, but today, it was all about Mr. Bean.

Yes. Mr. Bean.

Faisal was planted like a little prince on the oversized carpet, surrounded by pillows, a small stuffed camel in one arm and a half-eaten piece of baklava in the other. His tiny giggles echoed every few seconds, his eyes glued to the massive screen where Mr. Bean was currently struggling to park his car. The entire household, all dressed in designer casuals, had somehow agreed to sit through this, because Faisal loved it.

I was curled up on the softest corner of the L-shaped sofa, legs tucked under me, a plate of dates and cold hibiscus tea balanced on my lap. Lamia sat beside me, her arm behind my shoulders, fingers occasionally playing with the ends of my hair. She was unusually quiet today, eyes focused on our son more than the screen, lips soft with contentment. I could feel her peace, like the kind that only existed when nothing else in the world mattered but this room. This moment.

Jidda Maryam was seated in her ornate chair across from us, mumbling about how “this is nonsense, but the baby’s laughter is worth it,” while Jiddi Ishaaq just kept laughing louder than everyone else. At one point, even the maids were peeking from the hall, trying not to giggle too loud when Mr. Bean accidentally glued a turkey to his head.

It was ridiculous. It was warm. It was perfect.

Until.

The wide, carved double doors of the living area opened with an audible sweep, and everything in me froze.

The energy shifted.

I looked up from my hibiscus tea just in time to see him walk in.

Zaki.

And in his hand? A massive bouquet of red roses. Not ordinary ones. The dramatic kind, long-stemmed, thick, lush, and wrapped in gold-trimmed black paper, the kind of arrangement meant to make a statement. Behind him, one of the bodyguards trailed silently, clearly having escorted him from the gates.

The tension cut through the room like a sudden thunderclap.

I sat up straighter instinctively, placing the plate aside, feeling the air go cold despite the desert heat.

Lamia’s fingers paused in my hair. Her whole body subtly stiffened beside me.

Faisal, mercifully oblivious, kept giggling at the screen, Mr. Bean now crawling across a kitchen floor with a mop on his head. But the adults… we were all watching Zaki now.

“Assalamu alaikum,” he said smoothly, stepping further into the room, his voice confident… too confident, as he glanced around and smiled like he belonged. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Oh, he was definitely interrupting.

Jiddi Ishaaq straightened, giving a slight nod. “Wa alaikum assalam, Zaki. We weren’t expecting you today.”

“I couldn’t help myself,” Zaki replied with a warm chuckle. His eyes flicked toward Lamia, not me, and I could already feel my jaw clench. “I was passing by with something I wanted to give to Monique. Something simple, from an old friend.”

He walked closer, and I swear if he took even one more step toward her, I was going to throw the nearest candlestick at his head.

Lamia’s hand slid away from my hair.

She stood slowly, gracefully, and my blood was boiling. I watched her carefully, silently pleading for her to handle this exactly the way I needed her to. The entire room watched with bated breath as Zaki extended the bouquet, smiling like we didn’t all know what the hell he was doing.

I saw the hesitation in Lamia’s eyes. Brief. Almost invisible. But I caught it.

And then…

“No need for this,” she said quietly, her voice perfectly poised. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Oh, I should have,” Zaki said with a soft laugh, clearly trying to charm the room. “You know I always remember what kind of flowers you liked back then.”

Back then.

I felt my entire soul arch up like a cat.

Lamia didn’t even flinch. She gently placed her hand on the bouquet, but instead of taking it, she pushed it softly back toward him.

“Thank you,” she said calmly, “but I don’t need reminders of the past. My present is more than enough.”

She turned toward me. Just slightly. But it was enough.

Enough to send a silent message to the entire damn room.

I’m with her.

Zaki looked like he was trying to swallow a rock. His smile faltered, just a blink, and for a glorious second, he looked like a man who realized he’d lost something before he even had the chance to try again.

I stood, slow and calculated, walking over until I was beside Lamia.

I didn’t touch her. Not yet. I didn’t need to. My presence was enough.

“Would you like some dates?” I asked him, my voice sweet, too sweet as I gestured to the plate on the table. “They’re from a very fresh batch. Unlike certain memories.”

Zaki blinked. “No, thank you,” he said tightly.

“Suit yourself,” I said, offering a small smile that didn’t reach my eyes.

Jiddi cleared his throat and waved toward the staff. “Why don’t you join us for lunch, Zaki?”

But before Zaki could respond, Lamia spoke again.

“I think Rani and I have plans,” she said, glancing at me with that same cool heat from the night before. “And I promised Faisal some quiet time after Mr. Bean.”

That was it.

Zaki stood there, bouquet still in hand, the edges of his confidence fraying under the polite indifference we were offering.

And as Lamia reached for my hand, right there in front of her ex, her grandparents, the staff, and whatever ghost of history tried to creep in…

I felt powerful.

Unshakable.

Loved.

And Zaki? He was just another man holding dying roses in a room that had no place for him anymore.

I was already halfway turned, holding Lamia’s hand, the heavy energy of Zaki’s presence finally beginning to lift from the room when his voice came again, clear, shameless, and far too casual for the kind of havoc it was about to unleash inside me.

“Lamia,” he said, stopping us both in our tracks. I felt Lamia’s fingers tighten slightly around mine.

She turned her head over her shoulder, ever so gracefully, the soft waves of her hair catching the golden glint of the chandelier. Her face remained calm, unreadable, the kind of poise you could only earn from growing up in a family where every movement was watched, studied, replicated. But I saw it, just beneath the surface, the subtle tensing of her jaw.

“I know you’re going back to the Philippines in two days,” Zaki said, stepping a little closer. “And I have to leave for Doha tonight. I just thought… maybe we could have dinner? Just the two of us. A proper goodbye. Friendly, of course.”

I don’t know what I expected her to say. I don’t know what I needed her to say in that moment, maybe a laugh, maybe a hard no, maybe for her to crush the bouquet in his face and throw it at his designer shoes.

But what I wasn’t prepared for was the calm way she answered, not even glancing at me.

“Alright,” she said. “But just as friends.”

A knife. Right to the ribs.

She might as well have said, Rani won’t mind. Because that’s how it felt. That I was suddenly no longer part of the equation.

The blood in my ears was rushing, but my face, as always, remained composed. I didn’t blink. I didn’t breathe too hard. I just kept my grip on her hand and turned back toward the hallway, ignoring the sound of Zaki’s smile blooming behind us.

I waited.

I waited until we reached the hallway.

Until the marble stairs swallowed the sound of our footsteps.

Until the doors of our shared bedroom, that luxury suite with satin curtains, golden moldings, and the faint scent of jasmine from Lamia’s perfume closed behind us.

Only then did I let go of her hand.

Only then did I speak.

“You said yes,” I said, my voice low, tightly wound, like the tension string of a violin just before it snaps.

Lamia was standing by the vanity, unbothered, unhurried, her fingers pulling out her earrings. “It’s just dinner.”

My throat clenched. I folded my arms, leaned against the door. “With your ex.”

She finally looked up, catching my reflection in the mirror. “He’s leaving for Doha tonight.”

“And you’re seeing him before he goes,” I shot back, heat rising behind my ribs, curling around my spine like smoke. “You couldn’t say no?”

“I didn’t say yes to anything romantic.”

I scoffed, pushing off the door. “You didn’t have to. You agreed to see him. Alone. And you didn’t even look at me when you did it.”

That made her pause.

The silence between us stretched, taut and thick with things unsaid.

I took a breath and failed to calm myself. “You knew what it would do to me. You knew, Lamia. After everything—after all the Peterson drama, after everything we’ve been through…”

“It’s different,” she cut in, firm. “Zaki and I aren’t like that anymore. He’s not… he’s not trying to get back together.”

I took a few steps forward, my voice trembling now, not with weakness, but rage barely held together by grace. “Did you not hear him? Did you not see the way he looked at you, like he still believes you’re his? Lamia, you’re mine.”

Her eyes flashed, not with anger, but something else. A deep, buried ache that mirrored my own. “You don’t trust me?”

“I trust you,” I said immediately, fiercely. “But I don’t trust him. And I sure as hell don’t trust what this looks like.”

I wanted to tear that stupid bouquet apart. I wanted to set it on fire and watch the smoke write MINE into the ceiling.

But instead, I just stood there, heart pounding, watching the woman I had fallen for the woman who made my world shift on its axis making a decision that didn’t include me.

Lamia sighed and finally turned to face me fully. She walked slowly, cautiously, until she was standing in front of me.

“I’m not doing this to hurt you,” she said quietly. “I said yes because I wanted to end it cleanly. Because if I ignore him, he’ll keep coming. I’ve known Zaki since I was a teenager. This dinner is closure.”

“Then why didn’t you say that in front of him?” I asked bitterly. “Why didn’t you say my wife is waiting upstairs with our baby? Why didn’t you make it obvious that there is no opening left?”

Her eyes softened. Her hands reached for mine.

“Because sometimes, Rani…” she whispered, “power doesn’t come from making noise. It comes from knowing who you go home to.”

I wanted to stay angry.

I wanted to keep this fire burning because it felt like the only way to protect the place I had carved inside her heart.

But when she pulled me into her arms, when she kissed my temple and pressed our foreheads together, I felt myself crumble. Just a little.

Still, I couldn’t help but whisper, “If he tries anything, Lamia, I swear to God…”

She chuckled softly, breath brushing my skin. “He won’t. Because he’ll see what I see every day. That I already have everything I need.”

But the truth?

The fire hadn’t left.

It was just resting. Waiting. Watching.

And part of me would be ready to strike… just in case.

——

It was already past 11:00 PM.

The house was quiet, dimly lit by warm sconces along the gilded walls of Lamia’s grandparents’ estate. Everyone had retired to their rooms hours ago, Jiddi and Jidda after their usual cup of herbal tea and Faisal, fast asleep in his crib in the nursery upstairs. The maids had finished cleaning. The scent of rosewater and cardamom from dinner still lingered faintly in the air, but I had long stopped noticing.

Because all I could notice now was the ache in my chest.

The couch in our shared room downstairs had grown cold under me. My fingers were numb from refreshing my phone, checking the time, checking for any message from her. A simple “I’m on the way” would’ve calmed the storm in my head, but there was nothing.

I had sent a text around 9:30 PM.

—Are you okay?

No reply.

At 10:10 PM.

—Still out?

At 10:44 PM.

—Lamia, this isn’t funny anymore.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, staring at the time glowing on my screen, 11:09 PM.

Where the hell was she?

We had already fought earlier. And I hated fighting. I hated how ugly it made me feel, how all my insecurities crawled to the surface, how it twisted the soft things between us into shards. But this silence? This absence?

It was worse than all the fights combined.

I stood up, pacing, my feet sinking into the plush Persian rug, my fists clenching and unclenching. My heart throbbed in my ribs like it was trying to claw its way out.

And then…

The sound of keys turning in the lock.

I froze.

The door creaked open, and there she was.

Lamia Al-Gadaffi, sauntering in like a queen who’d lost track of time. Hair tousled, eyes glazed with a drunken sheen. Her cheeks were flushed, lips stained with wine, her robe slipping slightly off her shoulder. And worse?

She reeked of something foreign.

Something not us.

Something expensive and bitter alcohol, cologne, cigarette smoke, and the unfamiliar scent of some luxury rooftop bar she’d obviously stayed too long at. My stomach turned.

“Hey,” she said softly, like it was any other night. Like she hadn’t left me wondering whether she was choosing someone else over our family.

I didn’t say anything. I just stood there, arms crossed, every ounce of me trembling with fury and disbelief.

She stepped closer, but I stepped back.

“You didn’t even text,” I said, my voice dead flat. “You just disappeared. You knew I was waiting. You knew I’d be up. And you didn’t even have the decency…”

“I didn’t mean to stay out this long,” she said, tossing her clutch on the table, slipping off her heels like this was just another long night. “Zaki got wine, and then his cousin showed up…”

“You’re drunk,” I hissed, hating the way her voice slurred just slightly. “And I’m done.”

That made her pause.

Her eyes finally focused on me.

“Oh come on, Rani,” she said, with a dry laugh. “It was just dinner…”

“It was never just dinner!” I exploded, unable to hold it in any longer. “You lied. You knew he wanted more than friendship. And you still went. You stayed out until eleven drinking with him. And then what? You come home reeking like someone who doesn’t even remember they have a wife and a baby upstairs?”

“Don’t overreact…”

“Overreact?” I scoffed, tears finally pooling in my eyes. “You promised me this trip was for us. For our family. For Faisal. And now you’re just… what? Out on a date while I’m here playing the stupid wife waiting by the door?”

Lamia’s jaw tensed. “I told you…”

“No. You told him yes. You told me nothing.”

The silence between us dropped like a stone in deep water.

I stared at her. This version of her. The red-lipped, rum-touched Lamia who looked like a stranger wearing my wife’s skin.

And something inside me broke.

Not out of hatred.

Out of exhaustion.

I turned away.

Walked to the table. Grabbed my phone. My fingers moved without thought, swiping open an app, entering details, confirming numbers. My chest felt hollow and numb and too heavy all at once.

“You’re not serious,” Lamia said behind me, suddenly more alert.

I didn’t look at her.

“I just booked a flight for tomorrow morning,” I said, my voice trembling. “Me and Faisal. We’re going back to the Philippines.”

Lamia went still.

Dead still.

I finally turned to look at her. “You can stay here. Enjoy the rest of your vacation. Go drink with your ex. Do whatever the hell you want. But I’m done playing house while you forget we even have one.”

Her eyes searched my face. But I had nothing left to give.

I walked past her, heart splitting open like wet paper, and headed for the nursery. I opened the door to find Faisal sleeping peacefully, unaware of the storm raging just outside his dreams. I crouched beside his crib, brushing a soft kiss on his tiny cheek.

“We’re going home, baby,” I whispered.

And this time, I meant it.