# Deema

Author: Mira Al-Hadi
Site: ReadNovelHub
Canonical: https://readnovelhub.com/novel/deema
Genre: Realistic novels

## World
A damaging report, a locked door, and one unresolved parting force Deema and Saad to confront the truth before family honor decides their fate.

## Tropes
- Second Chance Romance
- Billionaire Romance
- Realistic novels

## FAQ
### What is Deema about?
A damaging report, a locked door, and one unresolved parting force Deema and Saad to confront the truth before family honor decides their fate.

### Who is the author of Deema?
Deema is written by Mira Al-Hadi. Read Chapter 1 free on ReadNovelHub.

### Is Deema a Second Chance Romance story?
Yes. Deema is tagged for Second Chance Romance, Billionaire Romance readers looking for North American romance-fantasy tropes.

### Can I read Deema Chapter 1 for free?
Yes. Chapter 1-5 Free. Weekly VIP trial from Chapter 6. Start Deema on ReadNovelHub.

### What happens at the start of Deema?
The majlis smelled of Oud and cardamom, and the room had already decided what he was. Saad Al-Buqami sat at the head of it. He did not stand when I came in. He did not need to.

## Chapter 1 teaser
### Chapter 1

The majlis smelled of Oud and cardamom, and the room had already decided what he was. Saad Al-Buqami sat at the head of it. He did not stand when I came in. He did not need to. Two of his cousins held the left bench, a man from the family office held the right with a folder he never opened, and the boy serving gahwa came to Saad first, then to me. Right hand. Half a cup. I said Bas before he could pour the second, and he carried the Dallah away. I kept my Abaya closed at my wrists. My Tarha I did not touch. "You came," Saad said. "You sent for me." "I did." The man with the folder looked down at the carpet. The cousins looked at their phones. That was Riyadh. Everyone in the room knew how to look somewhere else. Saad turned his Finjan once, set it down. The small sound of porcelain against brass did the work of a shut door. "Twelve days," he said. "You left in the morning. You did not take the car." "I took a car." "Not mine." I looked at his hands instead of his face. The misbaha was not in them. He had laid it on the carved arm of his chair, the beads hanging perfectly still, and I understood he had placed it there on purpose, giving himself something deliberate to reach for. "Say what you brought me here to say." "I am going to." The cousin nearest the door shifted his weight. Saad did not look at him. The man stood, the others stood with him, and the majlis emptied with the quiet efficiency of men who have been dismissed and know better than to ask. The door settled shut. The scent of Oud drifted in the cold air. He picked the misbaha up, and a single bead turned against his palm and stopped. "Your cuff," he said. I looked down. One button had come undone at my wrist, and the gold bangle underneath showed in the lamplight. His eyes rested on the edge of the metal ra

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