Amir's Pov:

The morning of my wedding, a nervous energy I hadn't felt since my first major business pitch hummed under my skin. I was standing before a full-length mirror, adjusting the cufflinks on my expensive tuxedo, when a soft knock preceded my father's entrance.

"Well, look at you," he said, a warm, familiar grin spreading across his face. He leaned against the doorframe, looking more animated than I'd seen him in years. My father was a man who prized his naps and his peace above all else, a connoisseur of the path of least resistance. But today, for me, he was fully present.

"The suit fits perfectly, Dad. You were right about the tailor," I said, turning slightly. We had spent an entire afternoon choosing the fabric and the cut. He had insisted on a classic, timeless style, arguing that trends fade, but elegance is eternal.

"A father is occasionally right about something other than the remote control," he chuckled, stepping forward to smooth a non-existent wrinkle on my shoulder.

"I even prepared a speech. Don't worry, I'll keep it short. Don't want to bore people before the cake is cut."

His eyes twinkled, and then he delivered the expected, good-natured jab. "Just remember to stand up straight on the podium, son. We don't want the photographer to think the groom is hiding behind the bouquet."

I laughed, a genuine, unrestrained sound. "Noted. I'll make sure to stand on my tiptoes."

This easy camaraderie, however, was the calm before the storm. The storm, as always, was my mother. Her disapproval was a cold draft in the otherwise warm room. She entered without a knock, a vision of meticulously maintained beauty. At fifty-eight, she was a stunning woman, her figure a strict, self-policed 55 kilograms, a number she guarded with a strict fervor that defied her doctor's warnings. To her, her personal image wasn't everything; it was the only thing.

Her eyes swept over me, and for a fleeting second, I saw a flicker of maternal pride, quickly extinguished by her overarching agenda. "You look... perfect, as always Amir, wish I could say the same about her." she stated, her voice crisp. She didn't mention Tala's name. She never would if she could help it.

"Your speech will be respectful, I trust?" she said, turning her gaze to my father, who simply shrugged amiably.

"It's a wedding, my dear, not a shareholder's meeting. It's supposed to be about love."

My mother's lips tightened into a thin line. "Love is a foundation, not the entire architecture. That girl..." She finally let the pronoun hang in the air, dripping with disdain. "She is... unpolished. She has no sense of style, no grace. Do you know what she wore to the engagement party? A dress that did nothing to conceal her... frame. A woman's silhouette should be a work of art, not... not a statement of indifference."

This was her core objection. In my mother's world, a woman's waist should not be much wider than her neck. Tala, with her strong, tall build, her refusal to starve herself into a delicate figurine, was an affront to my mother's entire belief system.

She wasn't just marrying her son; she was, in my mother's eyes, preparing to drag the family name through the mud of mediocrity.

"She is of no use to our family's standing, Amir," she concluded, her voice low and intense. "She will be the end of our image."

The charade was over. I had hoped her love for me would eventually override her vanity, but it was clear it wouldn't. I took a deep breath and crossed the room, closing the door firmly.

"Mother," I began, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone I used for boardroom coups. "We need to talk about what Tala really brings to this family."

Her eyes narrowed, intrigued despite herself.

"Do you know who helped me graduate? It was her, Tala." I let the name hang there.

"Despite what you think of her, she's actually very smart, she graduated the top of our class, and thanks to her I go to graduate third, I had the best grades because she used to do all the work for me, I get to call myself an engineer thanks to her."

I spun the web carefully, blending truth with strategic fiction. "Tala loves me very much. She's been hopelessly in love with me since the first time we met...I know because she's very bad at hiding it. One time she almost got caught taking my test paper to solve the questions for me before time runs out. She almost threw her future away for me."

"So you're marrying her out of pity?" My mother said sarcasticly.

"No, this isn't about pity...and it's not just a romance. It's a business deal. The most important one I will ever secure."

My mother raised and eyebrow so I carried on "You see, grandpa and I made a deal. If I close the deal with the QBG group that we've been negotiating over for years he'll make me the CEO."

My mom still didn't connect the dots, she asked "what does this have to do with Tala?"

I smirked and explained further "As you know Grandpa doesn't have much time left, the doctors say he'll live a few months at best, which means I don't have much time to secure the deal, to accelerate the process I need Tala's help; no one is as talented as her when it comes to technology, or when it comes to helping me sound like a real tech engineer. She'll do all the work for me in the background while I do what I do best, cast my spells and charm everyone in the room."

I watched the calculation happen in her eyes. Her disgust for Tala's "frame" warred with her lust for power and prestige. The latter, as I knew it would, won.

She looked at me, a new, cold respect in her gaze. She swallowed, a visible effort, as if forcing her pride down her throat. "I see," she said, her voice clipped. "You should have told me sooner. It's...  a good strategy"

"It is," I confirmed.

She straightened her already impeccable posture. "Very well. For the sake of your... career... and the family's future, I will... tolerate her." The word 'tolerate' was a bitter pill, but she swallowed it. "I will be the picture of a gracious mother-in-law today. But you, Amir, you must ensure this... alliance... is worth it."

With that, she turned and left the room, leaving behind a cloud of expensive perfume and a sealed pact. My father let out a low whistle. "Son, you play a dangerous game."

I turned back to the mirror, adjusting my tie. The nervous energy was gone, replaced by the cold, focused calm of a man who had just neutralized a threat. The wedding could proceed. The deal was on track.

Amir's Pov:

The final chord of our first dance song faded, and I released Tala, my smile never wavering. The wedding, by any objective measure, had been a resounding success. A deep, quiet relief settled in my chest. It went smoothly. More than smoothly, it had been productive.

As I'd guided Tala across the polished floor, our steps a perfectly rehearsed sequence, my mind was only half on the woman in my arms. The other half was cataloging the faces in the crowd, a curated collection of the city's most powerful and influential people were here. I hadn't just invited guests; I'd assembled a target audience. This wasn't just a wedding; it was the most exclusive networking gala of the season, disguised in white lace and flowers.

I'd spent the entire reception ensuring they were comfortable, their glasses never empty, their conversations peppered with my strategic presence. A hand on a shoulder here, a shared laugh there. By the time the cake was cut, I had already secured three tentative lunch meetings and a firm commitment to explore a joint venture with the CEO of Al-Mansour Holdings. I was a businessman at my core; I never wasted an opportunity, and this was a golden one.

When the dance ended, I didn't look at Tala. I scanned the room, my eyes quickly sweeping over the guests, ensuring the performance had landed. I saw the approving nods, the smiles. The impression was perfect.

It was time for the final, crucial act. I caught my mother's eye from across the room and gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod. She had been coldly compliant all day, a statue of toleration. But now, she played her part flawlessly. She glided towards us, my amiable father in tow, a velvet box in her hands.

The music softened. All eyes were on us.

"My dear Tala," my mother said, her voice projecting a warmth that didn't quite reach her eyes, though only I could see the ice behind them. "Welcome to our family."

She opened the box, revealing a heavy, intricately crafted golden necklace that glittered under the lights. A collective, soft gasp rippled through the crowd.

My father, following his cues, beamed. "We wanted to give you something to show you how truly happy we are to have you as a daughter," he said, his genuineness providing a perfect counterbalance to my mother's performance.

I watched as my mother fastened the necklace around Tala's neck. It was garishly large, in my opinion, but it served its purpose: it was a visible, undeniable symbol of acceptance. It screamed "loving family" to everyone watching. Tala's eyes welled up, her hand fluttering to the cold gold. She was touched, completely disarmed by the grand gesture.

I leaned in and kissed her cheek softly for the crowd, a picture of a devoted groom. "It looks beautiful on you," I murmured, the words feeling like lines in a script. I hadn't complimented her looks much throughout the day, not in the gushing way she might have expected. Every interaction was calculated, every touch designed to build the narrative.

And the narrative was solid. As I stood there, with my "beaming" parents and my "radiant" new wife, I knew the performance had been flawless. I had played the role of the perfectly in-love groom so well that even I almost believed it. The deals were secured, the alliances were forged, and the public facade of the perfect family was now, officially complete.

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Tala's pov:

It was all so perfect, it felt like I had stepped inside a shimmering, beautiful dream. My very own fairy tale. I, Tala, the girl they used to call a giant and a nerd, was a princess for a day...His princess.

I couldn't stop looking at Amir. He was so devastatingly handsome today, it made my heart ache. Every detail of this day felt like a page from the romance novels I'd secretly adored. The way he had proposed, after all those years of silence, was a story I would tell our grandchildren. The way his hand found mine today, his fingers lacing through mine to lead me to our wedding reception, felt like a silent promise. A promise of forever.

Whenever a flutter of nervousness made my hands tremble, he would glance at me and smile, a private, reassuring curve of his lips that seemed to say, "I'm here. It's just you and me." When I'd worried about my heels, he had gently told me, "You don't have to wear them, I know they're not comfortable, my love. I only care about you being happy and well." I nearly melted on the spot. He was so thoughtful, so attuned to my needs, even on the day that was supposed to be about him too.

The entire reception was a whirlwind, but he was my anchor. He guided me through the crowd, his hand a steady presence on my back. "Tala, I'd like you to meet Mr. Sami, our brilliant head of engineering," he'd say, his voice brimming with pride. Or, "This is Mrs. Nawal from Human Resources, and this is Mr. Fadi, one of our most important partners."

I smiled and shook hands, thanking each one for coming. In my head, it was so clear: he was just so proud. Proud of me, his bride. He was introducing me to the important people in his world because I was now the most important part of it. He was showing me off, wanting them to see the woman he loved so much. I didn't think twice about the fact that nearly everyone he introduced me to was connected to his company. They were our guests, after all. We had to be gracious.

There were little things, of course, tiny cracks in the perfect porcelain of the day, but my mind, so full of love and light, quickly painted over them.

I realized, with a small pang, that I hadn't met much of his family. I'd only seen his elegant mother a handful of times before the wedding, and his kind but quiet father a few times more. But where were the others? I hadn't even met his sisters. I kept looking around for a crowd of aunts, uncles, cousins, the kind of noisy, loving chaos I was used to.

At one point, a woman who introduced herself as Amir's aunt approached me. She looked me up and down and said with a tight smile, "My, you are a beautiful girl. For a big girl, of course." The words stung, but I brushed them away. She was just from a different generation. One of his cousins also came by briefly to say hello, but that was it. The rest of his family seemed like distant spectators.

The biggest crack appeared during the family photos. I stood nearby, waiting to be called forward, to stand beside my new husband and his parents. But the photographer only gestured to Amir, his parents, and his two sisters. They arranged themselves, a perfect, closed unit. I stood there, my smile faltering, feeling like I was watching a portrait of a family I wasn't a part of. Amir didn't turn to wave me over. He just smiled for the camera, the dutiful son.

Later, I saw them huddled together, talking in low, serious tones. I started to walk towards them, thinking I should be included, but Amir's mother looked up and the conversation stopped. Amir simply turned and gave me that charming smile, but it felt different now-like a polite barrier.

In my heart, I made excuses for him. He's just busy, Tala. It's a stressful day. He has so many people to attend to. I thought to myself that he was already building our world together, a world of partnership and shared ambition. I said to myself that it must be what this is about.

Tala's Pov :

The scent of my wedding bouquet, the gardenias and peonies, still lingered in my hair three days later as I stood in the soaring, cold atrium of Vale Industries. I remember clutching my new handbag, a lavish gift from Amir, feeling utterly displaced in my cream-colored trouser suit. It was supposed to be for airport lounges. Not for this sterile temple of glass and ambition.

"I need you with me, Tala," Amir had said that morning, his hands on my shoulders as we stood before our bedroom mirror. His reflection had been so earnest, his dark eyes shadowed. "With Grandfather's health failing... the board is like a pack of wolves sniffing for any weakness. My technical team speaks of many issues, and I can't afford to lose time. Having you here, it steadies me. You understand the gears inside the clock."

My heart, that foolish, eager organ, had swelled. He remembered. He needed me-not just the wife, but the engineer. The top of our class. The one who'd patiently explained data structures over library coffee, whose notes he'd borrowed before every exam, who'd debugged his final-year project while he schmoozed the professors.

His charm had opened doors, but my work had built the foundations he walked across to get his degree. And now he was admitting, in his way, that he still needed that. The cancelled honeymoon was a bitter pill, but it was a necessity and intimate partnership. "Of course I'll come," I'd said, turning to hug him. "Wherever you need me."

That first day, I felt a strange, secret thrill. While he was in back-to-back meetings, I was given a temporary desk just outside his office. I organized his chaotic files, brought him coffee, and smiled at executives. When he'd stride out, his focus absolute, and pause to murmur, "Karl from DevOps mentioned a cascading failure in the new API. Can you listen in and just... translate it into human for me?" I'd nod, feeling essential. See? I'd think. Our strengths complement each other. He handles the people; I handle the problems.

The "emotional support" quickly found a tangible, technical shape. On the second day, he placed a thick technical report on my desk-a diagnostics analysis for their flagship software, dense with code snippets and server logs.

"My eyes glaze over after the first page of this, azizam," he sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, a gesture of charming defeat I recognized from our university days. "You always had the magic touch with this stuff. Remember how you fixed my recursion algorithm in twenty minutes? I was stuck for two days." He gave me that boyish, grateful smile that had always made my efforts feel worthwhile. "Just see if the summary makes sense to you. I trust your brain more than any of those overpaid consultants."

I was disarmed, flattered. He was acknowledging our history, my skill. I took the report home, spreading the pages across our dining table. It felt good to flex that part of my mind again, to see the elegant, broken logic in the data clusters. The next morning, I presented him with concise notes, pointing out the flawed testing parameters.

He scanned the paper, his brow furrowing in a convincing imitation of deep technical thought. Then he looked up, the relief on his face genuine. "Thank you, Tala. This is it. This is exactly the leverage I need. I knew you'd see what I couldn't." He kissed my forehead. "Would you mind presenting this to the tech team? Just an informal chat. If I go in there, it becomes a power play. If you go, it's just... brilliant insight. They'll listen to you."

And so, I did. I walked into a conference room of skeptical men and explained the logical fallacies in their report. The lead developer, Karl, initially bristled at being schooled, then his engineer's mind took over. "Huh," he grunted, peering at my notes. "She's right. The sample size is skewed. Classic oversight." He looked at me, not as the boss's wife, but as a peer. "You've got a sharp eye."

When I reported back, Amir was triumphant. "See? I told you. They respect competence. You're my secret weapon." He said it like a compliment, and I soaked it in. The "we" felt potent-his social intelligence directing my technical firepower.

But the dynamic began to take a troll on me. The "informal chats" became my standing meetings. The "translations" became me doing the actual analysis. He'd breeze in from a client lunch, smelling of expensive aftershave and deal-making, and drop a complex problem on my desk. "The investors are asking about cloud migration bottlenecks. I need a narrative by 4 PM. Something confident, with data. You know what sings to them."