Damir. The Exposure

In truth, he should be thanking Damir for switching places—not resenting him. Damir read all this in his eyes—and his heart softened. Before parting, he placed a hand on Samad’s shoulder, gave him a brotherly pat, and wished him goodnight—as if he really were his younger brother.

The next morning, Aaliya quietly slipped into Damir’s room, eager for just a glimpse of her beloved. He heard her voice as she chatted with his mother, and soon the scent of her perfume announced that she was standing at the door. Without opening his eyes, he reached out a hand toward her. Aaliya hesitated, then sat down on the edge of the bed. He was covered with only a sheet down to his bare chest—more tempting than anyone she had ever seen, even in pictures. But her upbringing didn’t allow her to stare, even though he had been her fiancé for almost six months.

She sat silently, hands folded, smiling shyly.

“I’m covered,” Damir said with a husky voice, pulling the sheet higher up to his neck. Though from the knees down, his muscular legs were exposed. He took her hand.

“How are you, my baby?”

“I’m fine, thank you. And you?” she murmured, still not turning her head.

“Look at me,” he asked gently.

She couldn’t disobey her future husband and turned her eyes toward him, her cheeks burning with blush.

Damir laughed—he adored her modesty, such a rare quality these days.

“Today I plan to ask your parents to let you come with me to Canada. Maybe we’ll even get married in a hurry.”

Her eyes widened, and she flushed even deeper. Damir couldn’t resist anymore. He sat up and pulled her close. His lips found hers, and with a firm motion, he parted them with his tongue, kissing her deeply. Waves of sweetness shot through her body.

She missed him terribly. Damir knew she had been madly in love with him since childhood. Now, at twenty-five, she longed for his kisses and touches just as much as he did for hers. They had kissed before, but always carefully. Now his passion overflowed.

His hands caressed her back and hips, slowly driving her into ecstasy. His lips moved from her mouth to her neck—and when she moaned, he returned to her lips, whispering, “Shhh.” He smiled at her closed eyes and kissed her again. What felt like an eternity later, he finally released her. Her lips were swollen, her head spinning. She stood and adjusted her scarf and hair, nearly stumbling. He watched her, barely holding himself back from pulling her into his arms again. The sheet had slipped completely off, baring his muscular torso. When she noticed, she turned away and covered her face. He laughed quietly, leaning his head back. Then he stood, wrapped himself in the sheet again, and approached her from behind. He kissed her softly on the neck and whispered in her ear, “Soon you’ll be my wife… and I’ll be your husband. Do you know what that means?”

Over a late breakfast, Damir officially introduced his fiancée to the new family.

They decided that tomorrow they would all go to her home to ask for her hand in marriage and discuss the wedding and details. Emine, while still in Canada, had already anticipated this and discussed it with the family. Zulfiya, on the other hand, was embarrassed—she didn’t have the financial means for such an event and bit her lip anxiously.

After the meal, Damir took his Tatar mother aside and said:

“Mom, now that I’ve returned to my blood family, Father has opened a bank account for me. I have money—don’t worry. It’s enough to take care of everything right now.” She looked at him nervously, then over his shoulder at the others. He sighed, searching for the right words to reassure her.

“Mommy, please—don’t worry about anything. I’m going to work. All the hard times are behind us. From now on, you’ll be a lady of the house.”

“What do you mean…?” she said, recalling bitter memories—how he had once promised her the same thing, and how it had ended.

“Exactly that. Samad and I are taking on all your burdens now. You’ll focus only on yourself—and maybe our kids someday.”

“God willing,” she whispered, glowing with joy as he embraced her. Damir understood what she feared.

“From now on, everything will be different, Mom. I’m not alone anymore,” he said quietly.

Everyone loved Aaliya—even Samad. Surely it was the blood connection—she was Tatar too. From his warm gaze and smile, it was clear he admired her—her modest appearance, her attentive manner. She constantly poured tea, asked if anyone needed anything. The Iranian mother kept murmuring in Farsi, stroking the girl’s hair and shoulders, and Aaliya responded with shy smiles, eyes lowered. Damir was beyond pleased. He was bursting with pride. Good choice, he thought, silently thanking God—and his mother, who had insisted on it.

Chapter 9

The following night, dinner was held again—but this time at Aaliya’s home. The Saidi family met her parents, and through two translators—Saher and Damir—Mrs. Emine, smiling conspiratorially at Zulfiya, once again formally asked for Aaliya’s hand. She presented the girl with a beautiful set of jewelry: a necklace, earrings, and bracelets—from both herself and Omer. She had shown the gift to Zulfiya in advance, making her blush with embarrassment. She couldn’t afford even a quarter of such a present, but they quickly reassured her, insisting she had already repaid everything many times over. Zulfiya eventually agreed to play her part in the engagement.

Aaliya’s parents were also modest, ordinary people. They accepted the proposal, thanked them for the gifts, and gave their blessing for their only daughter to move to another country. But they made Damir promise that he would cherish their daughter and take good care of her—and allow her to visit them whenever she wished. Everything moved quickly, just as Damir had planned.

Within two weeks, they had secured a wedding date at the civil registry, booked a banquet hall, bought everything they needed, and on July 18, 2015, Damir and Aaliya officially became husband and wife.

The wedding banquet was modest—just a few relatives, a couple of close family friends, and a handful of the bride and groom’s childhood companions. Damir danced the wedding waltz with his new wife, unable to take his eyes off her beauty. She had flawless makeup, her hair styled like royalty, and the jewelry she’d received the night before added a glowing aura to her look. When it was Samad’s turn to give his blessing—having agreed on it with his parents—he presented an original gift: the keys to a small truck for Aaliya’s father.

On their first visit to her home, Samad had noticed an old delivery truck in the yard. Later, he learned her father used it for work to support the family. Now, they had decided to replace it. After the heartfelt congratulations and cheers, Samad joked,

“Now I’ll have to marry a girl from Iran—just to keep up with Damir.”

Everyone laughed and cheered the idea. Tatar indeed! He said. And proud of my blood!

“I never thought I’d be celebrating my son’s wedding in the very town where I gave birth to him,” Emine whispered to her husband as they stood together watching the couple walk away.

“It was a beautiful wedding,” Omer added. “Simple, in a Russian style we’re not used to—but I liked it. And you, darling?”

“Oh yes, me too. May Allah grant them happiness—that’s the most important.”

“May Allah grant it,” he echoed.

“And our Saher danced so much—did you see the way the local boys were staring at her?”

“No, I didn’t. But don’t worry. With Damir’s reputation, no one’s getting near her,” he said with a proud laugh, pulling his wife into a hug.

Damir’s childhood friends pitched in and booked the couple the best suite in the city’s top hotel as a wedding gift. They decorated it with flowers and rose petals on the bed, and the hotel staff set up a small table with sweets and drinks.

Following tradition, at the entrance of the banquet hall, Aaliya threw her bouquet. Girls—and even some boys—scrambled for it in a chaotic scuffle. In the end, the bouquet landed in the hands of the strongest guy there. The whole scene was hilarious. On their way to the hotel in a limo decked out in white flowers and wedding rings, Damir couldn’t stop laughing.

“The girls wanted your bouquet so bad, it almost turned into a wrestling match!” he joked. Aaliya laughed too.

“And that clever one who caught it—‘also a girl,’ apparently. Wants to get married just as much!”

They kept joking the whole ride until, red-faced from laughter, they arrived at the hotel. Moments later, standing in front of their suite, Damir turned serious. He bent down, lifted his bride into his arms, and carried her inside. Then he stopped.

The room was dimly lit, glowing with candlelight. Soft romantic music played in the background. Aaliya gasped. Damir smiled at her reaction and asked gently,

“Do you like it?”

But without waiting for a reply, he leaned in and kissed her, pressing his lips to hers in a long, passionate kiss. Still kissing, he carried her toward the bed, gently laid her down, and leaned over her, his lips never leaving hers. Then he paused, looked into her eyes, smiled, and said, “You’re so beautiful… You drive me crazy.”

“I’m thirsty,” Aaliya blurted out.

Maybe she really was thirsty—or maybe she was nervous. Damir froze for a second, then pulled her into his arms, sat down beside her, and reached for the juice. She sipped slowly, sometimes looking at him, then lowering her eyes, drinking and drinking. Something wasn’t right. He stood up and gently helped her to her feet. Taking the glass from her hand and setting it on the table, he pulled her close. Placing one hand on her waist and the other in her palm, he led her in a slow, romantic dance to the soft music playing from the speakers. Aaliya lit up. Seeing the joy in her eyes, Damir felt deeply happy.

The entire next day, they didn’t leave the suite—just basked in each other’s presence. Damir extended their stay for five more days and told the family they had gone on an impromptu honeymoon. Samad later brought them a bag packed by their mother with clothes and necessities. When he knocked, Damir answered the door—his hair tousled, wearing only a loosely tied bathrobe. Samad burst out laughing.

“Shhh,” Damir said, stepping outside and closing the door behind him.

“Sorry—I can’t invite you in.”

“It’s fine, I get it.”

Samad handed him the bag, then asked with a grin,

“So… how’s married life treating you?”

Instead of answering, Damir just rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Samad laughed again. They stood there like real brothers—as if no bad blood had ever passed between them. Damir took the bag, thanked him, and slipped back inside.

“Why was he laughing?” Aaliya asked suspiciously, standing by the window in her own plush robe.

Damir set the bag down and walked over. In one smooth move, he let the robe slip from his shoulders and kissed her on the neck.

“He laughed at my messy, happy face,” he whispered. Aaliya relaxed and hugged her husband.

On the morning of the fifth day, after breakfast, Damir said with a hint of sadness in his voice,

“In about…” —he checked his watch— “two hours, we need to head out.”

Aaliya smiled and gently stroked his cheek.

“But we’re going together, right? You won’t leave me behind?”

She meant their trip to Canada. He kissed her hand tenderly, ignored her fear—which he understood—and sighed.

“What upsets me,” he said, “is that I won’t be able to enjoy being close to you every hour. I’ll have to wait for nightfall. And I’ll go mad until then.”

This time, Aaliya rolled her eyes and laughed, “You’re crazy, sweetheart.”

“I can’t help it. You’re delicious—and I can’t stop wanting you.”

Chapter 10

Six months had passed.

“We’d like to discuss the terms of payment, if you’re satisfied with the delivery conditions,” Damir addressed the potential clients from the UK. During another business meeting, representatives from a small ice cream factory were present. Diana handed him an open folder with the necessary documents. Damir took it and began reviewing the points. The authorized representatives listened carefully and nodded in agreement.

“That’s your fifth contract this week, Mr. Damir. You’re doing an outstanding job,” praised his assistant, Diana. They exited the conference room, having just signed another long-term supply contract. Today, their monthly delivery volume increased by five tons. Damir, proud and confident, lifted his chin and headed toward his office. When he entered, his secretary informed him that Mr. Omer was expecting him.

Without hesitation, he turned around and made his way to his father’s office. Inside the CEO’s office, the other deputy, Samad, was already there, seated with a few documents in front of him. He held a pen and was watching Damir with a gloomy, unreadable gaze. After a brief greeting, Omer spoke.

“How did it go, Damir? Were the contracts signed?”

“Yes,” Damir replied, handing him the folder. Omer sat down and flipped through it slowly. Damir remained standing.

“Sit,” Omer said without looking up. Damir sat, feeling tension in the air. He glanced at Samad, silently asking with his eyes what was going on—but received no response. Samad simply lowered his head, then looked toward their father.

“Everything’s correct. No errors,” Omer finally said, closing the folder and looking at his son with no trace of enthusiasm. Then he turned to Samad and stretched out his hand.

“Give me the list of the companies we’re currently working with.”

Samad handed over two printed pages. Omer reviewed them, circling certain names with a pen. After what felt like an eternity, he called Damir closer.

“Take a look at this.”

Damir furrowed his brow, stood, and leaned in over his father’s desk. There were 23 companies listed—partners he had secured in the past five months. Twelve of them were marked in red.

“What does this mean?”

Omer turned to look at him.

“How did you find these companies? How did you connect with them?” Damir felt a chill creeping beneath his clothes, wrapping around him.

“Each one differently,” he said quietly.

“For example, the one from today?”

“Through the internet. I sent commercial proposals, and one of them responded.”

Omer pursed his lips and folded his hands together on the desk.

“Would someone explain what’s going on?” Damir demanded, looking from his father to Samad.

“The thing is,” Omer said, “these companies weren’t properly vetted. The ones marked in red, including today’s, turned out to be fraudulent. They were apprehended as they were leaving the building—they’re on their way to the police now.”

Damir turned pale. He didn’t know what to say. He barely even grasped the meaning of what had just been said.

“So… twelve companies received our goods and…”

“…had no intention of paying for them,” Samad finished the sentence.

“Samad, start gathering all the documentation and file lawsuits tomorrow,” Omer ordered.

“You’re telling me I’ve bankrupted the company?” Damir asked, unable to believe his ears.

“You’re not to blame. I am,” Omer replied, mostly to himself.

“I acted too hastily. You weren’t ready for such a huge responsibility. I placed too much faith in you. I handed over the future of this company to an intern straight out of college!”

He slammed the desk with his palm. Samad remained silent, lowering his head like he was the one being scolded. But for Damir, it was a knockout. Not physically—but morally. He had fallen into a pit, a black hole. Damir sat on a bench in an alley near some building, just like almost a year ago, once again unsure of what to do next. His Tatar mother had moved in with him to his biological father’s house—his dream father. His wife, four months pregnant, also lived under the roof of the man who had just expressed his disappointment in him. He felt like screaming from hopelessness and rage—but nothing would help. He had no legal path to defend himself. No one would even listen. He was still a citizen of another country, living in Canada on a visa. Yes, he had changed his surname from Palatov to Saidi—but now he regretted it. He had no one to call, no one to seek advice from. He trusted no one in Canada. To them, he was a stranger.

Twisting a small twig in his fingers, he realized how deeply and helplessly stuck he was. A cocky lion caught in a well-set trap. Now, it was useless to thrash and chew at the steel jaws cutting into his flesh. A lion? What lion?

“What a joke,” Damir chuckled bitterly to himself.

“More like a complete idiot.”

The twig snapped in his hand, crumbling into pieces. With no idea what else to do, he got into his car and drove aimlessly. His phone, left in the car earlier when he stepped out to smoke, started ringing. It was Diana—18 missed calls, all from her. He accepted the call via Bluetooth.

“Hello, Mr. Damir? Where are you?”

“In town,” he said calmly. The world had already collapsed. No news could shock him now.

“It’s chaos here. I don’t even know what to do…”

Damir stayed silent. What could he possibly do? He didn’t even have the money to cover a tenth of the damage. The car, the bank account—none of it was truly his. Lighting a cigarette, he said, “Can you sneak out of the office and meet me?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll drive up to the parking lot.”

“Okay.”

Fifteen minutes later, she was sitting in his car.

“I don’t understand everything yet, but I need copies of all the contracts we’ve signed over the past six months. Can you get them?”

“I think so, Mr. Damir. But… there are rumors going around the company that you’ve swindled your own father for a huge sum of money.”

That did shock him. He turned to her with a glare, as if she were the one spreading those rumors.

“What?!”

She looked startled and shrugged. Damir gave a bitter smirk and looked straight ahead, tightening his lips. Now he was starting to understand who was behind all this. His jaw clenched, cheek muscles twitching. No way. It can’t be. We became close—back there in Russia, in Bolgar! He apologized. I forgave him! Damn it. DAMN IT!

Damir slammed the steering wheel with his fists.

“Please, calm down, Mr. Damir. This won’t help.”

He covered his face with both hands and sat in silence. Eventually, he exhaled and told her he needed to think. He’d call her back.

An hour later, Damir returned home—only to find even more chaos than at work. Loud voices filled the house—heated arguments in Persian. He saw his father—furious like a wild beast—arguing with his wife. She was defending her biological son. They were yelling at each other. Zulfiya and Aaliya sat huddled on the couch, frightened and confused.

“I didn’t take your money,” Damir said from the doorway. His father’s furious gaze met his—but Damir didn’t look away.

“It’s not about the money!” Omer said in a low but firm voice.

“I would’ve given it all to you.”

“I never took a single cent without your knowledge—believe it or not.”

“Come with me,” Omer ordered, heading into his office. Damir followed him. Omer grabbed a piece of paper from his desk and tossed it at him. It didn’t land properly—falling to the floor at Damir’s feet.

He looked at his father, then silently bent down and picked it up.

“Recognize it?” Omer asked, on the verge of shouting.

“I recognize my name. What is it?”

“What kind of lawyer are you if you don’t know what this is?!”

“I understand—it’s a bank statement…”

The words hit him like a knife. He looked again at the document. The final balance, along with regular deposits—$1,457,880.

“What the…?”

“Not a bad sum, huh?”

“Trace it—find out how the account was opened and where the funds came from!”

Damir shouted, waving the document. “I’ve never opened any account like this in my life!”

“Samad handles those things,” Omer said, turning to the window.

“Samad?!” Damir scoffed bitterly.

This time, Omer spun around and stormed back toward him. Pointing a finger at his chest, he growled, “Don’t you dare accuse him! He may not be my blood, but he has never done anything that would make us ashamed—not once! And as for my real son—well, we both know exactly what he’s capable of!”

Chapter 11

That was it.

The feeling of happiness from reuniting with his biological family, from having his father back in his life—it all began to shatter like fragile crystal. He hadn't even fully processed what he'd become, hadn't yet tasted the new life—and once again, he was being pushed away. From the very start, he felt it would all end like this. So why had he tried so hard to convince himself otherwise?

It doesn’t matter who you were born as. What matters is your purpose in this life. Those born to crawl may never fly… or maybe they can. And those who once soared high can end up at the bottom of a pit—so deep, their past flights feel like nothing but illusions.

And reality?

Reality is right here.

Early in the morning, Damir received a call from Russia. It was his former classmate and once-best friend, Vadim. The surprise thrilled him. Vadim was the only person Damir truly trusted in this entire world—and now, during the worst moment of his life, Vadim had called him.

“Hey, brother! I finally found you! I heard you got married and ran off to Canada?” Vadim said, laughing.

“Sorry, bro, it all happened so fast,” Damir rubbed his forehead, feeling genuinely uncomfortable.

“When I explain everything, you’ll understand why I didn’t tell you.”

“It’s all good. So, when are you coming back?”

“Soon. Vadim, I’m in a really messed-up situation right now, and your call came at the perfect time. I need advice—or even legal help.”

“You’re a lawyer yourself.”

“Apparently, not a very good one,” Damir replied bitterly.

“Do you need someone who specializes in Canadian immigration law, or did you get yourself into some kind of criminal mess?”

“Looks like the second one.”

There was a long pause. Then Vadim spoke again.

“Tell me it’s not prison time.”

“I don’t think so. I could come back, but… that’s probably not an option for me right now. Let me explain the situation briefly, and maybe you can recommend someone in Moscow I could talk to.”

“Alright, brother. Go ahead.”

For the time being, Damir rented an apartment in a more populated area and moved in with his mother, Zulfiya, and his wife. Emine wanted to come too. She didn’t believe a single word her husband had said and was deeply hurt by the accusations he had thrown at their biological son. She kicked him out of their bedroom and stopped speaking to him. Saher didn’t believe the story either. Samad had left on a business trip. Despite everything, Omer didn’t freeze Damir’s bank account. In fact, he added more money to it. He no longer blamed or scolded him either, and when he heard that Damir was moving into a rental place until he could prove his innocence, he accepted it. Meanwhile, Damir was waiting impatiently for a call from his Moscow friend while preparing to move.

Diana had found a small, furnished apartment on the outskirts of the city in just a few hours. When they met, she handed him all the document copies he had asked for. Damir, his mother, and his wife packed their belongings and left.

Soon after, Emine and Saher arrived. Damir tried to comfort both of his mothers—who fully believed in him. They were devastated, unable to understand who could have betrayed their boy like this. They also hoped the other son, as a brave and loving brother, would uncover the truth and save him.

Three days later, Vadim finally called back and gave him an address in Montreal.

“Call this guy and explain everything in person. He’ll help you find the right people over there.

Trying to handle it from Moscow is useless—they told me that.”

“Who is this?” Damir asked, reading the name he had just written: Alexander.

“He’s… a good friend of a very influential person living in Canada.

He’s Russian. When he heard about you, he agreed to help—once he found out you were also from Russia and who your father is. I think he’ll be useful. Damir, I don’t know what else I can do for you, brother.”

“Thank you, man. I owe you big time. And I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner.”