His Wedding, Her Secret Grave

I lived in a gilded cage, Liam Donovan's opulent penthouse, a testament to his success and my inescapable prison. My real life, a fierce purpose to find justice for my mother, burned deep within me, a silent ember waiting to ignite. But tonight, his return, and the sickly sweet voice of Sarah Chen, echoed through the vast space like a calculated torment. He called it marriage. I called it revenge. He brought women home, but Sarah became a constant fixture, his confidante. He paraded her, commanded me to serve them champagne, and paid me for "services rendered"-a crude hundred-dollar bill for my "trouble." Each interaction was a fresh humiliation, yet my practiced coldness, my emotionless facade, only seemed to fuel his blistering rage and Sarah's smug triumph. He saw me as a mercenary, a heartless woman who abandoned him for money. He never knew I'd secretly funneled my entire inheritance to save his failing company, anonymously donated bone marrow to save his life when he was desperately ill, or trekked alone through a blizzard to rescue him from a crashed car. Every truth, every selfless act, was twisted into a lie by Sarah, perfectly weaponized against me in his eyes. How could he be so utterly blind? How could my deep sacrifices, my desperate, enduring love, be warped into such consuming hatred? The agonizing injustice was a constant ache, a wound that never healed. I bore his cruelty silently, believing it was the only way to shield him from an unseen enemy. But the torment became unbearable, unsustainable. So I tore out my own heart, performing the ultimate act to protect him: I faked my own death. I erased Maya Rodriguez from existence, hoping he could finally be safe and truly free. But freedom, I learned, comes with a brutal price, and the path he walks now, fueled by his grief and her lies, is more dangerous than ever.