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MidReal Story
Enemies to Lovers
Scenario:A lady named Sahara from Africa was forced to marry he enemy at the age of 20 and its now been 6 years there still enemies and married but she finds out she's pregnant
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Sahara
She is a woman from a wealthy family in Africa, forced into an arranged marriage with her husband's family. She is resilient, determined, and emotional. Sahara suffered a tragic loss, losing her 6monthold daughter and baby carrier. Her husband is unloving and manipulative, treating her as a servant rather than a wife. Despite their hostile relationship, Sahara discovers she is pregnant again, leaving her conflicted and hopeful for the future.
Husband (first_name_not_given)
He is the son of Sahara's late motherinlaw and the husband of Sahara. He is cold, heartless, and controlling. He views Sahara as a mere servant and not as his wife, treating her with disdain and disrespect. He prevents her from seeing her sister and shows no empathy towards Sahara’s emotional struggles. His marriage to Sahara is loveless and filled with tension, marked by his refusal to consummate the relationship.
Nana (name_not_given)
She is Sahara’s motherinlaw who passed away six years ago. She was a compassionate figure who tried to make amends for Sahara’s arranged marriage by leaving a substantial inheritance for Sahara. Her death leaves a void in Sahara's life, but her selfless actions continue to influence Sahara's journey towards selfempowerment. Sahara holds onto memories of Nana’s kindness to find strength amidst adversity.
I was forced to marry him six years ago when I turned 20.
We were enemies from the start and remained that way until now.
He married me for one reason: to get back at my family for not letting his family have a piece of land that belonged to us but was adjacent to his.
He hated me from the start and made sure I knew it.
He never loved me, not even once.
He never wanted to touch me, not even once.
I knew he hated me but I didn't know how much until I had his child.
After the child was born, he hated me even more.
He made sure I didn't see my sister, whom I loved so much, and he also made sure I didn't leave the house.
The only person I could talk to on the phone was my brother-in-law and his wife, my sister.
They lived in another country and we were not allowed to visit them.
I was not allowed to do anything I wanted to do.
He controlled every move I made.
Six years passed and still, we were enemies.
Not once did he show any love or affection towards me.
Not once did he want to be with me intimately.
I paced outside his study, my hands shaking in my pocket.
The pregnancy test was burning a hole in my pocket, like a weapon ready to be used.
I had been waiting for this moment for so long, and I couldn't afford to mess it up.
I took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
"Come in," he said, not even looking up from his laptop.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.
The room was dark, with heavy curtains covering the windows and dark wooden panels lining the walls.
It felt suffocating, but I didn't let that stop me.
I walked up to his desk and stood there, waiting for him to acknowledge me.
Finally, he looked up and frowned.
"What do you want?" he asked, his voice cold and detached.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to speak.
"I need to talk to you about our child," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. He raised an eyebrow, clearly uninterested in what I had to say.
"What about our child?" he asked, his tone dismissive.
I took another deep breath and continued.
"I need to know what you plan to do about our child's future," I said, my voice shaking slightly.
He rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively.
"I don't have time for this," he said, turning back to his laptop.
But I wasn't going to let him brush me off so easily.
I planted my feet firmly on the ground and spoke again, my voice rising with each word.
"You can't just ignore our child's existence," I said, my voice shaking with anger now.
He looked up at me again, his eyes narrowing as he took in my defiant stance.
"What do you want from me?" he asked, his voice cold and menacing now. I knew I had pushed him too far, but I couldn't stop now.
"I want to know what you plan to do about our child's education," I said, my voice firm now.
"And what about financial support? Will you provide for our child?"
His face darkened with each word I spoke, and I could see the anger building in his eyes.
Suddenly, he slammed his laptop shut and stood up from his chair, towering over me with his tall frame.
"How dare you question me?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous now.
I took a step back involuntarily, but then I remembered the pregnancy test in my pocket and pulled it out with trembling hands.
I stood my ground, even as he loomed over me.
My hand was still shaking, but I held the test firmly in my grip.
The study was dark, with heavy curtains blocking most of the afternoon light.
His face was in shadow, but I could see the anger in his eyes.
He slammed his palm down on the mahogany desk, making the lamp rattle.
"You're nothing but a servant here," he spat out.
"You have no right to question me."
My fingers closed around the plastic test, drawing strength from its presence in my hand.
I pulled it out of my pocket and thrust it forward, so that he could see the two pink lines clearly even in the dim light.
I watched his face contort as he processed what he was seeing.
His fingers gripped the edge of his desk, knuckles white with tension.
The study seemed smaller than ever before, the air thickening with each passing moment.
"Your second child," I said, my voice steadier than I expected.
His eyes snapped to mine, and for a moment, I saw recognition there - he remembered our first baby, the one we lost six months after birth.
He turned away from me then, pacing three steps left and three steps right in front of his desk.
His expensive shoes clicked against the hardwood floor with each step.
Finally, he stopped pacing and turned to face me once more.
There was a cold calculation in his eyes now.
"Get out," he said, his voice low and dangerous.
But I planted my feet firmly on the ground.
As tension crackles between us, a sudden knock breaks the standoff.
My husband's face twitches with annoyance at the interruption.
The door creaks open before either of us can respond, and I freeze.
The silhouette in the doorway is familiar, but I haven't seen her in three years.
Nana Naomi steps into the study, her eyes darting between my rigid posture and my husband's threatening stance.
She carries a large woven bag in one hand, its contents shifting as she moves.
Her traditional wrapper rustles softly around her ankles with each step.
I grip the edge of his mahogany desk, steadying myself against its solid surface.
The afternoon sun filters through the heavy curtains, casting long shadows across the room.
My voice comes out steadier than I expect as I explain how his mother, before she died, left me half of everything - including this house.
Nana Naomi's presence gives me strength.
I pull out the inheritance papers from my bag and spread them across his desk.
His face contorts with rage when I point to the specific clause about property rights.
I watch his face contort with rage as he snatches the papers from his desk, crumpling them in his fist.
The veins in his neck bulge as he steps toward me, but I plant my feet firmly on the hardwood floor.
Nana Naomi moves closer, her presence giving me strength.
My husband's breath comes in sharp bursts as he towers over me, jabbing his finger at my face.
"You think these papers give you power?" he snarls.
His spittle lands on my cheek, but I don't wipe it away.
Nana Naomi steps forward, her voice calm but firm.
"These papers are your mother's last wish, and you know it."
He hesitates, his eyes flickering with a mix of anger and something else—perhaps doubt.
I wipe the spit from my cheek with steady fingers and turn toward the large portrait hanging behind his desk.
The afternoon light catches the gold frame, illuminating his mother's gentle smile as she stands between us on our wedding day.
My voice stays level as I continue, "She spent her last months teaching me how to manage the estate accounts, how to make sure everything runs smoothly."
His shoulders tense as I speak.
"She wanted to leave a legacy, not just for you, but for our children too."
I pause, letting the weight of my words sink in.
"And her last words to me were about wanting grandchildren raised in a peaceful home, not in the midst of conflict."
Nana Naomi steps forward, placing her hand on the desk next to the crumpled inheritance papers.
Her eyes meet mine briefly before she turns to face him.
"Your mother would want what's best for everyone," she says softly.
His gaze drifts to the portrait behind his desk, where his mother's image seems to watch over us.
I watch his face soften as he stares at his mother's portrait, her gentle smile seeming to reach out to him.
His shoulders drop slightly, the tension in the room easing a fraction.
The crumpled inheritance papers lie on the desk between us, casting long shadows in the dim study light.
When he reaches for his mother's portrait, his hand trembles.
I step forward, placing the pregnancy test next to the papers.
His eyes dart between the test, the papers, and his mother's image.
Nana Naomi touches his shoulder, and for the first time in six years, he doesn't pull away.
He swallows hard, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Is it true? Are we really having a baby?"
I nod, my eyes meeting his with a mixture of hope and vulnerability.
