His Regret After I Became A Dubai Heiress

CHAPTER 1: Divorced On our Anniversary I waited in the penthouse in Downtown Dubai. The table was set for two. White roses in the center, his favorite lamb biryani under a silver cover, and a small chocolate cake that said _Happy 3rd Anniversary_ in gold icing. Outside, the Burj Khalifa was lighting up for the evening show. Inside, the candles were slowly melting. It was 10:47 PM. My husband was late again. I checked my phone for the tenth time. No message. I had taken a half day off from my marketing job to cook all this. I wanted to tell him my good news. The doctor had finally said my health was improving after last year's miscarriage. We could try for a baby again. The door finally opened. Rayan Ahmed walked in, still in his driver uniform, car keys in his hand. He did not look at the flowers. He did not look at the cake. He looked tired and annoyed. Why are you still awake? he said. I stood up, smiling. "Happy anniversary, Rayan. I made biryani. Your favorite." He did not sit down. He placed a blue folder on the dining table, right on top of the anniversary cake. "Sara, we need to talk. Let's get divorced." For a moment, I thought I heard him wrong. The air conditioner hummed. The candles flickered. "What did you say?" He sighed, as if I was the one being difficult. "My mother found a girl for me. From our village. She is young, healthy. She can give me children. You cannot. The doctor said you have complications. I have waited one year since the miscarriage. I cannot wait anymore. My hands went cold. Rayan, I lost the baby because your mother pushed me during the argument. You were there. The doctor said I needed rest and treatment. He said I can still become a mother. It will just take time." That is what you always say," he said, turning to look out at the Burj Khalifa. "Time, time, time. My mother is right. You never wanted a child with a driver. You always wanted a richer life. You work in that office, you talk to rich clients. You are ashamed of me." I felt tears building, but I refused to cry. I had married this man three years ago when I had nothing. I left my family because they did not approve of him. I worked two jobs to pay for his father's surgery. I paid his sister's university fees. "Rayan, I am not ashamed of you. I married you when I had nothing." "You had nothing because you left your rich family for me," he said, and for a second his voice softened. "And now they will not even take you back. Sara, I am doing this for you too. If we divorce, you can go back to your father. You can have a better life." He pushed the blue folder toward me. Inside were divorce papers. He had already signed on the last page. Rayan Ahmed. His signature was hurried, like he wanted to finish quickly and leave. "Where do I sign?" I asked. My voice was barely a whisper. He pointed. "Here. And here." I picked up the pen. My hand was shaking so hard the ink smudged. Sara Al-Falasi. I signed. Just like that, three years of marriage ended on our anniversary, in a rented penthouse in Downtown Dubai, next to a melting chocolate cake. Rayan took the folder and put it in his bag. He looked at the biryani once, then at me. "I'm sorry, Sara. You will find someone better. Someone rich, like you deserve." He left. He did not close the door properly. The wind from the hallway blew out one of the candles. I stood alone, in a small apartment filled with food for two, now divorced. At 11:03 PM, my phone rang. An unknown number with a London code. "Is this Miss Sara Al-Falasi? This is Edward Whitcombe, senior solicitor at Whitcombe & Co., London. I am calling regarding your late father, Sheikh Rashid Al-Falasi." My knees went weak. My father. "Your father passed away this morning at 9:15 AM London time. Cardiac arrest. I am very sorry for your loss, Miss. He had not been well." I sank to the floor. I had not spoken to my father in three years. He had told me, "If you marry that driver, you are no longer my daughter." And I had chosen love. "He left a will," Mr. Whitcombe continued. "He asked me to contact you personally. He said... he said he never stopped loving you, even when you left." I could not speak. "Miss Al-Falasi, according to his will, you are now the sole heir to his entire estate. That includes Al-Falasi Holdings Group, the family villa in Emirates Hills, all properties in Dubai, Abu Dhabi, and Mayfair, London, and his private trust. The total value is approximately twenty billion US dollars. You are now one of the wealthiest women in Dubai." Twenty billion dollars. Yesterday, I was a driver's wife who could not afford fertility treatment. Today, I was divorced, fatherless, and a twenty-billion-dollar heiress. I looked at the anniversary cake on the table. The gold icing had started to melt. Happy 3rd Anniversary. I wiped my tears, stood up, and took off the apron I had worn to cook for a man who left me. I walked to the window and looked at the Burj Khalifa. It was still sparkling. The city did not care about my divorce. But tomorrow, it would. Tomorrow, I would walk into Al-Falasi Holdings Tower not as Sara the marketing assistant, but as Aisha Sara Al-Falasi, the CEO. And Rayan Ahmed would regret the night he chose a blue folder over a chocolate cake. END OF CHAPTER