Chapter 39

Rani’s Point Of View

Seven months.

I was seven months pregnant now, and honestly? I still couldn’t believe how far we’d come. Some mornings I’d wake up and just lie there with my hands on my belly, feeling every little kick, every soft roll of movement underneath my skin, like my daughter was reminding me she was there, alive, healthy, and growing. Our Rebecca. Our miracle.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror inside my office, adjusting the curve-hugging silk blouse that I paired with a black maternity pencil skirt. The shirt strained ever so slightly against the roundness of my belly, and the skirt sat high, just beneath my chest, giving the illusion of structure. My heels had been traded in for designer flats, gold-trimmed and velvet-soft. Even heavily pregnant, I refused to let go of being the diva I always was. The glam didn’t die just because I was waddling around now. If anything, I wore this bump like a crown.

My long waves were pulled into a low bun, and my makeup was classic, bronzed lids, winged liner, matte lips. There were meetings today. Contracts to finalize. Papers to sign. And I wasn’t about to miss a thing.

“Ma’am Rani,” Elise peeked through the door, holding a stack of files. “Meeting niyo na po, 10:30 na.”

“Perfect,” I said, smoothing a hand over my bump and grabbing my Montblanc pen from the desk. “Let them in.”

As I walked to my seat, my belly brushed lightly against the edge of the desk, a constant reminder of Rebecca’s presence. She kicked just then, strong and deliberate.

“I know, baby girl,” I murmured to her, placing a hand on my stomach with a soft smile. “Mommy’s handling business.”

The day moved on like a whirlwind. Meetings, phone calls, a quick site check via Zoom, and then lunch, which I had to be reminded to eat by Elise three times before she brought me soup and a fruit tray herself. She was more like a hawk than a secretary these days, watching my every move. I appreciated it more than I let on.

At one point, I leaned back in my chair, cradling my belly, eyes drifting to the framed ultrasound photo of Rebecca on my desk. She had Lamia’s nose. That perfect, sculpted nose that I always used to tease her about. And lips, pouty even in the blurry black and white image.

There were days I still cried when no one was looking. Days I’d remember the pain of the loss. Of the first baby we never got to meet. That heartbreak had lived in my bones for months. But now… this bump, this baby girl growing stronger every single day, it gave me strength I never thought I could summon again.

At around 3PM, my back started to ache, so I stood and did slow stretches near the window, one hand gripping the sill while I tilted my hips in small motions. It wasn’t glamorous, but it helped. From below, the skyline of BGC gleamed with sun-drenched glass buildings. Somewhere out there, Lamia was probably finishing her own meeting, likely with oil execs twice her age and half her skill, and still running circles around them.

She never missed a check-in. Texts came in like clockwork.

My Baby Love
Baby moving a lot today? Did she kick again after breakfast?

My Baby Love
You drink your coconut water? I told Elise to remind you.

My Baby Love
I miss your belly. And you. Mostly your belly. But you too.

I laughed to myself as I texted back

Rani Hidalgo Al-Gaddafi
She kicked me while I was signing a deal. Already trying to boss me around like her other mama.

My Baby Love
Queen behavior. Clearly my daughter.

I rested the phone on my belly and let out a soft breath. The light in the office shifted, casting a glow across my desk. Seven months in, and I was still working. Still ruling my empire. Still being the Rani everyone expected me to be, but now with a baby growing under my heart and a family that finally felt like mine.

There was nothing more powerful than this. Than being in control of my life again. Than knowing love could grow out of the mess we once were. Than carrying our daughter inside me, wrapped in all the hope I thought I’d lost.

“Two more months, baby girl,” I whispered, placing both palms gently on my belly. “Just two more months, and we get to hold you. You, Rebecca. Our second chance.”

And just like that, I sat down again, flipped open my laptop, and got back to work, because this was for her too. Every meeting, every sleepless night, every signature.

She already had a kingdom waiting for her.

And I was building it with every breath.

——

It was already past five in the afternoon when the elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the private corridor that led directly to our penthouse. I exhaled a breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding as I stepped out, my heels clicking lightly against the polished marble floor, the familiar scent of warm vanilla and fresh orchids already drifting toward me from behind the massive front doors. Home.

Seven months pregnant, still in heels, still refusing to let the weight slow me down. My hand instinctively caressed the curve of my belly, already round and heavy, our daughter, our second miracle. Rebecca. She had been kicking more today than usual, as if reminding me she was there, growing stronger every second. I smiled to myself, adjusting the pale blue blazer over my matching ribbed dress as I punched in the door code and stepped into our world.

The second the door swung open, the soft squeals of laughter greeted me.

“Faisal!” I called out, my voice already lilting, softening like it always did when I got home to him.

“Mamaaa!” came the familiar excited voice from the living room, a little squeal that made my tired feet forget the twelve-hour workday and the three meetings I bulldozed through with a belly the size of a watermelon.

There he was.

My son.

Faisal Al-Gaddafi, one year and eleven months old, our boy. He was standing beside Nina, who knelt on the soft rug with a stack of colored blocks around her. His curly black hair bounced as he turned to me, his arms instantly stretching out as he broke into a giggle and dashed toward me in his wobbly little strides.

“Dahan dahan lang, baby!” Nina called out, trying to stand, but I was already crouching as best as I could, catching my boy in my arms. His tiny body pressed against my bump, his warm hands instantly clinging to me like I was his whole universe.

Which, honestly, I was.

“I missed you,” I whispered into his soft curls, his laughter buzzing against my chest as I rocked him gently side to side. “Did you play a lot today?”

“Yes, Mama! Nina build tower…boom!” He grinned, holding up his small fists to demonstrate the tower’s glorious destruction.

I laughed softly. “Of course she did. You always ruin her masterpiece, huh?”

Nina stood by with a tired but proud smile. “Napaka hyper po niya ngayong araw, Ma’am Rani. Kahit hindi natulog ng araw ang likot parin. Nagluluto na po si Manang Sally ng hapunan. Si Anna po umalis, nag-paalam na kay Ma’am Lamia lumalala na ang sakit ng papa niya.”

“Thank you, Nina,” I said warmly, lifting Faisal just a bit to give his plump cheek a kiss. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Walang anuman po ma’am.” She beamed and gave a playful smile to Faisal before disappearing into the kitchen, probably to check if Manang Sally needed help.

The penthouse felt peaceful. Golden hour light spilled into the windows, casting the white marble and taupe furnishings in a soft glow. The scent of butter and garlic floated in the air, making my stomach rumble in protest. God, I was starving.

I carried Faisal over to the couch and sank down slowly, shifting him onto my lap. He snuggled immediately, resting his head against my chest with a content sigh that made my heart ache with joy. My son. Our son. And in just a month, he’d be two.

“Faisal,” I whispered softly, brushing his curls back and glancing down at his sweet little face, “do you know what’s happening next month?”

“Bir-day?” he asked with bright eyes.

“Yes,” I laughed, “your birthday. You’re turning two, big boy. What do you want for your party?”

“Cake!”

I gasped in faux shock. “Just cake? Not toys?”

He paused. “Hmm… big red car. And… ‘becca!”

I blinked. “Who’s ‘Becca’?”

He pointed to my stomach with the most innocent grin. “There!”

My throat tightened. Oh.

Rebecca. He’d been hearing us say her name, maybe not understanding it fully, but somehow… knowing. My eyes glistened just a bit as I pressed my lips to his forehead again.

“She’ll be here soon,” I whispered. “And she’s so lucky to have you as her kuya.”

“Kuya Faisal!” he said proudly, wiggling his arms and accidentally elbowing my bump.

“Ouch!” I teased. “Careful with your sister!”

“Sorry, baby,” he said, leaning down with a chubby hand on my stomach. “Hi ‘becca! Love you!”

That was it. I was gone. I closed my eyes, holding him closer, swallowing back the tears. Everything, every fight, every heartbreak, every late-night confrontation with Lamia, every dark corner of the past… it all paled in comparison to this. To this moment. Our home, our son, our daughter growing inside me, and the quiet promise of love after all the storms.

The front door clicked again.

I looked up just as Lamia walked in.

My wife.

Holding a massive luxury paper bag in one hand and a bouquet of white peonies in the other. She looked flushed from the sun, still in her pale brown silk blouse tucked into high-waisted black slacks, her long hair pinned up messily but still dripping with power and beauty. She looked like she owned every room she walked into, and tonight, she walked into mine.

“You’re home,” I said quietly, unable to hide the affection in my voice.

She strode toward us, her eyes softening as they fell on Faisal curled up on me. “Always.”

“What’s in the bag?” I asked curiously.

“Pasalubong,” she smirked. “But it’s for after dinner. I brought dessert.”

I smirked back. “That sounds vaguely flirty.”

She leaned down, brushed her lips against mine, then Faisal’s forehead. “Everything I do with you is vaguely flirty.”

As she set the paper bag down and took off her heels, the warm clatter of silverware echoed from the kitchen, and the smell of roasted vegetables grew stronger. The lights dimmed to an ambient hue, and our penthouse became a home once again. Loud with love. Bright with family.

I placed a hand on my stomach again.

Next month, we’ll celebrate Faisal.

Next season, we’ll welcome Rebecca.

And tonight, we’ll just be us.

Whole. Loved. Finally, home.

——

Dinner was beautiful.

The kind of dinner I used to dream of when I was younger and foolish and thought love had to be grand to be real. But here we were… me, seven months pregnant and constantly uncomfortable, Lamia in one of her silk blouses now slightly wrinkled from work, Faisal sitting between us in his high chair, smashing bits of rice and grilled fish into his tiny face, and it was perfect. Warm light, clinking silverware, the low hum of soft jazz from the speakers, and the smell of garlic butter and roasted bell peppers still hanging in the air.

Manang Sally had made a feast even though I told her not to go overboard. But who was I kidding? The woman treats every weeknight dinner like we’re hosting the United Nations.

Lamia sat across from me, sleeves rolled up to her elbows now, watching me chew with that annoying twinkle in her eyes.

“What?” I narrowed my eyes at her, mouth still full. “Why are you staring?”

“Because,” she said, slowly twirling her fork, “you eat like it’s your last meal every time. And it’s sexy.”

I nearly choked on my rice. “Sexy? Babe. I’m eating rice with anchovy paste and bagoong. There’s nothing sexy about…”

“Oh, but there is,” she said with a wink, scooping another bite onto Faisal’s plate. “My wife, glowing. Our daughter, feeding. I’m in heaven.”

I rolled my eyes, cheeks burning.

And just as I was about to retaliate with something equally flirtatious, or embarrassing, Lamia’s phone buzzed sharply on the table.

The screen lit up. A name flashed across.

I didn’t recognize it.

My hand froze mid-air, chopsticks still in my fingers.

Lamia, unaware of the shift in my pulse, casually picked it up and stood from her chair. “Just a minute,” she murmured, already walking toward the hallway.

Just like that.

Just a minute.

But it felt like an earthquake cracked open in my chest.

I sat there, staring at the now-empty chair, my appetite suddenly vanishing as quickly as my patience. The baby inside me stirred, Rebecca always seemed to move more when I was tense, and I instinctively placed a hand on my belly, whispering soothing nonsense.

It was just a phone call.

Maybe work. Maybe one of her clients. Maybe Aeris or Keona or one of her ten million business acquaintances.

But it didn’t matter.

Not to my hormones. Not to this heightened version of myself that pregnancy sculpted out of the mess I used to be. Because since I got pregnant again, I had become something unrecognizable. Obsessed. Possessive. Madly attached to Lamia in a way that both terrified and thrilled me.

I watched the corridor where she disappeared.

One minute.

Two.

Three.

My brain started filling in the blanks with madness. What if it was him again? What if Peterson still somehow found ways to slither into our lives? What if it was one of those overfriendly tycoons who keep offering Lamia “dinner meetings” when they know damn well she’s married? What if…

“Mama… fishy gone.”

I blinked.

Faisal.

He was staring at his plate, little hands gesturing to where the last piece of fish had been.

“Sorry, baby,” I said automatically, voice softer, hollow. “I’ll get more.”

But instead of standing, I found myself gripping the edge of the table, knuckles whitening. The ticking of the wall clock became louder than the jazz. My pulse, thunderous.

I hated this version of me. I knew Lamia loved me. I knew it in the way she looked at me, touched me, worshipped the stretch marks blooming on my hips like they were constellations. I knew it from the way she cried when she found out about Rebecca. The way she still wrote me little love notes on my lunch napkins like we were dating in high school.

But none of it mattered in moments like this.

I was no longer just Rani Hidalgo, CEO, woman on fire.

I was Rani Hidalgo-Al-Gaddafi, hormonal pregnant wife, seven months deep into love and lunacy, and married to a woman every other woman wanted.

And right now, she was on the phone with someone who made her leave dinner. Made her leave me.

The sound of her heels came first.

I turned my head just in time to see Lamia return with a casual smile, setting her phone back on the table as if she hadn’t just walked out of the room and ripped a hole through my brain.

“Sorry about that,” she said, sitting down and reaching for her water. “That was Matteo from the energy summit. They want me in Geneva next quarter, but I told them I need to see if you’re comfortable traveling…”

“Matteo?” I asked, voice sharp.

Lamia paused. “Yes. From…”

“That guy with the yacht?”

She blinked. “Yes, but he wasn’t…”

“Is he still obsessed with you?”

Lamia sat back in her chair, both eyebrows raising. “Rani…”

“Did he ask you to meet him in Geneva or did he ask us to come?”

Silence.

Faisal blinked between us, sensing the change.

“I’m just asking,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral, but it came out strained. “Because I don’t want to fly to Switzerland for your business partner ego trip.”

“It’s not an ego trip. He’s part of the summit committee…”

“Oh, so he’s important now.”

“Babe.”

“No, seriously. Should I be worried? Because I’m pregnant, not stupid.”

Lamia stared at me across the table. Her shoulders tensed, but her eyes stayed calm.

Then, in that maddeningly gentle tone that always made me want to scream and sob at the same time, she said, “Rani… I left a fifteen-course dinner with an ambassador to come home and eat rice and bagoong with you. I hold your hair when you cry because your thighs are ‘too swollen.’ I bought a two-million peso bassinet yesterday because you said you felt like nesting. If you think anyone… anyone, can compete with what we have, you’re not paranoid… you’re forgetting who the hell you are.”

I didn’t answer.

Because tears were already pricking the back of my eyes.

She reached across the table and took my hand.

“You’re carrying our daughter. You already gave me a son. And somehow, I’m the one still in awe of you every day. So no, Rani. Matteo can wait. The only woman I want to eat with, sleep with, grow old with… is you.”

My bottom lip quivered. I looked away.

“God, I hate pregnancy,” I muttered, brushing a tear away as I sniffled.

Lamia laughed softly, came around the table, and pulled me into her arms, belly and all.

“I love pregnancy,” she whispered. “You cry easier. You’re cuter. And best of all, you love me so obsessively now, it’s borderline erotic.”

I slapped her shoulder weakly, then leaned into her warmth.

And just like that… my world felt whole again.

The night was finally settling down.

Dinner had resumed, and my paranoia was slowly dissolving like sugar in warm tea, thanks to Lamia’s arms still loosely around my waist while I tried to eat comfortably with a baby pressing against every internal organ I owned. Faisal was sitting in his high chair again, now lazily nibbling on soft bread, humming his favorite made-up song as he kicked his legs under the table.

“Is she moving again?” Lamia whispered near my ear as her hand softly slid across the slope of my tummy.

I nodded, holding in a small whimper as our little Rebecca rolled again under my ribs. “She’s doing gymnastics, I swear. Probably trying to fight me for rice.”

Lamia chuckled, and her nose brushed the shell of my ear before she kissed it. “That’s my daughter.”

“And mine,” I added sharply, smirking as I took another bite of rice. “She’s got diva genes from both sides. You’re doomed.”

Before Lamia could reply with something smug and sexy, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway. Then came the familiar screech of a voice, high-pitched, dramatic, and full of flair.

“Ate Raniiiiii! We got your cravings!”

The double doors burst open as if on cue, and in came Lamia’s twin siblings: Lameel and Latif, the absolute chaos of the Al-Gaddafi household, the darlings of their parents, and the forever thorns in Lamia’s carefully curated, elegant world.

Lameel marched in first like she owned the penthouse, wearing a tiny pink crop top under a varsity jacket that proudly read “BABY BUT MAKE IT DANGEROUS.” In her hands were three massive paper bags filled with what looked like an entire sari-sari store’s worth of Filipino comfort food.

“Don’t worry, I stopped by that carinderia in Pasig you mentioned,” she announced, setting the bags dramatically on the dining table. “I made them wrap everything twice so the flavors stay intact. You’re welcome.”

Right behind her was Latif, wearing sunglasses indoors, carrying a giant tub of taho in one hand and a gallon of calamansi juice in the other. “And I drove through hell for this,” he said, nodding at the taho. “Almost ran over a cyclist. You better love me more than your wife now.”

“Please,” Lamia muttered from beside me with a scoff. “You ran over your own toe last week trying to avoid a tricycle. Stop acting like you’re Vin Diesel.”

I laughed, harder than I had in days. My belly wobbled with it.

“Oh my God,” I gasped between breaths. “You two are insane. What are you doing here? I thought you had a party with your friends tonight?”

“We skipped,” Lameel said, already unwrapping the lumpiang togue. “You’re pregnant, Ate Rani. Pregnant cravings are sacred. That’s a medical emergency.”

“And tomorrow’s a Sunday,” Latif added, tossing his sunglasses onto the table. “So we’re sleeping over. I’m claiming the theater room, by the way.”

Lamia sighed dramatically, but her arms tightened just a little around my waist, and I caught the smile she was trying to hide. She loved them, more than she let on. The twins could be overwhelming, but I secretly adored how they crashed into our peaceful domestic life like little hurricanes of love.

“Oh my God, is this…” I peeked inside one of the paper bags. “Is this bopis?!”

“With extra chili,” Lameel grinned. “Exactly the way you cried for it last week.”

I couldn’t help it. I gasped like it was diamonds.

“I love you.”

She flipped her hair. “I know.”

Lamia helped me shift seats as the table quickly became a buffet of cravings. Pancit with liver sauce, cheesy ensaymada from Pampanga, sweet and spicy tuyo, cassava cake so soft it jiggled and a lot more. There was even a box of those overpriced purple puto I mentioned in passing weeks ago, how the hell did they remember?

I was a diva, yes. But in that moment, I felt so incredibly spoiled. So loved. By people who understood me at my most irrational, my most swollen, my most tired and vulnerable and still rushed out in the middle of a Saturday night just to bring me bopis.

Faisal squealed happily, munching on bits of cassava cake Lameel fed him with her fingers like a baby prince.

“I missed you guys,” I admitted, blinking away unexpected tears as I bit into the spicy bopis and nearly groaned in delight.

“You’re just hormonal,” Latif teased, ruffling my hair.

“No,” I said between mouthfuls. “This is deeper than hormones. This is love.”

Lamia laughed, pouring me a glass of calamansi juice. “You say that every time someone brings you food.”

“And I mean it every time,” I shot back.

Lamia leaned over to press a kiss against my cheek as I stole another bite from Latif’s plate. “Happy?”

I turned to her, wiping sauce from my mouth. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

The I saw one more plastic.

I knew what’s inside.

“Omg! You also got the isaw?” I asked, looking at Lameel with what I’m sure was nothing short of religious gratitude.

She grinned, dumped the plastic onto the table beside me, and saluted. “Straight from UP Diliman, made sure it’s the stall you always loved. The lady even remembered you, said you used to sneak there in your heels after board meetings.”

I gasped. “She remembered?”

“Of course,” Latif said, sliding the halo-halo onto the table in front of me like it was a crown. “You were the CEO na maarte pero matakaw.”

“Oyyyy!” I said in protest, but I couldn’t help laughing. I reached for the isaw, already pulling off my dainty gold earrings like a true veteran. “I will eat this like a woman possessed.”

Lamia looked at me, clearly amused, as she refilled my glass of water and handed me a wet towel. “I give up. You’re glowing again. Food really is your love language.”

I threw her a wink. “Correction. Street food is my love language. The rest of you are just lucky to be in the vicinity when I’m happy.”

Faisal was clapping now, chanting “Meeeeeat! Meeeeeeat!” like a little war drum. Latif hoisted him out of his high chair and brought him to the couch where they began building a “meat fort” with slices of liempo on paper plates.

Lameel sat beside me, helping herself to a scoop of ube halaya and fanning herself dramatically. “I cannot believe the security guard at that one mall thought I was a teenage runaway.”

“You do dress like one,” Lamia muttered, smirking into her forkful of rice.

“I dress like the future,” Lameel shot back, pointing her spoon. “Which is more than I can say for Ate Rani’s house robe earlier. Gurl.”

I gasped. “I’m pregnant! I can’t wear couture while craving kwek-kwek!”

“You can, but you won’t,” Latif teased as he sat across from me, pulling the tokneneng open. “What do we need to do to get you to wear stilettos again? Host a runway on EDSA?”

“Can’t. My ankles are already swelling,” I muttered with a mouthful of isaw. “Rebecca’s doing gymnastics in there. Every time I eat something sour, she does this weird kick. Like, Olympic-level. I swear.”

Lamia rubbed my back gently, her hand warm and sure. “That’s because you’re feeding her pure vinegar and chili.”

“And she loves it,” I said proudly, cradling my belly. “My little food critic in the womb.”

The table turned into a buffet of love, laughter, and mess. Lamia’s siblings were a tornado of chaos, noise, and brutal honesty, but I adored them, especially now that they took it as their life mission to spoil me while I waddled around like a very pregnant queen bee.

“You know,” Lameel said after swallowing a bite of rice, “I still remember when we all thought you two were gonna murder each other.”

I paused, a piece of lechon halfway to my mouth.

“Same,” Latif added with a grin. “Remember that dinner when Ate Rani threw water at Ate Lamia?”

“Oh God,” Lamia groaned. “Can we not bring that up?”

I chuckled, my cheeks flushing. “I was young and hormonal.”

“You were twenty-two that time,” Lamia deadpanned.

“Exactly. Practically a fetus.”

We all burst into laughter again, the sound ricocheting around the penthouse walls like music. Nina peeked out from the kitchen to check on us, and I waved at her with a spoonful of ube in hand.

“I’m glad we got through it all,” I said quietly, once the laughter died down a little. I looked at Lamia, then down at my belly. “I’m glad we fought, and healed, and fought again… because now we’re here.”

Lamia leaned in, kissed my temple. “We’re here, and we’re not going anywhere.”

Faisal came barreling back to the table, holding a stuffed toy in one hand and a half-eaten pastillas in the other. “Mamaaaa! I love meat!”

I scooped him up onto my lap and kissed the top of his head. “And Mama loves you. And your baby sister too.”

He nodded sagely. “Baby Reca. She’s nice.”

Everyone at the table went “Awwww.”

I looked around, suddenly overwhelmed with the richness of this moment, not from the food, not from the gilded chandelier or the sprawling view of BGC behind our glass walls, but from the people around me. This family. This peace. This messy, loud, beautiful life we built.

And as I sat there, feeding my son, belly round with my daughter, my wife’s arm around my back, and the twins fighting over who got the last piece of tokneneng, I realized something with crystal clarity,

I’ve never been this full in my life.

And I’m not talking about food.

——

The bedroom smelled like citrus linen spray and something sweet I couldn’t name, maybe Lamia’s skin, maybe her new hair oil, or maybe just the scent of home.

My body ached in that heavy, satisfied way. Seven months pregnant and carrying the weight of a life inside me, my back was on fire and my ankles were puffed up like tiny bread loaves, but right now, nestled in the crook of Lamia’s arm as she lay propped against our headboard, I felt good. No, I felt divine.

Faisal was already asleep in his room down the hall, Nina had turned in early, and the penthouse was dead quiet except for the muted hum of the AC and the faintest sounds of Manila traffic far below. Lamia had just finished her shower, her skin still warm from the heat, smelling of that expensive woodsy body wash I secretly loved to borrow. She wore nothing but one of my oversized white button-downs, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and the first few buttons undone, giving me a teasing view of that golden brown skin I was addicted to. Her hair was slightly damp, curling at the ends. She looked edible.

I was curled beside her, in one of my silk nightdresses that barely fit anymore, my tummy stretching the fabric across my middle like a growing moon. One leg was hooked over hers, and I’d been lazily pressing soft, slow kisses to her shoulder blade while she scrolled through her phone with her other hand, half-focused on some article about OPEC trends and renewable oil development in the Middle East.

Typical Lamia. It was almost midnight and her idea of winding down was reading about barrels per day and offshore drilling permits.

“Babe,” I whispered, lips grazing the hollow of her shoulder, “you know you’re in bed with a very pregnant, very needy woman who also happens to be your wife, right?”

“Hm,” she murmured, eyes still glued to the screen. “I’m aware.”

“And yet you’re scrolling like you’re in a meeting with the UN.”

“Baby, this is a very important article,” she said dramatically. “It’s about price caps and Saudi lobbying…”

I trailed kisses up to her neck. “Mmm. Saudi lobbying doesn’t cuddle you like I do.”

“No,” she murmured, letting out a breathy laugh, “but Saudi lobbying doesn’t get jealous when I open my emails either.”

“I don’t get jealous.”

She turned her head slightly, giving me a smug little smirk. “You cried last week because I heart-reacted to Queen’s story.”

“She was wearing a bikini and you zoomed in!”

“She had a tattoo. I was checking the text.”

“I saw your screen, Lamia. You zoomed in on her boobs.”

“It was on her boobs!”

“Exactly!”

She was still laughing when her phone buzzed sharply in her hand.

And just like that, the moment shifted.

The screen lit up, and there it was.

ZAKI.

His name. Bold, too casual, sitting there on her lock screen like it belonged.

Lamia’s finger hovered.

My body tensed immediately, lips pausing against her collarbone, blood cooling.

She didn’t answer right away.

Didn’t decline either.

Just sat there, phone in hand, thumb frozen, and something in her jaw tightening.

“What is he calling you for?” I asked quietly.

She turned her head slightly to look at me, eyes unreadable.

“It’s probably just business.”

“Didn’t you say last time it was ‘just dinner’? A ‘friendly catch-up’?” I whispered, my tone sharper now despite myself.

Lamia exhaled through her nose. “Rani…”

I moved away from her, sitting upright on the bed, the cool air hitting my skin as I pulled the sheets over my legs. My heart was pounding, annoying, irrational maybe, but I couldn’t stop it. This baby inside me made everything feel a hundred times more intense. Every name. Every glance. Every second Lamia wasn’t with me, my mind turned into a theater of worst-case scenarios.

“He’s calling you at midnight,” I said, arms folded across my chest now. “Midnight, Lamia.”

She let the phone ring out, finally locking the screen and tossing it facedown on the bedside table. “I didn’t answer.”

“But you were going to.”

“I wasn’t. I was just surprised.”

I scoffed, looking away.

Lamia reached for me, but I leaned slightly back.

“Rani,” she said softly. “Look at me.”

I didn’t.

“Baby. You think I’m entertaining Zaki?”

I stayed silent, staring ahead at the vanity mirror, at the soft reflection of her behind me, her long legs stretched out, that white shirt now slightly askew from our earlier cuddling.

“I could’ve deleted his number. Blocked him,” she went on. “But I didn’t because I want to show you I have nothing to hide. I told you when I had dinner with him. I told you exactly what happened. I even came home smelling like wine and guilt. You were mad. You had every right to be. And I didn’t make excuses.”

Still no answer from me.

She leaned forward now, wrapping her arms around my body from behind, her chin resting on my shoulder, and her voice was low.

“You think I would risk everything we’ve built, everything we’ve been through, just for some man who couldn’t even last one relationship without bruising it?”

I shivered.

“I’m not going to lie,” she whispered. “Before you… I thought I’d end up married to a man like Zaki. Maybe not him exactly, but someone like him, like Peterson. Rich, powerful, well-connected, business-aligned. It was easier. Simpler. Expected.”

She pressed a kiss to my bare shoulder.

“But then you happened. And nothing simple was ever enough again.”

My chest clenched.

“You happened,” she continued. “With your stormy moods and that sharp mouth and that annoying little walk you do when you’re mad. You gave me Faisal. You gave me Rebecca. You gave me this wild, chaotic, impossible kind of love that I never thought I deserved, and I don’t care if a thousand Zakis call me, I’m never picking up.”

Tears welled up in my eyes before I could stop them.

“God,” I whispered, voice cracking. “Why do I turn into a crazy bitch every time you get a notification?”

Lamia chuckled, pulling me closer again.

“Because you’re a gorgeous, pregnant, divine goddess whose hormones are waging psychological warfare on her brain.”

“I’m not kidding. I’m insane.”

“You are,” she nodded, pressing another kiss just under my ear. “And I’m hopelessly in love with every version of you. Even the paranoid, over-possessive one who threatened to block Queen for her cleavage tattoo.”

“She posted three thirst traps this week. Don’t test me.”

“I’m not.” Lamia grinned. “I know better.”

We laughed, finally.

And for a moment, the tension dissolved again, replaced by something softer, trust, maybe. Or whatever magic it was that always managed to pull us back to center.

Her phone buzzed again.

I reached over, grabbed it, and without even checking the screen, shoved it into the nightstand drawer.

Then I turned back to her, eyes narrowing playfully.

“You do realize you belong to me, right?”

Lamia smiled, sliding her palm over my belly and kissing the side of my mouth. “I knew that the first time you slapped me in a boardroom.”

“Good,” I muttered, lips finding hers again, “because next time Zaki calls, I’m answering.”

“Oh?” she asked, grinning into the kiss. “And what will you say?”

I kissed her harder, slow and firm.

“I’ll say… She’s not available. She’s with the woman she declined you for.”

Lamia groaned into my mouth, and the night melted into silk and laughter once more.