Chapter 36

Rani’s Point Of View

It was 8:43 AM when my black Escalade pulled up in front of the sleek, regal building of Al-Gaddafi Oil and Gas Ventures. The way it glimmered in the Dubai sun felt less like steel and glass, and more like power itself. Lamia’s legacy. Her battlefield. Her palace.

The security, already used to my presence, didn’t even blink before opening the gates and nodding respectfully. As if they knew, I wasn’t just here as a guest, I was here as Rani Hidalgo, CEO of Rani Paragon Enterprises, and also the woman Lamia Al-Gaddafi kissed before falling asleep every night.

But today… I wasn’t here for love.

Not exactly.

Today, I came with news. With victory. With something I’d kept secret even from Lamia herself.

The elevator ride to her executive floor was smooth and silent, except for the faint, elegant Arabic instrumental playing in the background. Everything in Lamia’s company was curated. Polished. Intimidating. Very her. And yet, it felt almost like home now. Maybe because I knew where the coffee stations were, or maybe because I could walk these halls like I owned them, heels echoing with the confidence of someone who belonged here.

When the elevator doors slid open, I stepped out into the elegant executive lobby. There behind the desk sat Felicia, Lamia’s loyal secretary, all buttoned-up efficiency with soft curls pinned behind her ears.

Felicia blinked once. “Ma’am Rani…” She stood up immediately, flustered, clutching her iPad. “Oh, you weren’t scheduled…”

“I know,” I said, tossing a wink and adjusting the cream trench coat draped over my white silk blouse. My high-waisted trousers hugged in all the right places, and my gold hoops glinted every time I tilted my head. “I’m not here for coffee. I’m here for Lamia.”

“She’s in the middle of reviewing the exploration reports and asked not to be disturbed…”

“Tell her it’s her wife,” I said sweetly, walking past her. “And that her wife is about to make her richer than she’s ever been.”

Felicia’s eyes went wide. “Should I… wait, ma’am…”

I didn’t wait. I never knocked. Not on Lamia’s door. Not when it was me on the other side.

Inside, the blinds were partially open, and the sunlight stretched across her minimalistic office like it worshipped the space. There she was, Lamia Al-Gaddafi, in a perfectly tailored black blouse and wide-leg camel slacks, hair slicked back, eyebrows furrowed as she studied something on her screen.

She looked up the moment I stepped inside. And just like that, the frown softened.

“You’re not on my calendar,” she said, leaning back in her chair, arms folding slowly. “Should I be worried?”

I smiled, walked forward, and dropped the envelope lined in gold, on her desk.

“No, but you should be excited.”

She raised an eyebrow and opened it with the same caution she used when reviewing billion-peso deals. Her dark eyes scanned each page, and I could see the shift as she registered what she was reading.

The full proposal. The full contract.

Rani Paragon Enterprises x Al-Gaddafi Oil and Gas Ventures: Southeast Asia Renewable Power Grid Expansion.

Clean energy. Solar arrays. Wind farms in Batangas. Floating offshore turbines. Carbon neutral targets. Billion-dollar scale. My company, the one I’d built from scratch… was choosing hers.

By the third page, Lamia’s eyes snapped up to meet mine. Her voice, low and careful. “You’re giving the project to me?”

“I’m giving it to us,” I corrected. “You’re the only one I trust to pull this off. I’ve had offers from Korea, Singapore, even a Singaporean prince, but none of them have the brains or the backbone you have.”

She blinked, lips slightly parted. Then, she looked at the contract again, as if not believing it. “This is the biggest expansion in your company’s history.”

“And you’re my wife,” I said simply. “This expansion reflects our future, professionally and personally.”

I watched as Lamia slowly stood up, walking around the desk. She took off her reading glasses and set them down, and I noticed the way her chest lifted, like she was trying to calm her racing heart. For once, I had surprised her.

“You didn’t tell me,” she whispered, stepping in front of me now, her hands lightly grazing my waist.

I leaned in and said, “Because I wanted to see that expression.”

She shook her head, grinning now. “You are absolutely impossible.”

“And yet,” I murmured, brushing my lips against her jaw, “you still married me.”

Her lips found mine, quick at first, then lingering. When she pulled back, her eyes were sharp again, but this time full of affection. “How long until your team makes the announcement?”

“Noon,” I said. “I have a press statement. Legal’s standing by. We just need your signature.”

Lamia reached back, grabbed her Montblanc pen, and signed the dotted line on the last page.

“There,” she said. “It’s official. Al-Gaddafi Oil and Gas is now in bed with Rani Paragon Enterprises.”

I smirked. “We’ve been in bed for a while now, babe.”

She laughed, genuine and warm, and pulled me into a tight embrace. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For choosing me.”

“You were never just an option, Lamia,” I replied. “You were the plan.”

And as I held her in her office, her name now permanently stamped on the biggest joint venture of both our careers, I realized something deeper, we weren’t just wives anymore. We were empires choosing to rise together.

I was still holding her when I spotted it, a caramel-colored Louis Vuitton paper bag, casually sitting on the corner of Lamia’s leather couch like it had every right to be there. My eyes narrowed slightly, instincts sharpening like a cat smelling something off in her glass of champagne.

I pulled back just a little, keeping my hands lazily looped around Lamia’s neck as I tilted my head in its direction.

“Since when did you start shopping at Louis during office hours?” I asked, my voice calm, teasing even, but pointed, exactly how she knew to fear it.

Lamia followed my gaze, then scoffed, her eyes rolling so deeply it was practically audible.

“Oh that?” she muttered, untangling from me to walk toward it with the kind of exaggerated disinterest that only made me more suspicious. “Not mine. Some business tycoon who dropped by from Abu Dhabi after yesterday’s petroleum board luncheon. He said he’s always admired me… and then handed that over like it was a candy bar.”

I crossed my arms slowly. “Admired you?”

She glanced over her shoulder with a crooked smirk. “His exact words were, ‘You fascinate me, Miss Al-Gaddafi.’ And before you ask… yes, he’s about fifty, and no, I didn’t invite him.”

“Did you fascinate him back?”

Lamia laughed. “Hardly. I thanked him, told him I don’t mix business and… delusion, then sent him on his way.”

I took a slow step forward, heels clicking against the floor like warning shots. “And yet you kept the bag.”

She looked at it like it offended her. “I didn’t even look inside. I’ve been in back-to-back meetings. Honestly, I forgot it was there.”

My mouth curled into a deadly smile.

“Felicia!” I called, loud enough to carry through the walls.

In two seconds flat, Felicia appeared in the doorway like a soldier summoned for duty, eyes wide.

“Yes, Ma’am?”

I pointed toward the untouched paper bag. “That Louis Vuitton gift? It’s yours now. Enjoy it. Sell it. Burn it. I don’t care.”

Felicia blinked. “Ma’am, I… what?”

“Take it,” I repeated, still staring at Lamia. “If a business tycoon thinks he can flirt with married women by buying overpriced leather, at least let a loyal employee benefit from his desperation.”

Felicia stifled a laugh. “Thank you, Ma’am Rani. That’s… very generous.”

As she walked in, grabbed the bag like it was holy, and exited quickly to avoid witnessing any possible explosion, Lamia just shook her head, grinning in that slow, lazy way of hers.

“Possessive much?” she murmured, coming back over to me, her arms winding around my waist again.

“Do you have any idea how long it took me to get your attention?” I murmured against her collarbone, dragging my nails lightly across her shoulder blades. “You think I’m letting some oil baron from Abu Dhabi even dream he has a chance?”

Lamia dipped her head to kiss my shoulder. “Don’t worry. I only get excited when the gift comes with your name on the tag.”

I smirked, cupping her jaw and forcing her to look at me. “Remember that.”

She leaned forward, her lips brushing my cheek, voice dropping an octave. “Are you going to punish me for keeping the bag?”

“Oh, I’m way past the bag,” I whispered, tapping my tablet sleeve where the signed partnership was tucked. “We’re about to make history together. But if you ever let someone else think you’re available again, even in the subtlest way…”

She chuckled. “You’ll what?”

“I’ll make you beg in your own office, while your board waits outside wondering why their CEO is moaning behind closed doors.”

Lamia’s breath hitched, and I could feel her pulse quicken under my hands.

“God, I love when you talk like that,” she whispered.

I stepped back just enough to fix her collar, then traced the edge of her lips with my thumb.

“Then behave,” I said with a wicked smile.

She gave me a mock salute and laughed. “Yes, ma’am.”

And as I walked back toward the door, my heels ringing with triumph, I saw Felicia out of the corner of my eye discreetly holding the Louis bag with a grin she was trying very hard to suppress.

I winked at her. “Tell your friends it’s from your secret admirer.”

She laughed. “I’ll tell them my boss’s wife has impeccable taste in vengeance.”

Touché.

I adjusted my sunglasses on my way to the elevator, a queen exiting her throne room. I didn’t just conquer Lamia’s heart today.

I conquered the boardroom, the business deal, and her attention. All before lunch.

Like the diva I was born to be.

——

The elevator doors slid open with a gentle chime, and I stepped out with my heels clicking on the polished marble floor of my company’s top level, my assistant Elise trailing behind me with a stack of signed contracts in her arms. I was in a fierce mood, not angry, but that confident kind of fierce. The kind that only came after you’ve walked out of your wife’s oil empire looking like you owned the whole Middle East.

“Elise,” I murmured as we walked, slipping off my sunglasses and placing them in my purse. “Clear my meetings from three to five. I want to go home early to be with Faisal.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” she said with her usual calm precision, and I could hear her tapping notes into her iPad already.

We turned the corner toward my office, and I was just about to ask her to remind me to call the design team about the new logo for our expansion campaign when I came to a halt.

Dead. Stop.

Because sitting there on the caramel velvet couch outside my office, legs crossed, arms folded neatly, and eyes locked on me the moment I stepped into view…

Was Dove.

My breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my memory.

Dove. Peterson’s sister. The woman who once meet me months ago in the 100 degrees cafeteria when Lamia was on the hospital. The same Dove who sat beside me while I was wearing an sophisticated outfit and talking to her quietly behind my sunglasses.

And then she told me, that Lamia can’t do anything without me.

That was before I knew Lamia got back with Peterson. Before everything shifted.

Before my pregnancy. Before miscarriage.

Before Faisal took his first step. Before Dubai.

Before the tulips. The yacht. The kiss marks on her neck.

Dove stood up slowly now, her tailored beige pantsuit making her look more professional than I remembered. Her long hair was tied back in a low twist, and she had a clutch in her hand, small, square, minimalistic. There were dark circles beneath her eyes now. Her smile was gentle. Not smug.

“Hi, Rani,” she said softly.

Elise paused beside me, clearly sensing the tension, but I waved her off. “You can go,” I told her. “Tell the team I’ll be in after this.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” she murmured, shooting Dove a curious glance before disappearing down the hallway.

I slowly walked forward, my guard rising like glass walls behind my eyes.

“You’re brave,” I said quietly. “Showing up here.”

Dove nodded. “I know. And I wouldn’t, if I didn’t think it was important.”

I motioned toward the small guest room near my office. “Let’s talk in here. Not in front of everyone.”

She followed me inside, and I shut the door behind us. The air was thick. My heart was already pounding, not in fear, but in memory. Because even though Dove wasn’t the one who hurt me, she was tethered to the man who caused the deepest wound I’ve ever carried.

We sat across from each other, and for a few long moments, neither of us spoke.

“I heard you’re doing well,” Dove finally said. “Congratulations on your company’s expansion. I saw the press release.”

I nodded stiffly. “Thank you.”

“I also know you and Lamia finally became in love,” she added, voice cautious. “I’m glad. You looked happy… in the photos.”

My brow twitched. “Why are you really here, Dove?”

She sighed, shoulders sinking a little. “Because I need to say something before it eats me alive. And because I owe you… more than anyone, the truth about my brother.”

I sat up straighter, but didn’t interrupt.

She continued, her voice breaking slightly. “Peterson left the country. After what happened… after you lost the baby… and Lamia ended things for good… he was never the same. But instead of owning up to what he did, he kept blaming everyone but himself. Our family cut ties with him. My parents disowned him. They’re living in Barcelona now. I stayed here… because I wanted to fix things. In my own way.”

“Fix what?” I said, my voice low, brittle.

“You,” she whispered. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. That… if there was ever a moment I could help, even by just telling you that I’m sorry… so damn sorry, for what he did, that I would do it. I haven’t spoken to him since last year. He tried to reach out to me after I got home from Massachusetts, I didn’t answer. Because I saw what he did to you. And I saw how broken Lamia was, after everything.”

I stared at her, my chest rising and falling. “You’re not responsible for his choices.”

“No,” she agreed. “But I’m still his sister. And I just needed you to know that I’m not like him. I didn’t want you to keep seeing his face when you think of me.”

My throat tightened. “I never hated you, Dove.”

She smiled, small, sad. “Thank you for that. Really.”

We sat in silence for a moment.

Then she stood. “I’ll go. I just… needed to say that. I’m glad Lamia has you. I’m glad you have her back.”

I rose, too. “Take care of yourself, Dove. I mean that.”

She nodded, her eyes glassy. “And you.”

When she left, I stood in that quiet guest room for a few minutes longer, one hand resting over my heart. That was a chapter I hadn’t expected to revisit, let alone with compassion.

But I realized something as I walked back into my office, my heels silent now against the carpet.

Closure doesn’t always come with fireworks. Sometimes it arrives with a whispered apology and a door quietly closing behind someone who finally understands the weight they were never meant to carry.

And I… I felt a little freer.

——

It was already past eight in the evening, and the soft lull of jazz music played low from the built-in speakers hidden inside the walls of the penthouse. The city outside shimmered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, BGC alive with lights and energy, but inside our home… it was soft. Warm. Dim. Safe.

I was sitting barefoot on the thick beige carpet of our living room, one arm extended toward our little prince, Faisal, who stood wobbling just a few feet away from me, his tiny legs slightly bowing as he steadied himself. His chubby fingers were clenched tightly into little fists, his eyes focused, determined as he looked at me.

“Come on, baby,” I whispered, my voice almost trembling with joy. “Come to Mama. You can do it.”

He took a step. Then another.

I gasped. “Yes! That’s it, baby! Come to me!”

My arms stretched out wider as his tiny feet padded against the carpet, one, two, three, and then a stumble, but I reached him before he could fall, scooping him up into my arms with a delighted laugh.

“I can’t believe you’re really walking,” I murmured, kissing the side of his head as he giggled and drooled on my collarbone. “You’re growing up too fast, my little sunshine. Too fast.”

We’d been playing this game for almost half an hour. He’d walk, I’d catch him, and then we’d fall into a pile of giggles and kisses and babbling nonsense. I’d already filmed a few clips on my phone and sent them to Queen, Kristof, and even to Lamia’s Mama and Babba. They were all gushing in the group chats, saying things like “He walks like Lamia!” and “Look at that balance! He’s gonna be a footballer!”

I smiled as I rocked him gently, his head resting on my shoulder now, one of his tiny hands tangled in my hair.

That’s when the front door clicked open.

I turned my head toward the sound, my heart already leaping, because somehow, even now, I still feel that little skip in my chest when Lamia walks into the room.

She stepped inside wearing her usual off-duty glamor, her long coat draped over a crisp silk blouse, high-waisted trousers hugging her hips, her jet-black hair still twisted into a sleek low bun. Her lipstick was faintly worn out, probably from chewing her lips, like she does when she’s reading contracts, and the moment her eyes landed on me and Faisal on the floor, her whole face softened.

“Ma chérie,” she breathed, her voice instantly changing, like the way clouds part for the sun. “I’m home.”

Faisal lifted his head and squealed.

“Ma… ma… ma!”

Lamia dropped her purse and walked quickly across the living room, her heels clicking until they hit the edge of the carpet, where she knelt without hesitation and took both me and Faisal into her arms.

“You walked again today?” she whispered to him, kissing the side of his head as he babbled and touched her face with his palms. “You’re so brave, my love.”

“He walked from the couch to me. Full steps. Twice,” I said, resting my cheek against her shoulder. “You just missed it.”

Lamia pulled back, brushing hair away from my face as her eyes glistened a little. “You recorded it?”

“Of course,” I said with a small smile. “Group chat is already melting.”

She laughed, then cupped my jaw gently with her free hand. “I hate missing these moments.”

“You came home. That’s what matters,” I said softly, and in that moment, the tiredness on her face melted just a little.

She looked at me, really looked at me, and for a few seconds, I could tell she wasn’t just seeing me as her wife, or Faisal’s mother, or the woman she used to fight with like fire and oil. She saw me as… home.

“I saw Dove today,” I murmured, threading my fingers through Faisal’s curls.

Lamia’s brows lifted in surprise. “Peterson’s sister?”

I nodded. “She came to the office. Not to cause trouble. She… apologized. Said she cut ties with him. Said she wanted to make peace with me.”

Lamia’s lips parted slightly, a flicker of emotion crossing her features. “Are you okay?”

“I am,” I said, almost surprising myself. “I really am.”

We sat there for a long moment in silence, all three of us tangled together in the warmest pile of limbs, silk, and baby-scented hair.

Eventually, Lamia took Faisal from my arms, lifting him high into the air as he squealed with laughter. “What do you say, habibi? Shall we let Mama take a bath while we prepare her some chamomile tea?”

He slapped her face gently with an open palm. It was his version of a yes.

I chuckled, rising to my feet as Lamia balanced our son on her hip like it was second nature. “I’d kill for a bath right now.”

“Done,” she said, walking off toward the kitchen, her voice drifting over her shoulder. “When you’re done, come to the bedroom. Faisal and I will be waiting. And I might even wear that silk robe you like.”

I raised a brow. “The red one?”

She glanced back and winked. “Is there any other?”

And just like that, after all the storms, the misunderstandings, the Dubai drama, the exes and the heartbreaks, we were right here again.

Back to this.

Back to love.

Back to the three of us.

And I realized then, as I walked toward our bedroom and the laughter of my family echoed through our home, this was the life I fought for.

And I’d never stop choosing it.

——

The bedroom smelled like vanilla and something floral, probably Lamia’s ridiculous obsession with fresh linen sprays that cost more than a bottle of perfume. I had just stepped out of the bathroom, a fluffy towel wrapped around my body and my skin still warm and dewy from the bath. The lights were dimmed, casting the whole room in a golden glow, and there was soft Arabic instrumental music humming from her Bluetooth speaker, something exotic and sensual, because of course Lamia couldn’t help herself.

I paused at the doorway, my fingers tightening on the towel as I caught the sight of her.

Lamia.

Sitting in the center of our king-sized bed, legs crossed beneath her, her silk red robe barely tied at the waist. Her hair was down, cascading over one shoulder like a waterfall of ink, and her eyes lifted to meet mine with that slow, dangerous smirk I knew too well.

She was feeding Faisal a bottle. Our son was half-asleep, curled against her lap like a kitten, suckling slowly with one of his hands clutching her silk robe. The red against his tiny brown skin made the whole scene look like a painting. A dream.

“You clean up well, Mrs. Al-Gaddafi,” Lamia murmured, her voice a soft rasp as her eyes leisurely roamed from my damp hair to the slope of my bare shoulders. “Although, I must admit, I’m a little offended.”

I arched a brow, stepping into the room. “Offended?”

She nodded slowly. “You took the longest bath in history and came out… wrapped up like that?” Her gaze dragged over the towel clinging to me. “You’re teasing me.”

I laughed, walking over to the vanity and grabbing my comb. “I was in there for thirty minutes.”

“Exactly,” she replied, carefully pulling the bottle from Faisal’s mouth. He let out a soft whine, but she kissed his head and whispered something in Arabic before gently laying him down in his little bassinet beside our bed. “Thirty minutes without your voice? I nearly filed a missing person report.”

I tried not to smile. “Well, you’re very dramatic tonight.”

“Only because you look like a goddess,” she said simply, rising from the bed in one fluid, sensual movement. That robe clung to every curve of her body, and the way her bare legs peeked through the slit as she moved was completely unfair.

She walked toward me slowly, purposefully, like she was hunting. And maybe she was.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my heart thudding just a little louder in my chest as she came to stand in front of me.

“Let me dry your hair,” she whispered, gently taking the comb from my hand.

I blinked. “You?”

“Yes, me,” she said, amused. “Don’t act so surprised. I’m good with my hands, remember?”

Heat flashed up my neck. “Lamia…”

She moved behind me, parting my hair and gently running the comb through the wet strands with an uncharacteristic tenderness. Her fingers occasionally brushed my neck, each touch sending goosebumps down my spine.

“I missed you today,” she said softly. “Even though we had breakfast together. Even though you surprised me at the office. Even though we were together all evening. It still wasn’t enough.”

I closed my eyes, leaning back slightly. “I missed you too.”

There was a pause, then I felt her lips press against my bare shoulder.

“Tell me,” she whispered, “was today a good day?”

I nodded. “Perfect.”

“And how about now?” she murmured, her lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Still perfect?”

I swallowed, heat pooling low in my stomach. “Getting better.”

She chuckled, the sound low and rich. “Then allow me to improve it further.”

And suddenly, her hands were at my towel, slowly undoing it with the grace of someone who knew exactly how to unwrap a gift. I let her. I always let her.

The towel slid off, and I stood, turning to face her, completely bare in the soft lamplight. Her eyes moved over me, reverent, almost in awe, and not just because of my body, but because I let her see me like this. All of me.

“You’re so beautiful it makes me angry,” Lamia muttered, her hands settling on my waist. “I don’t understand how I got so lucky.”

I smiled, resting my hands on her chest, feeling her heartbeat race under my palm. “You married me.”

“Arranged marriage,” she teased.

“And look how that turned out,” I countered.

She grinned, then leaned down and kissed me, not torrid this time, not frantic like the other night, but slow. Sweet. Like we had time now. Like we weren’t in a hurry to prove anything anymore.

Just us.

Just this.

She kissed me until I forgot what day it was. Until my knees weakened and my hands tangled in her robe. And when we finally broke apart, breathing against each other’s lips, she whispered, “Let me love you slowly tonight.”

And I nodded, because God, how could I ever say no to that?

That night, there were no fights. No outside noise. Just silk sheets, whispered promises, and two women who once swore they’d never fall in love, but did anyway.

And the best part?

They were only just getting started.

——

The first thing I felt was warmth.

Not just from the thick comforter tangled around our legs or the soft morning sun bleeding through the sheer curtains, but the kind of warmth that came from skin pressed against skin. The kind that pulsed like a heartbeat. That lived.

Lamia.

My eyes fluttered open, instinctively looking toward her side of the bed.

And there she was.

Sleeping on her stomach, the sheets low on her waist, her dark hair messy and fanned across the pillow like a crown. Her back was bare, golden and smooth under the milky dawn light, and there were faint marks on her shoulders, my marks. I flushed.

But I didn’t look away.

How could I?

The woman who once couldn’t say my name without venom in her voice was now lying naked beside me, calm and unguarded and warm. Her lashes fluttered lightly, and her lips were parted, the softest breath slipping past them with each slow exhale.

It was 5:07 AM.

Still early. Still dark enough to feel like the world didn’t exist beyond this room.

I shifted slowly, careful not to wake her yet, letting my palm glide over the smooth dip of her back. I traced the faint line of her spine, my fingertips light, playful. She shivered under my touch.

“Mmm… Rani?” she murmured sleepily, voice husky and rough.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I whispered, even though that was a lie. Maybe I did. Maybe I wanted to see her eyes again. Just for a moment.

“You always wake me,” she rasped, turning slightly, her body half-flipping so her chest brushed against mine. “Even in my dreams.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re so full of it.”

But my cheeks were hot. She felt it. She always did.

Lamia opened one eye lazily, smirking. “Why are you awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” I ran a finger along her cheekbone. “You were snoring.”

She raised a brow. “I don’t snore.”

“You kind of do,” I teased. “Like a cat purring. It’s… weirdly cute.”

She groaned and buried her face in the crook of my neck, her warm breath tickling my skin. “God, you’re annoying in the morning.”

“And you’re clingy,” I said, even as my arms wrapped around her waist to pull her closer.

We were still bare, skin to skin, and the heat between us simmered again. Not in a hurried way, but in that slow, lazy, delicious kind of tension that made mornings like this feel endless.

“Clingy?” Lamia mumbled against my collarbone. “This coming from the woman who clung to me like a baby monkey last night.”

My mouth dropped. “Excuse me…”

“You were begging, baby,” she grinned, kissing my neck. “I have the bite marks to prove it.”

“I was not!” I slapped her arm, but I was laughing. “You’re… ugh, you’re unbelievable.”

“You didn’t complain when I…”

I clapped a hand over her mouth. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

She chuckled against my palm, then kissed it gently, catching my fingers with her lips before pulling it away from her face.

There was a moment of silence after that.

A warm, heavy silence.

We just stared at each other.

Her hand slowly reached up, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. “You’re beautiful,” she said softly. “Even like this. Especially like this.”

“Like what?”

“Hair messy. Eyes sleepy. No makeup. Nothing designer. Just Rani. My wife.”

My throat tightened.

Why did her words always feel like spells?

“And you,” I said quietly, tracing the curve of her jaw with the back of my finger. “You’re dangerous when you’re this soft.”

Lamia chuckled again, then leaned in and kissed me.

Not greedy. Not rough. Just lips pressed to lips. Simple and true.

And something bloomed in my chest again, that unnameable thing. The thing I thought I’d never feel with her. The thing that made my heart ache in the best way.

When she pulled back, her lips were red and her eyes darker.

“Let’s stay in bed all day,” she whispered.

I hummed. “What about the office?”

“Cancel it.”

“What about your meetings?”

“Reschedule.”

“What about Faisal?”

“Already with Nina downstairs,” she grinned. “I texted her earlier, I woke up, and told her not to bring him up until 9.”

I blinked. “You planned this?”

She grinned smugly. “I know how you get after a night like last night.”

I rolled over her, straddling her waist, laughing. “You evil, sexy woman.”

“I try,” she purred, her hands resting on my thighs. “Now kiss me properly.”

I did.

It felt like we had all the time in the world.

Lamia’s hand was lazily tracing shapes on the small of my back. Circles, stars, letters, I wasn’t sure. But whatever she was drawing, it melted right into my skin. Her fingers were soft and slow, and her other hand was tucked behind her head like she was lounging on a cloud.

We were both still naked under the sheets.

The morning light was just beginning to sneak through the gold-accented curtains, warming the tips of our toes and spilling over the bed like honey. Somewhere downstairs, I could hear faint voices, probably Lamia’s mother or one of the maids cooing to Faisal.

But up here, in this room, in this bed… time didn’t move.

“You’re staring again,” Lamia murmured, her voice husky with sleep and pride.

I didn’t deny it. “I like what I’m looking at.”

Her lips quirked into a crooked smile, that same smug, goddess-like smile she always wore when she knew she had me wrapped around her perfect little finger.

“You’re obsessed with me,” she teased, turning onto her side so our chests pressed together, bare skin against bare skin, hearts pressed so close I could feel hers stuttering like mine.

I ran a hand down her arm. “Maybe I am.”

She stilled. The smile faltered just slightly, not out of doubt, but out of something gentler. Something real.

“Say that again,” she whispered.

I blinked. “Say what?”

“That you’re obsessed with me,” Lamia said, her voice more fragile than I expected. “You never say things like that unless you’re about to be sarcastic or start a fight.”

I reached up and cupped her face, my thumb stroking her cheek.

“I’m obsessed with you,” I said, slowly. “With your stupid, kissable mouth. With the way you pretend you don’t care but sneak glances at me when you think I’m not looking. With the way you carry Faisal like he’s made of gold. With your ridiculous perfume that costs more than my bags. With your overprotective, overbearing, overly-sexy self. I’m obsessed, Lamia. There.”

She stared at me.

And then her arms tightened around my waist, pulling me in until our foreheads touched.

“I love you, Rani,” she said so quietly, I almost didn’t hear it.

But I did.

And it hit me like wind through broken windows, cold and warm at the same time, terrifying and divine.

My throat tightened. “You do?”

“I do,” Lamia said, kissing the corner of my mouth.

I didn’t know what to say to that.

I was the diva, the one who always had the perfect line, the witty comeback, the biting remark. But now, lying here in her arms, the world silent and sacred around us…

I was speechless.

So instead, I kissed her.

Long, slow, deep.

Our lips moved like they were speaking their own language, a secret dialect made of all the things we never got to say during those awful first months of marriage. Each kiss felt like an apology and a promise, a breathless confession sealed with every brush of her mouth against mine.

“I think I’m falling for you,” I whispered as we broke apart.

Lamia laughed, brushing her nose against mine. “I thought you already did.”

I snorted. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it.”

“I do,” I admitted, burying my face in the crook of her neck. “God help me.”

We stayed like that for a while, just holding each other in the messy bed, tangled in blankets and emotions. My fingers lazily traced circles on her hipbone, and hers played with the strands of my hair.

Eventually, I pulled back just enough to rest my chin on her chest.

“I have a surprise for you.”

Her brows rose. “Oh?”

“Not now,” I said, grinning. “Later. After breakfast. But I swear, you’re going to freak out.”

“If it’s another Hermes scarf, I swear…”

“It’s not.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Is it jewelry?”

“No.”

“Shoes?”

“No.”

“A car?”

I rolled my eyes. “No, Lamia.”

“Then what?”

I smirked. “You’ll see.”

She sighed dramatically and tossed her head back against the pillow. “You’re impossible.”

“I know.”

“But you’re mine.”

I kissed her shoulder, soft and slow. “Always.”

She tilted her face toward me again, one hand sliding up my bare back. Her fingers danced along my spine, then cupped my face.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” she whispered. “That we’re here. Like this.”

“Believe it,” I murmured. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

And I meant it.

Despite the chaos, the heartbreak, the screaming matches, and the slammed doors, despite the pain of the past, and the mistakes that once nearly broke us, we had finally found our way back.

To each other.

To this.

And as I laid there, in the arms of the woman who was once my enemy and now my everything, I knew…

This wasn’t the end of our story.

It was just the beginning.

That morning was slow.

Sticky with laughter. Heavy with stolen kisses and whispered flirts. There were no loud declarations, no world to perform for.

Just us.

A diva and an heiress. A mother and a wife.

And for the first time since our wedding night… I didn’t feel like we were pretending.

We were real.

We were us.

And I never wanted it to end.