The morning after the interview felt different.
For the first time in a long time, Amira woke up not dreading the day. The sun filtered through the soft curtains, casting golden stripes on the marble floor. She stretched lazily in the bed, eyes fluttering open to find the space beside her still warm.
Idris had already gotten up, but he hadn't left in his usual ghost-like silence. There was a note by her bedside.
"Didn't want to wake you. Coffee's ready downstairs. Thought I'd give you a quiet morning for once. – I."
She smiled. A small thing, maybe even insignificant to anyone else, but it meant something to her. The man who had once gone days without speaking to her was now writing notes.
She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and padded barefoot down the staircase, the scent of fresh coffee greeting her like a warm embrace. Idris wasn't in the kitchen, but the breakfast was already laid out. Omelets, toast, fresh fruit. Everything arranged perfectly.
As she poured herself a cup of coffee, her phone buzzed again. A notification from her management team.
"Booked for four interviews. Two online magazines, a podcast, and a women's leadership panel. Want to review before accepting?"
Amira took a sip of coffee, the warmth grounding her. She set the mug down and typed back.
"Yes. Send me the details. I want to choose the ones that align with my voice."
She was no longer just a trophy wife or a name hidden behind Idris Hassan's empire. She had something to say, and people were listening. That realization filled her with a strange mix of pride and pressure. She would need to be cautious, intentional.
Halfway through her second piece of toast, Idris walked in, freshly showered, his hair damp, shirt sleeves rolled up, and holding a tablet in one hand.
"Morning," he said, pausing when he saw her already seated.
She looked up at him, smile gentle. "Morning."
He sat across from her, setting the tablet down between them. "I was reading the comments on your interview."
She raised a brow. "Brave."
He chuckled. "Some people are brutal, but most of them… they love you. Genuinely."
"That's new," she said, cutting a strawberry in half. "I'm used to being seen as a mistake. A temporary inconvenience in your life."
His gaze darkened. "That was never what you were, Amira. But I admit—I didn't treat you the way I should have. I never gave you the space to be you."
She looked down at her plate, a tightness in her chest. "You don't have to say this because things are better now."
"I'm saying it because it's true," he said, voice quiet but firm. "And because I want to do better."
They ate the rest of their breakfast in thoughtful silence. It wasn't uncomfortable—it was full, unspoken words lingering between them, but for once, not in a painful way.
Later that afternoon, Amira was in the home office reviewing the interview requests when a knock sounded at the door. It was Idris, again holding the tablet.
"I need your opinion on something," he said.
She motioned for him to come in. "What is it?"
He took a seat across from her. "My team wants to launch a new arm of the foundation. A scholarship program for girls in underrepresented communities. They think it'll look good following your interview."
Her brows furrowed. "Do you agree with them?"
"I agree with the cause," he said. "But I don't want to use your momentum as a strategy. I want to know if you'd be willing to co-lead it."
Her eyes widened. "You mean… run it with you?"
"No," he said with a smirk. "I mean you lead it. I'll support."
For a moment, Amira just stared at him, unsure how to respond. It wasn't just a compliment—it was an invitation. A handing over of trust and purpose.
"Do you trust me with that kind of responsibility?" she asked, her voice soft.
"I've always trusted your instincts, Amira. I just didn't know how to let go of control before."
She nodded slowly, something inside her loosening. "Then yes. I'd be honored to lead it."
Their fingers brushed as she took the tablet from him, and the quiet warmth of that contact lingered long after he left the room.
That night, Amira stood on the balcony of their room, staring out over the city lights. The air was cool, but she didn't mind it. It cleared her thoughts.
Idris joined her a few minutes later, his arm brushing hers as he leaned on the railing beside her.
"It's strange," she said. "I used to feel like I was drowning in this marriage. Like every day was just about surviving."
He turned his head to look at her. "And now?"
"Now," she said slowly, "it feels like we're finally breathing the same air."
He nodded, his gaze never leaving her. "We're still learning. Still healing. But I'm not going anywhere."
She turned to face him, and in the quiet hum of the city below, she reached for his hand.
"I don't want perfect," she said. "I just want real."
His grip tightened gently around hers. "Then let's build something real. Together."
And in the stillness of that moment, with no cameras, no interviews, no expectations—they stood side by side, no longer strangers pretending, but two people slowly becoming something more.
She didn't let go of his hand immediately. Instead, she leaned her head against his shoulder, feeling the rise and fall of his breath, the quiet thrum of his presence grounding her more than any public praise ever could.
"You never told me what changed," she murmured.
He glanced down at her, the soft light from the bedroom casting a halo around her face. "What do you mean?"
"You were distant. Cold. And then slowly, things shifted. What happened?"
He was silent for a long time. Then he turned to face her fully, taking her other hand in his.
"The day you walked into that gala and didn't look for me," he began slowly, "was the day I realized I was losing you."
Amira's brows drew together. "That night?"
"Yes. You weren't angry or desperate or even trying to prove anything. You just… existed. Powerfully. And I wasn't the center of your orbit anymore. It scared me."
"I didn't think you even noticed me that night," she said.
"I always notice you. I just didn't know how to respond. You were growing, and I was stuck in the same emotional shell I built years ago to survive business, family, expectations."
He exhaled, his thumb brushing lightly across the back of her hand.
"But that night made me realize I was either going to lose you or finally fight for you. For us."
She swallowed, emotion building in her throat. "And now?"
"Now," he said, "I wake up every day wondering how I can earn your presence."
Tears welled in her eyes, but they didn't fall. They simply shimmered, catching the light like small jewels.
"You don't have to earn me," she whispered. "You just have to see me. As I am."
"I do," he said. "And I like what I see."
She laughed quietly, wiping the corner of her eye. "Flattery, Mr. CEO?"
"Truth," he replied, pulling her gently into his arms.
They stood like that, two imperfect people finding their way back to each other not through grand gestures or forced declarations, but through honesty. Through vulnerability. Through the courage to begin again.
When they finally went back inside, Amira sat at the edge of the bed, her mind spinning with everything that had happened. The interview. The offers. The scholarship program. The shift in her marriage.
Everything felt like it was moving forward. But instead of fear, she felt anticipation.
Idris sat beside her and placed something on her lap. She looked down—a small leather-bound notebook.
"What's this?"
"Your ideas," he said. "For the program. The interviews. For anything you want to build. I want you to have a space that's just yours."
Her fingers ran over the textured cover. "You really are changing."
He gave a small smile. "You helped me remember how."
As Amira opened the first page and put pen to paper, she realized this wasn't just a turning point in their marriage—it was a new chapter in her own story.
One she would write, not with fear or hesitation, but with purpose.