The Abyss Of Love's Lies

Since my childhood, I was aware that wealth could separate people into different classes. Everyone's life race started from unique points. Yet, intelligent folks, like my sister, could surpass others.

While she joined our mother in the city, living lavishly, I remained with our dad in our rundown rural home.

But what did it matter?

Now, the man she adored shared my bed. His hands were those of a pianist. It was slender yet strong, capable of subtle control. It was no surprise she was captivated by him, chasing him relentlessly.

On this silent night, his low moan marked the peak of our encounter before it dissolved into silence.

Afterwards, he left the bed without hesitation and headed for a shower.

There I was, smoking, my back against the pillow, rigid.

I started counting the moments until he would leave.

This wasn't some hotel. It was just one of the many places Robert Stewart kept for me, his mistress.

He was my sugar daddy. Reluctantly, I acknowledged that I had fallen for him.

The world's most pathetic woman wasn't a prostitute, but one who gave her genuine love, only to be treated like a prostitute.

In our four years, our encounters were silent, limited to the confines of the bed. No matter how in sync we appeared, his demeanor remained unruffled, while I found myself getting swept away. Even during those few intense times when we forgot about being safe, he always knew when to stop just in time.

He never intended to let someone like me carry his child.

As expected, by the time I was halfway through my cigarette, he was already dressed in fresh clothes, ready to leave.

Naked and unashamed, I boldly called out his name.

The most he would offer was a brief pause in his stride, never turning to grant me a backward glance.

Watching his retreating form, I finally let the words I'd suppressed all night escape. "I hear you're getting engaged. Which fortunate family's daughter will it be?"

His response was delayed, so much so that I began to doubt I had spoken at all. The brief spurt of boldness I felt earlier faded, seeming nothing more than a daydream.

Eventually, he moved, his steps echoing as they grew further away.

When I raised my eyes to him once more, I saw him turning to close the door.

Perhaps it was the evident curiosity in my gaze that prompted him to answer at last, "Stay in your lane. You've got no right to ask that."

My throat constricted, yet I managed to let a smile flicker across my lips. "I just thought I'd send a present!"

His gaze lingered on me, filled with a confusion that mirrored my own inability to grasp his thoughts.

Yet it wasn't long before he lost interest and turned his back on me once more.

He walked away so sharply and surely, leaving only the sound of footsteps and a fleeting silhouette. The car engine's hum briefly pierced the silence before the night settled back into quiet.

I wrapped myself in a blanket and stood at the window, staring into the vast, dark night.

It brought back memories of the first night we met, on a similarly gentle autumn evening.

That year, my father was robbed and sustained a severe injury to his head. They never did catch the robber. To pay for the medical bills, I left my hometown to ask my mother in Draton for financial help.

It coincided with my sister's college graduation party. The Spencer family home was buzzing with visitors.

But the guards at the villa gate treated me like an intruder, stopping me from entering. My sister Janice Spencer, in her black graduation dress, was in the rose garden, taking photos with a bright smile. She gave me a quick look, then dismissively turned away, denying me entry.

In desperation, I latched onto a man walking by, pleading with him to let me be his plus-one.

At that moment, I thought I'd found my salvation, not knowing it was the beginning of my descent into a nightmare.