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MidReal Story
My Forbidden Princess
Scenario:this story is about business and betrayal and schemes and theft and fights and lawsuits and charity and lies and sex and nudity and adultery and bdsm and power and government and politics and my name is mohamed abdi i am a car brand owner and car company owner and my companys name is revolt and i am 24 years old and i am muscular and i have tattoos and dark skin and i became the richest man on the planet by inventing cars that drives on water and the car name brand is Revolt Motors and the cars runs on water and can drive for long hours and then be filled with water in the fuel tank and my father abdinur abdi he is 49 years old and he has dark skin and my mother layla abdi she has dark skin and my sister munira abdi is 18 years old and she has dark skin and my brother mahad abdi is 23 years old and he has dark skin and my parents didnt think i would be successful at anything but i proved them wrong and i now have 600 billion dollars in my bank account and the money is growing fast
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Mohamed Abdi
He is the founder of Revolt Motors, a revolutionary car company that invented cars driving on water. He is ambitious, determined, and rebellious. Mohamed grew up facing skepticism from his parents about his potential success. After facing bullying in school, he focused on building his business. His invention revolutionized transportation, earning him immense wealth and global recognition. Despite his success, Mohamed struggles with the consequences of his actions, such as being sued by his former business partner and dealing with the emotional turmoil of his personal relationships.
Abdinur Abdi
He is Mohamed's father, 49 years old. He is disciplined, optimistic, and resilient. After losing his job due to economic downturns, Abdinur relied on Mohamed to support the family. His faith in Mohamed grew stronger as he watched his son achieve unparalleled success. Abdinur maintains a firm yet loving parental role, balancing emotional support with practical expectations for Mohamed's development. His trust in Mohamed has been unshakeable throughout their journey to prosperity.
Layla Abdi
She is Mohamed's mother, 45 years old. She is nurturing, supportive, and strongwilled. Layla raised Mohamed and his siblings with unwavering faith in him despite the doubts from others. Her encouragement played a significant role in Mohamed's development and perseverance. Layla manages household affairs and takes care of the family's emotional needs. Her relationship with Mohamed is filled with love and appreciation for one another, providing comfort amidst the turmoil of their lives.
My name is Mohamed Abdi.
I am the owner of a car brand.
My company's name is Revolt.
I am 24 years old.
I have dark skin, tattoos, and a muscular body.
I am never thought to be successful at anything by my parents.
But I proved them wrong.
I became the richest man on earth.
I invented cars that drive on water, and the car name brand is Revolt Motors.
The cars run on water and can drive for long hours, then be filled with water in the fuel tank.
My father's name is Abdinur Abdi.
He is 49 years old and has dark skin.
My mother's name is Layla Abdi.
She has dark skin and is 45 years old.
I have a sister named Munira Abdi.
She is 18 years old, has dark skin, and is very innocent and caring.
I also have a brother named Mahad Abdi.
He is 23 years old, has dark skin, and is strong and hot-tempered.
He stands up to bullies at school for my sake.
My parents didn't think I would be successful at anything, but I proved them wrong.
I walk through my newest Revolt Motors dealership in Dubai, running my hand along the sleek hood of our flagship model.
The showroom gleams with polished metal and glass, while outside, a line of customers waits to test drive our water-powered vehicles.
A maintenance technician demonstrates to a wealthy sheikh how to refill the tank with bottled water, pouring it directly into the fuel port.
The sheikh's eyes widen as the engine purrs to life.
My phone buzzes - another alert about our stock price surging past Tesla's.
I check my account balance: 601 billion.
Opening another dealership was the right move.
I lean back in my leather chair on the 85th floor of Revolt Motors' New York headquarters, the Manhattan skyline stretching before me through floor-to-ceiling windows.
My assistant enters with a stack of papers and a fresh copy of Forbes magazine.
The cover features my face, comparing my $601 billion net worth to Elon Musk's $400 billion.
I scan the digital dashboard on my desk, where multiple screens display real-time data from our dealerships around the world: Tokyo, London, Dubai, Sydney.
A notification pops up: our Berlin facility just sold its 10,000th water-powered vehicle this month.
"Mr. Abdi," my assistant says, placing the magazine on my desk, "there's someone here to see you—your brother, Mahad."
I raise an eyebrow, surprised. "Mahad? What's he doing here in New York?"
"He says it's urgent," she replies, her voice tinged with concern.
Mahad enters my office, his shoulders tense, avoiding my gaze.
He paces in front of my desk before settling into the leather chair across from me.
I notice he's fidgeting with his store name tag.
"Mahad, what's going on?"
I ask, studying his expression.
"I can't keep working retail while watching you change the world," he blurts out, frustration evident in his voice.
"I'm making $100 an hour as a cashier at one of your dealerships. I feel like I'm wasting my potential."
The real-time earnings counter on my wall ticks up another $400.
I lean back in my chair, observing my brother's determined look.
I remember how he stood up to bullies for me when we were kids.
Without hesitation, I reach for the board member contract in my drawer and slide it across the desk.
"Welcome to the team, Mahad."
I slide the contract across my polished mahogany desk, and Mahad picks it up, reading each line carefully.
His eyes widen at the seven-figure salary and extensive benefits package.
The office falls silent except for the gentle hum of computers and the rhythmic ticking of our stock counter.
When he reaches the final page, his hands tremble slightly.
He picks up my Mont Blanc pen and signs with deliberate strokes.
Then, he stands up.
Our handshake is firm, meaningful - different from our casual brotherly gestures.
His previous frustration melts into a proud smile as I walk him to the executive elevator.
I watch as he adjusts his tie in the mirrored walls of the elevator, his reflection repeating infinitely.
The doors begin to close, but he suddenly holds them, turning back to me with an intense look.
"I won't let you down," he says, the words carrying the same protective tone from our childhood.
I nod, knowing he means it.
As the doors finally close, I catch a glimpse of him straightening his shoulders, already carrying himself differently.
I return to my desk, feeling the weight of the decision settle in.
My assistant re-enters, a curious expression on her face.
"Did you just make your brother a board member?" she asks, clearly intrigued by the sudden turn of events.
I settle back into my chair and open my laptop.
"Yes," I reply, my fingers hovering over the keyboard as I consider the next step.
"I'll send out an email to the other board members."
She nods and leaves the office, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
The stock ticker on the wall continues its steady climb as I compose the email, each word carefully chosen to convey the significance of this change.
I know the other board members will have questions - nepotism isn't our usual way of doing things.
But Mahad's loyalty and business acumen, proven by his success in managing our busiest dealership, make him the ideal candidate.
After three revisions, I finally click send, knowing this will set off a chain reaction of discussions at next week's meeting.
The email notification chimes as I lean back, contemplating the ripple effects of my decision.
My phone buzzes with a message from Mahad: "Thank you for believing in me."
I type back quickly, "You've always had it in you, now let's show them what we can do together."
I organize the papers on my desk, preparing for the emergency board meeting called to discuss Mahad's appointment.
Through the glass walls of my office, I can see some board members arriving early, gathering in small groups with concerned expressions.
My secretary enters with the final attendance sheet - all twelve members will be present.
The stock ticker above the conference room door shows our shares dipping slightly, likely due to rumors about my brother's new position.
I straighten my tie and review my talking points one last time, focusing on Mahad's success in managing our busiest dealership and his proven loyalty.
The door opens, and the board members file in, taking their seats around the long table.
"Why wasn't this discussed with us first?" asks Mr. Thompson, his voice laced with skepticism.
I meet his gaze steadily, "Because I wanted to ensure we had the best candidate before bringing it to the table."
I sit in my private conference room at Revolt Motors headquarters, the soft glow of the overhead lights reflecting off the polished mahogany table.
My assistant enters with a pitcher of fresh water and a stack of presentation materials, arranging them neatly on the table.
I glance at my watch, noting that our meeting with Elon Musk is only minutes away.
Security buzzes through, confirming that he has arrived in the lobby.
My heart rate quickens slightly, but I maintain my composure, adjusting my Italian suit and running a hand through my hair.
I take one last look at the stock tickers displayed on the wall, where our market cap now doubles that of Tesla.
Through the glass walls of my office, I see him approaching with his entourage.
His expression is unreadable, but I can sense a mix of curiosity and apprehension.
The door swings open, and I rise to greet him, ready to redefine the future of the industry.
I sit across from him at the conference table, maintaining eye contact as he begins his pitch.
His words trigger a vivid memory from six years ago, and I lean forward, interrupting him.
"Do you remember when I visited Tesla's New York office?"
I ask, my voice steady.
He pauses, taken aback by my sudden interruption.
As an 18-year-old with nothing but dreams and a passion for innovation, I had presented my water-powered engine concept to their board of directors.
The room had erupted in dismissive laughter, and they had rejected my idea outright.
Now, watching him shift uncomfortably in his chair, I continue to recount that pivotal moment.
"I was just a teenager with a vision," I say, my voice unwavering.
"Your company dismissed me without giving me a chance. But that rejection fueled my determination."
I rise from my chair and gesture toward the door.
"Our meeting is over," I say firmly.
I watch as he and his team gather their belongings, their shoulders slumped in defeat.
As they head toward the door, he turns back to me, his face strained.
"I just got off the phone with Trump," he says, his voice laced with desperation.
"He's willing to provide government support for Tesla."
My jaw clenches at the mention of Trump's name.
I turn to face the stock display behind me, where Tesla's shares continue to plummet while Revolt Motors rises steadily.
Security arrives to escort them out, but before they leave, he makes one last plea.
"Let's work together," he says, his voice tinged with urgency.
I remain silent as they exit my office, and through the glass walls, I watch them make their way out of the building.
The future belongs to those who dare to redefine it.
I park my self-driving Revolt car outside the small restaurant my parents own, the scent of Somali spices wafting through the evening air.
Inside, Mom and Munira rush to hug me while Mahad grins from behind the counter.
Dad stays in the kitchen, deliberately clattering pots as he cooks.
When I approach him with the $20 million check, he turns his back, continuing to stir the sauce.
"The restaurant needs you," he says, his voice strained.
"Not your charity."
Mom glances at the check longingly but stays silent.
I linger in the living room after dinner, watching Dad avoid eye contact while Mom fusses with the dishes in the kitchen.
The familiar scent of Somali spices fills the air as I pull out the check again.
"Please, take it," I say, placing it on the coffee table.
Dad's jaw tightens as he stares at the wall.
"The restaurant needs repairs, new equipment."
Mom glances at the check longingly but stays silent.
Dad stands abruptly, his chair scraping the floor.
"Keep your money. I need a son in this restaurant, not your charity."
I nod, understanding that some things can't be bought.
I sit with my father at our worn kitchen table, the rejected check still visible on the coffee table behind us.
Mom brings out traditional Somali halwa, its sweet aroma filling the air.
For the first time tonight, Dad asks about my first water engine prototype.
I describe working late nights in our garage, testing different configurations until it finally worked.
His stern expression softens as I speak.
He serves us both tea, leaning forward when I mention how his old tools helped me build the initial model.
The familiar clink of his spoon against the cup echoes through countless childhood meals.
"I always knew you were up to something big," Dad says, his voice softer now.
"But I never imagined it would be this."
Mom smiles gently, placing a hand on Dad's shoulder.
The kitchen falls silent except for the hum of the old refrigerator.
Dad stares at the check for a long moment, his weathered hands gripping his teacup.
Finally, he reaches out and takes it, his fingers trembling slightly.
I stand and wrap my arms around him, feeling his resistance melt as he hugs me back.
After embracing Mom, Mahad, and Munira, I walk to my Revolt car parked outside.
As I drive away, the restaurant's warm glow fades into the night, leaving behind a promise of new beginnings.
I drive through the evening traffic, processing the weight of Dad finally accepting my help.
The GPS guides me up winding roads to my hilltop mansion.
Armed guards verify my identity through bulletproof glass at the gates before they open.
As I pull into the circular driveway, Chef Maria waves from the kitchen window where she's preparing dinner.
Inside, maids clean the marble floors as I pass by, and I nod to my personal trainer leaving the gym.
I drive through the winding roads leading to my hilltop estate, passing the houses where my siblings now live near our childhood home.
The setting sun casts long shadows as I approach the first security checkpoint.
Guards verify my identity through bulletproof glass before the reinforced gates slide open.
My Revolt car glides past the manicured lawn where two armed security officers patrol.
Inside, I find Chef Maria preparing dinner in the industrial kitchen while a maid restocks the personal bar.
"Did you tell him about the investors?" Chef Maria asks, glancing up from her chopping board.
"Not yet," I reply, leaning against the counter.
"I'm waiting for the right moment to explain why I turned them down."
She nods, her eyes returning to the vegetables.
I head to the foyer, where a maid is polishing the marble floor.
The scent of fresh polish mingles with the aroma of Chef Maria's cooking.
I pass through three checkpoints, each requiring a fingerprint and retinal scan.
The security team nods as I approach, their eyes fixed on the screens displaying my identity.
Once inside, I make my way to my private bar, where my personal bartender pours me a whiskey.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the glittering New York skyline stretches out below.
The house feels emptier than usual tonight, despite the staff's presence.
I step into my master bathroom, its marble surfaces gleaming under the recessed lighting.
The rainfall showerhead drenches me as I methodically wash away the day's tension with imported shampoo and handcrafted soap.
Wrapping myself in plush Egyptian cotton towels, I catch my reflection in the steam-covered mirror.
The news plays quietly from the bathroom TV, showing Revolt dealerships across Asia selling out their inventory.
My phone buzzes with alerts about our stock surge, but I ignore it, focusing instead on the comfort of my California king bed.
As I settle into the bed, the door creaks open and Dad steps in, looking more frail than I remember.
"Did you really turn them down?" he asks, his voice a mix of disbelief and curiosity.
"Yeah," I reply, meeting his gaze, "I realized that keeping control means more than just numbers on a spreadsheet."
I stretch lazily in my king-sized bed, the Egyptian cotton sheets sliding against my bare skin.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I watch the heavy rain pound against the bulletproof glass.
The massive TV on my bedroom wall automatically turns on, displaying CNBC's coverage of Revolt Motors' latest market surge.
My phone buzzes with notifications - our stock has jumped another 15% overnight, pushing my net worth to 700 billion.
Chef Maria knocks softly, bringing in a silver tray with my breakfast.
I take a deep breath, knowing that this is just the beginning of a new chapter in my life.
I recline in my home theater, sipping Earl Grey tea from a delicate porcelain cup.
The news channels flicker on the screen as I flip through them.
My stomach tightens when I see Elon Musk standing beside Trump at a press conference.
I quickly switch to Bloomberg, where analysts excitedly discuss Revolt Motors' unprecedented 90% stock surge.
Their words fuel my energy, but I stay put, grabbing fresh popcorn from the automated dispenser.
The latest action movie plays on the screen, and I settle in to watch it.
After the film ends, I head to my marble bathroom and brush my teeth.
The morning sun glints off the chrome finish of my Revolt car as I drive through Manhattan traffic toward headquarters.
I adjust my Brioni suit and Patek Philippe watch in the mirror, making sure I look the part of a CEO.
I navigate the heavy traffic smoothly, my mind focused on the day ahead at Revolt Motors.
As I pull into the headquarters' parking lot, I see employees bustling around, excited about our global sales.
Each dealership reports selling cars for $60,000 across cities and countries worldwide.
"Did you hear?" my assistant, Claire, says as she rushes to my side.
"What is it, Claire?" I ask, sensing urgency in her voice.
"The board wants an emergency meeting; they think Musk is planning a hostile takeover."
I adjust my new Armani suit in the mirror of my Revolt car, making sure I look perfect.
Then I pull up to the Forbes Gala venue, where the red carpet stretches from the curb to the entrance.
Paparazzi cameras flash constantly, and security personnel in black suits check my ID and invitation before letting me in.
Inside, the grand ballroom is filled with celebrities and business leaders.
I spot Elon Musk and Trump huddled in one corner, while The Weeknd performs on stage.
Jeff Bezos approaches me with a champagne glass, congratulating me on Revolt's success.
I notice Mark Zuckerberg watching our interaction intently from across the room.
I pull up to the Forbes Gala in my Revolt car, wearing an expensive suit.
Security checks my driver's license before letting me in.
Inside, the grand ballroom buzzes with celebrities and billionaires.
I see Donald Trump and Elon Musk talking in a corner, while The Weeknd performs on stage.
Jeff Bezos comes over to congratulate me on Revolt Motors' success, and I notice Mark Zuckerberg watching us from across the room.
As I mingle, I see Lady Gaga, Ariana Grande, and other stars.
The atmosphere is electric, but I stay focused on the business implications of this gathering.
I make my way through the crowd, nodding at familiar faces.
Before I can introduce myself, whispers of "Mohamed Abdi" and "Revolt Motors" spread.
Celebrities and tech moguls gravitate toward me, forming a circle of admirers.
Trump and Elon stay in their corner, visibly tense as they watch my growing audience.
Lady Gaga interrupts her conversation with Ariana Grande to shake my hand, while Mark Cuban eagerly discusses potential investments.
The attention feels surreal - everyone knows who I am before I can say a word.
Standing in the center of the Forbes Gala ballroom, I share my journey with the gathered elite crowd.
I graduated high school at 16, pitched my water-powered engine to Tesla, and watched as Elon Musk laughed in my face.
I invested my life savings in stocks to fund Revolt Motors' first prototype.
Today, we have dealerships in every major city from Tokyo to London.
The stock ticker on my phone reads $720 billion as I speak.
"Impressive numbers," Zuckerberg says, stepping forward with a nod.
"But I heard whispers that your engine isn't as green as you claim," he adds, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"Is that why Musk is so interested?" Bezos interjects, raising an eyebrow as he sips his champagne.
Standing at the center of the Forbes Gala ballroom, I lift my champagne flute while the crowd falls silent.
The crystal glass catches the light as I address the gathered tech titans and celebrities.
My voice carries across the room, acknowledging how far we've come from garage experiments to revolutionizing transportation.
I notice Musk's face tighten as I emphasize "collaboration."
Bezos and Zuckerberg exchange glances, likely weighing my sincerity against their earlier skepticism.
Lady Gaga raises her glass first, followed by a wave of others.
"Let's cut to the chase," Zuckerberg says, lowering his glass.
"What exactly do you want from us?" Bezos asks, his tone both curious and cautious.
"I want a partnership that changes the world," I reply, meeting their eyes with unwavering determination.
I lead Bezos away from the crowded ballroom, through a side door to a private corner of the gala.
The room is quiet, with only the soft hum of conversation in the distance.
We take seats at a small table, each with a glass of champagne in hand.
I lean forward, eager to discuss business without interruptions.
"So, how does it work?" he asks, his eyes locked on mine.
"Revolt Motors' water-powered trucks," I explain, pulling out my phone to show him videos of our engines in action.
"We've tested them with various types of water - bottled water, tap water, even seawater."
I click through the videos, demonstrating how our trucks can run smoothly on any water source.
Bezos watches intently, his expression changing from curiosity to interest as he sees the potential.
"And how long do they run on a single tank?"
"Twenty-four hours," I reply, "and refueling takes less than five minutes."
His eyes light up at the cost savings alone.
"I see," he says, taking a sip of champagne.
"And what kind of partnership are you looking for?" "A deal that changes the game," I say, leaning closer.
"Amazon's delivery fleet runs on diesel. We could convert those trucks to run on water. Think about it - no more fuel costs, no more pollution. It's a win-win."
Bezos pulls out his phone and starts crunching numbers.
After a moment, he looks up at me with a smile.
"I like it," he says, extending his hand.
"Let's shake on it."
I grasp his hand firmly as cameras flash around us, capturing this historic moment.
The handshake lingers while reporters rush forward, their questions overlapping.
Bezos maintains eye contact, his smile genuine.
"I'll set up meetings with my logistics team next week," he says.
Behind us, I notice Musk's face darkening as he whispers to Trump.
The crowd's excited murmurs grow louder when Bezos announces to nearby guests that Amazon's entire fleet will convert to Revolt Motors' water-powered technology.
"That's quite the announcement," Musk says, approaching with a forced smile.
"Are you sure your engines can handle the scale of Amazon's operations?" he questions, his tone laced with skepticism.
"We're more than ready," I reply confidently, "and soon, you'll see just how obsolete your technology is."
I lead Musk through the underground garage beneath our headquarters, the sound of our footsteps echoing off the walls.
He attempts to make small talk, but I remain silent, focused on the task at hand.
We approach a sleek black vehicle, its chrome trim gleaming under spotlights.
I tap my fingerprint on the door sensor, and it unlocks with a soft click.
I gesture for him to take the driver's seat, and he does so with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.
I explain the simple water injection system and point to the clear tank that shows pure water as fuel.
His expression shifts from doubt to intrigue as he starts the engine with a quiet hum.
I stand at the podium in Amazon's Seattle headquarters, adjusting my tie before the press conference begins.
Behind me, a line of gleaming Revolt Motors delivery trucks stretches across the parking lot, their water tanks filled and ready for service.
Jeff sits in the front row, nodding as I detail how our partnership has already converted 30% of Amazon's fleet to water power.
The quarterly profits displayed on screens show record-breaking numbers for both companies.
I shake hands with Jeff as the auditorium empties, the massive screens still displaying our success metrics.
Maintenance staff begin clearing the stage while others dismantle the podium.
Jeff pulls me aside near the podium, speaking in a hushed tone.
"We'll be in touch soon," he says, his voice filled with excitement.
"There's much more to explore in this partnership."
He pauses, glancing around cautiously before continuing.
"Remember, in this industry, we need allies. We can't let others undermine our progress."
I nod, intrigued by his words and the hint of industry politics I've yet to fully grasp.
We exchange contact information on our phones, and I notice his security team watching us closely from a distance.
I exit through a private entrance, where Jeff's security team is waiting.
They escort me to the Revolt car, which I had left parked in a designated spot.
As I approach, the car recognizes me and the doors open automatically.
I slide into the driver's seat, surrounded by the luxurious leather interior.
The dashboard screen flickers to life, and I input my destination: Los Angeles.
The engine hums quietly as I fill the transparent fuel tank with water from a crystal bottle.
With a smooth motion, I pull away from the curb and merge into Seattle's rainy streets.
In my rearview mirror, I watch as the iconic Space Needle fades into the distance.
As I settle into the drive, my phone buzzes with an incoming call from Musk.
"Did you hear what Jeff said about needing allies?" he asks, his voice tinged with urgency.
"Yeah, but what exactly are we up against?" I reply, sensing there's more beneath the surface.
I pull into the circular driveway of my hilltop estate, passing through three security checkpoints where guards verify my identity.
The garage door opens automatically, revealing a collection of luxury vehicles.
I park the Revolt car next to a Bugatti.
Inside the mansion, Chef Maria greets me with a warm meal while maids quietly polish the marble floors.
Exhausted from the long drive, I sink into my leather couch in the living room.
My phone lights up with messages - Mahad and Munira sending excited congratulations about the Amazon partnership.
I wake up in my silk sheets, stretching as sunlight filters through the bulletproof windows.
After a hot shower in my marble bathroom, I brush my teeth while checking notifications on my smart mirror.
Chef Maria serves my usual breakfast on the terrace - egg whites, avocado toast, and fresh fruit.
Opening my banking app, I nearly drop my phone.
The Amazon partnership has doubled my net worth overnight to 1.2 trillion dollars.
Live footage shows Revolt delivery trucks already operating in Tokyo, London, and Dubai.
As I stare at the screen in disbelief, my phone rings again, this time displaying Mahad's name.
"Hey, did you see the news?" he asks, his voice a mix of excitement and concern.
"Yeah, but something feels off," I reply, lowering my voice. "Why would Jeff emphasize allies unless there's a threat we don't know about?"
I direct my staff to prepare a celebration dinner.
Chef Maria coordinates with additional caterers in my grand kitchen, where marble floors reflect the light.
Maids arrange traditional Somali dishes alongside gourmet options.
Security personnel verify each vendor, setting up extra checkpoints.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I see my family's modest car approach the gate.
My heart races as they pass through security, knowing they've never seen my wealth up close.
Dad hesitates at the mansion's entrance while Mom and my siblings stare wide-eyed at the crystal chandeliers.
I lead them into the formal dining room, where Chef Maria has arranged an elaborate spread.
The long table is set with gold-trimmed plates, crystal glasses, and a mix of traditional Somali dishes and gourmet cuisine.
Dad looks around before taking his seat at the head of the table, while Mom keeps glancing at the gold-trimmed plates.
We pass the traditional bariis around the table, filling our plates with suugo, sabaayad, and goat meat.
Mahad tells us about his first board meeting, while Munira shares her college acceptance news.
The familiar scent of Mom's homemade suugo mixes with truffle sauce.
Finally, Dad breaks the silence, telling stories about my childhood experiments in his garage.
A proud smile spreads across his face as he looks up at the crystal chandelier above us.
I stand at the head of my dining table, crystal glass raised high as the chandelier light catches its facets.
The scent of Mom's traditional Somali dishes mingles with Chef Maria's gourmet creations.
Looking around at my family seated at the ornate table, I begin.
"To new beginnings, to Revolt Motors, and to the people who made it possible."
Dad straightens in his chair, his earlier hesitation fading as he grips his water glass.
Mahad adjusts his board member tie, while Munira beams, her college acceptance letter visible in her purse.
Mom dabs her eyes with an embroidered napkin as I continue.
"Mahad, your first board meeting is a milestone. Munira, I know you're worried about college expenses, but we'll figure it out."
Munira's smile falters as she picks at her food.
"What's wrong?"
I ask.
She hesitates before speaking.
"I'm worried about college. The total cost for four years is $280,000."
Without thinking, I pull out my phone and show her the confirmation email - tuition paid in full.
Her eyes widen as she sees the receipt.
"But—"
I cut her off by sliding the printed confirmation across the table.
Mom tears up while Dad watches silently.
I watch as Munira's hands tremble, her eyes filling with tears as she holds the receipt.
The chandelier light catches on the paper as she reads the amount again.
Mom wipes her eyes with her embroidered scarf while Mahad claps me on the back.
Even Dad's stern expression softens as he nods approvingly.
Chef Maria brings out a special dessert - traditional Somali halwa alongside French pastries.
Munira finally looks up from the paper, launches herself across the table, and hugs me tight, nearly knocking over the crystal glasses.
"How did you manage to do this?" Munira asks, her voice muffled against my shoulder.
I chuckle softly, "Let's just say Revolt Motors had a good year, and I wanted to invest in something that truly matters."
Dad clears his throat, a rare hint of emotion in his voice, "You've made us all proud, son."
I walk them to the grand foyer, the TV shows we watched together flickering off as Chef Maria clears the dessert plates.
Mom hugs me tightly, her scarf damp from happy tears about Munira's college news.
Dad grips my shoulder with a newfound respect, while Mahad adjusts his board member tie one last time.
Munira clutches her tuition receipt as they pass through the security checkpoints.
We stand in my mansion's grand foyer.
Mom squeezes me tightly one last time, her eyes still glistening.
Dad's hug is different now - warmer after seeing how I've helped Munira.
Mahad gives me a firm handshake that turns into a bear hug.
Security opens the main door; cool night air rushes in.
They walk together toward their car, turning back to wave as they pass the final checkpoint.
I remain in the doorway long after their taillights fade into the darkness beyond the security gates.
The mansion feels emptier now, despite the staff moving quietly behind me.
Chef Maria approaches to clear the last of the dessert plates but pauses when she sees me still watching the driveway.
The night air carries traces of Mom's perfume and Dad's cologne.
Security cameras track their car until it turns onto the main road.
I close the door gently, feeling the weight of solitude settle in.
I walk into my private office suite, scanning my fingerprint at three security checkpoints along the way.
Settling into my leather chair, I pull up real-time sales data on multiple screens.
The numbers flash rapidly - Beijing dealership sold 500 units today, London reports 300 sales, and Dubai's numbers keep climbing.
My personal wealth counter ticks up to 1.3 trillion as more water-powered cars leave showrooms worldwide.
A notification pops up showing our newest factory in Mumbai reaching maximum production capacity.
"Maria, do you ever wonder if all this success is worth the loneliness?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
She pauses, setting down the plates gently. "Sometimes, but then I see how many lives you've changed, and I think maybe it is."
"Maybe," I reply, staring at the screens, "but what if the life I wanted to change most was my own?"
I step out of my chauffeur-driven car and onto the red carpet, adjusting my tailored suit as photographers snap pictures.
The bright lights from the cameras blind me for a moment as I walk into the venue.
The event is another gala, this time to celebrate the achievements of young entrepreneurs and innovators in various fields.
I'm here because my company is one of the sponsors.
As I enter the grand hall, I notice a woman standing alone near the bar.
She's strikingly beautiful, with long blonde hair and a sleek black dress that hugs her curves perfectly.
Her skin is light, almost porcelain, and her tattoos are visible on her arms and neck.
She looks like she could be a model or an actress.
"Hi," she says with a smile as I approach her.
"I'm Sasha Michaels."
"Sasha Michaels? As in the famous model-actress?"
I ask, surprised.
"The one and only," she replies with a laugh.
"I didn't know you were going to be here."
"I wasn't planning on it, but I decided to come at the last minute," she explains.
"I needed a break from work."
"Work? You mean modeling and acting?"
"Yes. It can be stressful at times," she replies with a sigh.
"I know how you feel," I say sympathetically.
"Running a company can be stressful too."
"Really? What kind of company do you own?" "I own an electric car company," I reply proudly.
"It's called EcoCars."
"EcoCars? I've heard of that company. Aren't they known for their innovative designs and eco-friendly technology?"
"That's right," I say with a smile.
"We're trying to make a difference in the world by providing people with sustainable transportation options."
"That's amazing," Sasha says, impressed.
"I wish more companies were like yours."
"Thank you," I reply humbly.
"It's not easy being an entrepreneur, but it's worth it in the end."
"I agree," Sasha says with a nod.
"There's nothing better than seeing your hard work pay off."
We continue talking for a while longer, discussing our shared passion for innovation and sustainability.
As we talk, I notice that Sasha is different from the other women I've met at these types of events.
She's smart and funny, and she has a unique perspective on life.
As the night unfolds, I realize that maybe, just maybe, this unexpected encounter could be the change I've been searching for.
I lead Sasha through the grand entrance of my mansion, where security guards greet us.
They scan her ID and check our bags before we proceed.
"Wow, this place is amazing," she says as we walk into the main hall.
The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a stunning view of the city lights below.
Sasha pauses at the window, looking out at the view.
Her reflection is visible in the glass, mingling with the cityscape behind her.
We continue walking through the main hall, passing by several pieces of modern art on display.
Sasha stops to admire each piece, asking questions about the artists and their inspiration.
I explain the significance of each piece, sharing my own insights and interpretations.
As we reach the end of the hall, Chef Maria emerges from the kitchen with a tray of champagne glasses.
"Welcome, Mr. Williams," she says with a smile.
"I see you have a guest."
"Thank you, Maria," I reply, taking a glass from the tray and offering it to Sasha.
She smiles and takes a sip of the champagne.
As we continue our tour of the mansion, I point out various features and amenities, including my private home theater and gym.
Sasha asks questions about my business and how I became successful.
I share my story with her, explaining how I started my company from scratch and built it into a global brand. As we approach my private bar, Sasha stops to admire the marble countertops and leather stools.
"Your place is really impressive," she says with a smile.
"Thank you," I reply, pouring us each a drink from behind the bar.
"So, what do you do for fun?"
Sasha asks as she sips her drink.
"I enjoy traveling and trying new things," I reply with a smile.
"I also like to spend time outdoors when I can."
"Me too," Sasha says with a nod.
"I love hiking and camping in the mountains."
"That sounds amazing," I say with envy.
"I've always wanted to go camping in the mountains."
"You should come with me sometime," Sasha suggests with a smile.
"I'd love to take you on an adventure."
As we continue talking, I realize that Sasha is different from any other woman I've met before. She's smart and funny, but also kind and genuine.
I lean against the bar, sipping my drink as Sasha moves closer.
Her perfume fills the air, mingling with the scent of aged whiskey.
We continue talking, sharing stories and laughter as we enjoy our drinks.
Our conversation flows easily, jumping from business to personal interests and everything in between.
As the night wears on, I find myself becoming more and more comfortable around Sasha.
She's easy to talk to, and I feel like I can be myself around her without worrying about judgment or expectation.
"So, what do you think about Tesla?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Isn't their technology a little outdated?"
I laugh at her joke, feeling a spark of electricity run through me.
"Maybe," I reply with a smile, "but they're still a great company."
"I guess," she says with a shrug, "but I prefer EcoCars."
"Of course," I say with a grin, "you're biased."
She leans in closer, her hand touching my arm as she speaks.
"I'm just saying that there are better options out there."
I look into her eyes, feeling the heat between us growing stronger by the second.
"You're right," I reply softly, "there are always better options."
As we gaze into each other's eyes, I can feel the tension building between us.
It's as if time has stopped and all that matters is this moment right here. She leans in closer, her lips brushing against mine as she whispers something in my ear.
"I think you're one of those better options," she says with a smile.
I kiss her back, tasting the sweetness of champagne on her lips.
As our lips move together in perfect harmony, I realize that maybe this is exactly what I need right now - someone to share my life with, someone who understands me for who I am.
After a few moments of passion, we pull away from each other and look into each other's eyes.
Sasha smiles at me and takes my hand in hers.
"I had a great time tonight," she says softly.
"Would you like to do it again sometime?"
I nod eagerly and pull out my phone to get her number.
As we exchange contact information, Sasha writes something down on a napkin and hands it to me.
"This is my number," she says with a smile.
"Call me tomorrow and we can set up another time to meet."
As I watch her walk away, I realize that for the first time in a long time, I'm looking forward to tomorrow.
I stand at the entrance of my mansion, watching as Sasha's car pulls away.
Her perfume still lingers in the air, a subtle reminder of her presence.
The security team scans her car through each checkpoint as it leaves the premises.
I remain standing there, fixed in place, savoring the moment we just shared.
Chef Maria appears with a knowing smile, clearing the champagne glasses from the bar.
My phone buzzes with a text from Sasha, confirming our plans for tomorrow.
I watch through the security monitors as her car's red taillights disappear into the darkness beyond my gates.
"Did you find what you were looking for tonight?" Chef Maria asks, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.
"I think I might have," I reply, still feeling the warmth of Sasha's touch.
"Good," she says, nodding approvingly, "it's about time you let someone in."
I sit in my home office, checking the global sales reports for Revolt on the wall of monitors in front of me.
My phone vibrates on the desk, pulling my attention away from the numbers and charts.
Sasha's name appears on the screen, and I pause mid-analysis.
The wall of monitors fades into background noise as I consider my response.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, remembering the scent of her perfume and the feel of her lips against mine from earlier.
Chef Maria enters with a steaming cup of coffee, setting it down beside me with a knowing smile.
She catches my distracted expression and quietly exits the room without a word.
I stare at my phone, my heart beating slightly faster as I contemplate what to say.
Finally, I tap the heart emoji and hit send.
I sit back in my chair, staring at the screen as the global sales reports continue to flash across the monitors.
The numbers and charts blur together as I focus on the phone.
My fingers hover over the screen, waiting for a response.
The familiar scent of Chef Maria's coffee fills the room, but all I can think about is Sasha's perfume from last night.
I glance up at the security cameras, watching as my next meeting arrives at the checkpoint.
They're early, but I take a moment to type out another message before heading out to greet them.
"Come over tonight?"
I watch as the three dots appear on the screen, signaling that Sasha is typing out her response.
My pulse quickens slightly as I wait for her reply.
I stare at the screen, my mind momentarily drifting away from the numbers and charts scrolling across the monitors.
I pace back and forth in the foyer of my mansion, my eyes fixed on the security monitors as Sasha's car approaches.
The security team checks her vehicle at each checkpoint, and I watch as she smiles and waves at them through the window.
Her car pulls up to the front of the house, and I watch as she steps out onto the driveway.
She's holding a bottle of wine in one hand, and she gives me a small wave with the other.
I walk over to meet her, taking the bottle from her hand and examining the label.
"It's my favorite," I say, smiling at her, "thank you."
She smiles back at me, looking beautiful in a black dress that hugs her curves in all the right places.
"I thought we could have dinner together," she says, "if you're free."
"Of course," I reply, "let's go inside."
We walk into the house together, and Chef Maria greets us with a smile.
"Good evening," she says, "dinner is ready when you are."
We follow her into the dining room, where a candlelit table is set for two.
Chef Maria serves us each a plate of food, and we sit down to eat.
We talk about our interests and hobbies as we eat, sharing stories about our lives before we met.
The conversation flows easily between us, and before long we've finished our meal. "Would you like some wine?" I ask her, holding up the bottle she brought.
"Yes please," she replies, smiling at me.
I pour us each a glass, and we sit back in our chairs to enjoy it.
We sip our wine slowly, savoring the taste of it on our tongues.
As we finish our glasses, I reach across the table to refill them.
Our hands touch briefly as I pour more wine into her glass, sending a jolt of electricity through my body.
I look up at her and smile, feeling drawn to her in a way that I can't explain.
"Thank you for dinner," she says, returning my smile.
"You're welcome," I reply, "I'm glad you could come."
We sit back in our chairs again, enjoying our wine and each other's company.
As we finish our glasses for the second time, Sasha sets hers down on the table and looks at me with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Do you want to see something?" she asks me.
"Of course," I reply, curious about what she has in mind.
"Sure," I say, intrigued by her tone.
She reaches into her purse and pulls out a small, ornate box, placing it on the table between us.
"I found this in my grandmother's attic yesterday," she explains, "and I think it might be connected to your family."
I stretch in my silk sheets, still groggy from the wine I drank last night.
The morning sun streams through the bulletproof windows of my bedroom, casting a warm glow over the room.
I can hear Sasha's melodic humming drifting up from downstairs, and I smile to myself as I remember the way she looked at me last night.
Chef Maria has the day off, which means we have the kitchen to ourselves.
I pull on my robe and follow the scent of coffee and eggs down to the kitchen.
As I approach the doorway, I see Sasha standing at the professional-grade stove, expertly flipping pancakes in a pan.
She's wearing one of my dress shirts, and her hair is tied up in a messy bun on top of her head.
She hasn't noticed me yet, too focused on her cooking and humming along to the music playing softly in the background.
I lean against the doorframe, content to watch her for a moment longer before making my presence known.
The morning sun streams in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm glow over the entire kitchen.
The sizzle of the eggs and bacon fills the air, and I can smell the coffee brewing in the pot next to Sasha.
She flips another pancake in the pan, her movements graceful and confident.
As she sways to the music, I notice that my dress shirt has ridden up slightly, revealing her bare legs underneath.
My heart quickens at the sight of her like this – so casual and intimate in my kitchen.
This powerful businesswoman, who is normally so put together, is making breakfast in my home as if it were something she did every day.
I push off from the doorway and walk across the marble floor towards her.
My bare feet make no sound on the cold surface, and she doesn't seem to notice me approaching.
"Morning," I say softly, wrapping my arms around her waist.
She jumps slightly, then laughs, leaning back into me.
"You scared me," she says, turning her head to give me a quick kiss, "but I'm glad you're up; we need to talk about that box."
I sit down at the kitchen island while Sasha brings our breakfast plates over.
She sets them down in front of us, and I notice that the mysterious box from last night is now sitting in the center of the island.
Steam rises from our coffee cups, and I watch as Sasha carefully opens the lid of the box.
Inside, I see a stack of old photographs and documents.
The script on the pages is familiar to me – it's Somali, my native language.
My heart stops when I see what looks like my father's younger face in one of the photographs.
Sasha notices my reaction and smiles at me.
"I found all this stuff while I was cleaning out my grandmother's attic," she explains, "and I thought you should see it."
I carefully lift the yellowed deed from the box, my hands trembling as I read the text.
Sasha leans over my shoulder, her perfume mixing with the musty smell of the old paper.
The property details show a large plot of land in Mogadishu, registered to "Abdinur Abdi" in 1985.
My coffee grows cold as I examine every detail of the deed, from the official stamps to my father's signature.
When I find coordinates penciled in the margin, I immediately pull up satellite images on my phone.
The location reveals a sprawling abandoned compound, now worth millions in today's market.
I look up at Sasha, my mind racing with possibilities.
"I think this is real," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
Sasha's eyes widen with surprise, and she leans closer to examine the documents again.
"We need to tell my parents about this," I say, reaching for my phone.
I dial their number and put the call on speakerphone as Sasha sits down beside me on the leather couch.
When my mother answers, I can hear the sound of traditional Somali music in the background.
"Abdi, how are you?" she asks, her voice warm and welcoming.
"I'm good, Mom," I reply, holding Sasha's hand tightly in mine.
"I just found something important that I wanted to talk to you both about."
My mother falls silent for a moment before speaking again.
"Abdi, your father is here. Let me put him on speakerphone."
I wait for what feels like an eternity as they adjust the phone on their end.
Finally, I hear my father's deep voice come through the speaker.
"Abdi, what is it?"
I take a deep breath and explain everything to them – from finding the box of documents to verifying the property deed and its location.
My mother gasps when I mention the Mogadishu property, and my father falls silent. "That's impossible," he says finally, his voice filled with disbelief.
"It can't be. We sold that property years ago."
I can feel Sasha's eyes on me as I try to explain further.
"Dad, I've seen the documents. It's real. And if we can prove ownership, we could sell it now for millions."
There's another long silence before my father speaks again.
"Abdi, bring us the box of documents tomorrow. We need to see this for ourselves."
"Okay," I reply, feeling a mix of relief and uncertainty.
"I'll bring it over tomorrow morning."
After saying goodbye to my parents, I hang up the phone and turn to Sasha.
She gives me a small smile and snuggles closer to me on the couch.
I order some snacks online – chips and cola, our favorite combination – and Sasha turns on a reality show on TV.
As the show plays in the background, Sasha turns to me, her expression thoughtful.
"Do you think your father is hiding something about the property?" she asks softly.
I hesitate, then nod slowly. "It's possible. He never talked much about his past in Somalia."
Sasha nods in understanding, and we settle back into the couch.
The mysterious box and documents sit on the coffee table in front of us, but our attention is now focused on the TV and the snacks that have just arrived.
We spend the rest of the morning watching reality TV and eating chips, neither of us really paying much attention to what's on screen.
Instead, we're lost in our own thoughts about my father's secret property and what it could mean for our future.
As the morning turns into afternoon, Sasha curls up against me on the couch, sharing a bowl of chips between us.
Our fingers brush as we reach for the same chip, and I feel a jolt of electricity run through my body.
I glance over at Sasha and see her looking at me with a smile on her face.
She leans in close and kisses me softly on the lips, tasting of salt and cola from our snacks.
I drive my Revolt car to pick up Sasha from her apartment.
She steps out of the building wearing a stunning black dress that reveals her tattoos and belly button piercing.
Her hair is styled in loose waves, and she looks every bit the part of a celebrity.
We drive to the venue, where the red carpet is already bustling with paparazzi.
As we step out of the car, cameras flash wildly, capturing our every move.
We walk down the red carpet, posing for photos and answering questions from reporters.
Inside, we're greeted by a sea of familiar faces – celebrities, business leaders, and politicians all gathered to celebrate the success of Revolt Motors.
Leonardo DiCaprio approaches us, shaking my hand and congratulating me on the success of Revolt Motors.
Rihanna gives Sasha a hug, telling her how much she loves her music.
Mark Zuckerberg walks over, asking me about my latest projects and whether I've considered investing in his new venture.
When he asks about Sasha, I introduce her as my girlfriend.
She smiles graciously, charming him with her wit and humor. As we mingle with the guests, I notice phones recording our every move.
I know that these clips will make their way onto social media soon, making Sasha an instant celebrity as the girlfriend of the world's richest man.
But she takes it all in stride, handling the attention with grace and poise.
As we make our way through the crowd, I notice a group of tech billionaires gathered around a table.
They're all talking animatedly about their latest projects and investments.
I recognize some of them from my own dealings in the tech industry, but there are others I've never met before.
One of them catches my eye – a young man with a mop of curly hair and a bright smile.
He's talking animatedly to a group of people around him, gesturing wildly with his hands as he speaks.
I realize he's the one who bought the Mogadishu property.
I scan the room from my position near the bar with Sasha.
The space is filled with A-list celebrities, tech moguls, and business leaders.
Elon Musk is huddled in one corner, talking to Donald Trump.
Jay-Z and Beyoncé are holding court in another corner, surrounded by a group of admirers.
Leonardo DiCaprio approaches us, shaking my hand and congratulating me on the success of Revolt Motors.
Rihanna and Kehlani walk past us, giving Sasha a hug and telling her how much they love her music.
Mark Zuckerberg and Jeff Bezos motion for me to come over to their table, where Bill Gates is sitting.
I excuse myself from Sasha and make my way over to them.
But before I can reach their table, I see the curly-haired man deep in conversation with Matt Damon.
I stand there, watching him talk animatedly to Matt Damon.
I wonder what they're talking about, but I know I can't approach them right now.
As I turn back to Sasha, I see her looking at me with a curious expression on her face.
"Who's that guy?"
I ask her, nodding towards the curly-haired man.
She follows my gaze and raises an eyebrow.
"I don't know," she says.
"But he looks familiar."
I nod in agreement.
There's something about him that seems familiar, but I can't quite put my finger on it.
Suddenly, it hits me - he's the one who bought the Mogadishu property.
I turn to Sasha and whisper in her ear, "He's the one who bought the Mogadishu property."
Sasha's eyes widen in surprise as she looks at me with a mix of shock and curiosity.
Her hand finds mine under the bar counter, intertwining our fingers together as our eyes lock in a silent understanding.
The loud party fades into background noise as we share this intimate moment, lost in our own thoughts and questions about the mysterious buyer of my father's secret property. Through the crowd, I catch a glimpse of the curly-haired man glancing our way before quickly turning back to his conversation with Matt Damon.
"Do you think he knows about the documents we found?" Sasha asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
I shake my head, trying to keep my expression neutral.
"If he does, he's playing it cool," I reply, squeezing her hand reassuringly.
We lean against the bar, watching the curly-haired man laugh with Matt Damon.
After hours of observing him, I feel the weight of my father's property drama lifting off my shoulders.
Taking Sasha's hand, I turn to her and say, "You know what? I'm done chasing this Mogadishu mystery. Let the man have the property."
Sasha looks at me in surprise, her eyes widening with disbelief.
"Are you sure?" she asks, her voice filled with concern.
I nod, gesturing towards the crowd of celebrities and business leaders around us.
"My life is here now," I explain.
"This is where my focus should be."
The curly-haired man glances our way again, but this time I simply nod in acknowledgment before turning back to Sasha.
"Let's order some fresh drinks," I suggest, signaling to the bartender.
I lead Sasha to the dance floor, where celebrities are mingling and dancing to the music.
As we move to the beat, I feel a tap on my shoulder.
Turning around, I see Kehlani standing behind me with a big smile on her face.
"Hey there," she says, nodding towards Sasha.
"You two make a great couple."
Sasha blushes and smiles back at Kehlani.
"Thanks," she replies.
"We're just friends."
Kehlani nods and turns to me.
"So, what's this I hear about you starting a new company?" she asks, her eyes sparkling with interest.
I nod and lean in closer to her so she can hear me over the music.
"Yeah," I reply.
"It's called Revolt Motors. We're working on developing sustainable transportation solutions for cities around the world."
Kehlani's eyes light up with excitement.
"That sounds amazing," she says.
"I've always been passionate about environmental issues. Can you tell me more about it?"
I nod and launch into an explanation of Revolt Motors' mission and goals, gesturing animatedly with my hands as I talk.
Kehlani listens intently, her eyes never leaving mine.
When I finish speaking, she nods thoughtfully and says, "I love it. I think it's really important work." "Thanks," I reply, feeling a surge of pride and gratitude towards her.
"We're just getting started, but we have big plans for the future."
Kehlani smiles and places a hand on my arm.
"I'd love to help spread the word about what you're doing," she says.
"Maybe we could even collaborate on a promotional song or something?"
My eyes widen in surprise at her suggestion, but then I nod enthusiastically.
"That would be amazing," I reply.
"I'd love to work with you on that."
Kehlani pulls out her phone and opens up her contacts app.
"Let's exchange numbers," she says, handing me her phone.
I type in my number and hand it back to her, watching as she sends herself a text message with my contact information.
"There," she says, smiling up at me.
"Now we can stay in touch and start brainstorming ideas for that song."
I grin back at her, feeling a sense of excitement and possibility wash over me.
I pace back and forth in my home office, streaming Kehlani's new song on my computer.
It's only been a few hours since it was released, but it's already shot to #1 on the Billboard charts.
I can't help but smile as I listen to the catchy lyrics about sustainable transportation and environmental change.
The song perfectly captures the mission and values of Revolt Motors, and I know that it's going to be a huge hit with our customers and fans.
As I listen to the song for the fifth time in a row, I pick up my phone and dial Sasha's number.
She answers on the first ring, her voice sounding sleepy.
"Hey," she says, yawning.
"What's up?"
I laugh and shake my head, even though she can't see me.
"Sorry to wake you up," I say, "but I just heard the most amazing news. Kehlani's new song is out, and it's all about Revolt Motors."
Sasha sits up straight in bed, suddenly sounding more alert.
"Really?" she asks, her voice filled with excitement.
"Yeah," I reply, grinning from ear to ear.
"It's amazing. You have to hear it."
Sasha yawns again and stretches her arms over her head.
"Okay," she says, "but can we listen to it together? I'm not really awake yet."
I nod, even though she can't see me.
"Of course," I say.
"Why don't you come over for dinner tonight? We can listen to the song together and celebrate." Sasha agrees enthusiastically, and we make plans for her to come over at 7pm.
As we hang up the phone, I can hear her rushing around her apartment getting ready for work.
I smile as I listen to the sound of her footsteps echoing through the phone line.
I can't wait to see her again tonight and celebrate the success of Revolt Motors with her by my side.
I make a reservation at Le Bernardin, one of our favorite restaurants in the city, and then spend the rest of the day working on some last-minute projects for Revolt Motors.
As the afternoon wears on, I find myself getting more and more excited about seeing Sasha again tonight.
When Sasha arrives at my apartment, she greets me with a warm hug and a bright smile.
"Hey, superstar," she teases, glancing around at the celebratory atmosphere I've set up.
I laugh, pulling her inside. "I couldn't have done it without you," I admit, feeling a rush of gratitude.
We make our way to our favorite corner table at Le Bernardin, where the soft candlelight catches Sasha's smile.
As we peruse the menu, Sasha reaches into her purse and pulls out a small wrapped package.
"What's that?"
I ask, curious.
She hands it to me with a mischievous grin.
"Open it," she says, her eyes sparkling.
I carefully unwrap the paper to reveal a stunning crystal award.
The inscription reads, "Environmental Innovation Award, presented by the Global Sustainability Council."
I look up at Sasha in surprise.
"What is this?"
I ask, turning the award over in my hands to examine it more closely.
Sasha leans in closer, her voice filled with excitement.
"I nominated Revolt Motors for this award months ago," she explains.
"The Global Sustainability Council recognizes companies that are making significant contributions to environmental innovation and sustainability. And Revolt Motors is definitely at the forefront of that movement."
I hold the award up to the light, admiring its beauty.
The crystal is heavy and substantial in my hands, and I can feel the weight of its significance. "This is incredible," I say, looking over at Sasha with gratitude.
"Thank you so much for recognizing Revolt Motors in this way."
Sasha smiles and reaches across the table to take my hand.
"It's my pleasure," she says, her voice filled with sincerity.
"I believe in what you're doing with Revolt Motors. You're not just building a successful company - you're creating a better future for our planet."
I nod, feeling a surge of pride and purpose.
"That's exactly what I want to do," I say.
"And I couldn't do it without your support and encouragement."
The waiter arrives with our food, interrupting our conversation.
I raise my champagne glass to clink with Sasha's across the table.
"To Revolt Motors and a sustainable future," I say, smiling at her.
Sasha nods and takes a sip of her champagne.
As we enjoy our meal, savoring the perfectly seared scallops and wagyu beef, we continue to talk about Revolt Motors and its mission.
Sasha suggests partnering with environmental nonprofits to expand the company's reach and impact.
I share my plans for developing solar-powered charging stations and reducing global emissions.
The sommelier refills our glasses, and we lean in closer, our conversation growing more animated as the night wears on.
When Sasha places her hand over mine on the table, I look up into her eyes and see a deep sincerity there.
"I really believe in you and what you're doing," she says, her voice filled with conviction.
I drive my Revolt car with Sasha in the passenger seat.
We pass by the small house where Mahad and I grew up, and the tiny rental where Munira and her family lived.
Sasha squeezes my hand as we pull up to my parents' mansion.
It's a significant upgrade from their restaurant days, thanks to the money I've been sending them over the years.
Mom greets us at the door with a warm smile, while Dad lingers in the background.
Inside, we sit around the table sipping traditional Somali tea.
I introduce Sasha as someone special to me, but I don't go into details.
Mahad and Munira arrive shortly after, still dressed in their work clothes from their $200/hour jobs at my company.
We sit in my home office, planning the family dinner.
Sasha scrolls through recipes on her phone while I call Chef Maria to discuss the menu.
I want to combine traditional Somali dishes with gourmet options.
Sasha looks up from her phone, a thoughtful expression on her face.
"Why don't we invite both families?" she suggests.
I pause, taken aback by the idea.
The mysterious box and its contents come flooding back into my mind.
I remember the connection between our families, the shared history that has been hidden for so long.
Sasha notices my hesitation and squeezes my hand reassuringly.
"It's time our families meet," she says softly.
I nod slowly, considering her words.
Maybe she's right.
Maybe it is time to bring everyone together and reveal the truth.
I pull out my phone and text my parents an invitation to the dinner party. After sending the invitation, I watch Sasha continue planning the menu and decorations for our family dinner party.
She's so focused and determined, and I can't help but smile at her enthusiasm.
I check my phone and see that Mom has already responded to my invitation.
She's excited about the dinner party and is already asking what Somali dishes she should bring.
I smile at her eagerness and type out a quick response, letting her know that we'll take care of the food.
Just as I'm about to put my phone away, I receive another message from Dad.
I'm surprised to see his name pop up on my screen, but I open the message anyway.
To my surprise, he's actually responding to my invitation and expressing his interest in meeting Sasha's family.
I can't help but feel touched by his genuine interest in getting to know them better.
Chef Maria enters the room with several sample plates of appetizers for us to taste.
She explains that she's created a fusion of traditional Somali dishes with gourmet French cuisine.
Sasha takes a bite of each appetizer, her eyes widening with delight at the explosion of flavors on her tongue. "These are amazing," she says, turning to Chef Maria with a smile.
"I think we have a winner."
Chef Maria beams with pride as Sasha continues to taste each dish.
After sampling all of the appetizers, Sasha turns to me with a thoughtful expression on her face.
"I think we should add one more dish to the menu," she says, a mischievous glint in her eye.
"What did you have in mind?"
I ask, intrigued by her suggestion.
"My grandmother used to make this special dessert whenever we had guests over," she explains, a faraway look in her eyes.
"It's a traditional Somali recipe that's been passed down through generations of women in my family."
I nod encouragingly, eager to hear more about this special dessert.
"Would you like me to make it for our family dinner party?" she asks, her voice filled with excitement. I smile at her enthusiasm and nod my head in agreement.
"That sounds wonderful," I say, touched by her thoughtfulness.
Sasha grins happily and turns back to Chef Maria, who is busy preparing the rest of the menu for our family dinner party.
As they work together in the kitchen, I can't help but feel grateful for this opportunity to bring our families together and share our love for each other with them.
The truth, long buried, would finally have its moment.