Burning Down His World Of Lies

My husband, Dax, was cold and distant, obsessed with his ex-girlfriend, Frida. His neglect cost me our first child. Then, Frida' s schemes cost me my dream job.

When I became pregnant again, Dax abandoned me while I was in agony to rush to Frida's side for a minor scratch. This time, I didn't just lose the baby-I almost died.

He never even visited me in the hospital. Instead, he was photographed comforting Frida, his "one true love."

His mother finally revealed the truth: Dax's loyalty stemmed from a twisted childhood memory. He believed he had saved Frida from a traumatic event, a debt he felt he owed her for life.

But as I lay broken, a memory of my own surfaced. A dark warehouse. A kind boy who saved me. A promise whispered. It wasn't Dax. His entire devotion to Frida was built on a lie.

Now, he stands on my doorstep in Argentina, begging for a second chance after I've filed for divorce. He doesn't know that I know his secret. And I'm about to burn his world to the ground.

Chapter 1

Aliza's POV:

The chill of the sheets felt like a prophecy of what was to come, a cold dread seeping into my bones even as Dax's body was still warm next to mine. He had just taken me, with a practiced indifference that pierced deeper than any physical act. His movements were precise, powerful, and utterly devoid of the lingering tenderness I craved. He sighed, a sound of pure release, and then the familiar withdrawal began, a quiet retreat from my touch that left my skin tingling with a phantom chill.

He didn't say my name. He rarely did, not in moments like these.

He slid out of bed. His back was to me as he pulled on his silk robe. It was dark blue, the color mirroring the deep, impenetrable ocean I often felt separated us.

"I have early calls," he said, his voice flat, already distant.

He didn't wait for a reply. He never did. The door clicked shut, leaving me in the vast, echoing silence of our marital bedroom. I watched the spot where he had been, the indentation still warm on the pristine white sheets. It was a painful echo. I closed my eyes, a wave of familiar loneliness washing over me.

After a few minutes, the silence became too heavy to bear. I pushed myself up, the silk nightgown clinging to my skin. I needed to know. I always needed to know. I padded quietly to the door, pressing my ear against the cool wood. Nothing. He wasn't in his study. Curiosity, a venomous thing, coiled in my gut. I opened the door a crack.

The house was dark, but a faint light spilled from the far end of the hallway, from the small, rarely used sitting room next to the library. That was unusual. He only went there when he wanted to be truly alone. I moved like a ghost, my bare feet silent on the cold marble floors. As I got closer, a soft, familiar voice drifted out. It was a woman's voice, lilting and self-assured, the kind that filled large spaces.

It was Frida. Her celebrity talk show podcast.

My stomach clenched. I knew this ritual. Every night, after our perfunctory encounters, Dax would retreat, not to work, not to sleep, but to this. To her voice. I stopped just outside the half-open door, peering through the gap.

Dax sat in a large armchair, silhouetted against the glow of his tablet. His head was tilted slightly, a soft, almost tender expression on his face that I rarely saw directed at me. He listened, utterly engrossed, as Frida' s voice filled the quiet room. She was talking about her day, a minor mishap on set, a funny anecdote about a co-star. Mundane things, yet he absorbed every word like it was gospel.

A low, guttural sound escaped him, a quiet chuckle. My breath hitched. He was laughing. For her. The sound was foreign, intimate. I had not heard him laugh like that, not truly, not since our wedding day, and even then, it felt more like polite amusement.

My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand. The raw pain of seeing him so utterly captivated by another woman, by a ghost from his past, was a physical ache. My vision blurred. He looked so vulnerable, so lost in her world. It was a look I would have given anything to earn, even for a fleeting moment. But it wasn't for me. It was for Frida. Always Frida.

I was his wife. I shared his name, his bed, his life. But in his heart, I was an afterthought, a convenient arrangement. I was the second choice, a stand-in for the woman he truly adored. The realization hit me like a fresh punch to the gut. I was nothing more than a placeholder.

My chest tightened with a suffocating mix of sorrow and indignation. I backed away slowly, silently, the cold marble biting into my feet. The soft drone of Frida' s voice, accompanied by Dax' s occasional, tender sigh, faded behind me. When I reached the bedroom, I shut the door quietly, the click echoing the finality of my broken heart.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the muffled sounds of his devotion to another woman. It felt like hours before I heard the quiet click of the sitting room door, then his footsteps retreating to his study. The house fell silent once more, but the image of his soft gaze, the sound of his private laugh, branded itself into my mind.

The next morning, he appeared at the breakfast table, impeccably dressed, his usual mask of cold efficiency in place. There was no trace of the tenderness I had witnessed just hours before. He sipped his coffee, eyes scanning the financial news on his tablet.

I cleared my throat, forcing a smile. "My parents are hosting their annual summer barbecue next weekend," I said, trying to make my voice sound light. "They'd love for you to come. It' s been a while."

He lowered his tablet, his gaze neutral. "Next weekend? I'll check my schedule." It was his usual polite evasion, a phrase I'd learned to translate as 'no.'

I pressed on, a strange desperation gripping me. "It would mean a lot, Dax. To them. To me." I even reached across the table, placing my hand gently over his. His skin was cool beneath my touch, unresponsive.

He pulled his hand back slowly, deliberately. "Aliza, you know how demanding my schedule is." His voice was devoid of emotion. "And frankly, your family gatherings can be... overwhelming."

The polite dismissal stung, but I pushed through the pain. "Dax," I started, my voice softer, "we've been married for over a year. Don't you think it's time we start thinking about our future? A real future?" I looked into his eyes, searching for a flicker of recognition, a hint of shared dreams. "Children, perhaps?"

His expression hardened. The polite mask cracked, revealing a flash of something cold and distant. "Children?" He almost scoffed. "Aliza, we've discussed this. My focus is on West Enterprises. I'm not ready for such a monumental distraction."

"But... a family. Don't you want one? Eventually?" My voice was barely a whisper now, my heart hammering against my ribs.

He pushed his chair back, the scrape of wood against marble a harsh sound in the quiet room. "A family is a huge responsibility. And frankly," he paused, his gaze sweeping over me, devoid of warmth, "I won't bring a child into a situation where they might face the same pain I witnessed another child endure." His voice was low, almost a growl. "Not again. Not after Frida."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Frida. Even now, she was the barrier, the ghost haunting our marriage. My breath hitched. He linked the concept of having a family with the trauma he believed he shared with Frida. It was too much. The air left my lungs in a silent gasp. My vision swam.

He didn't seem to notice. He stood up, his jaw tight. "I'm leaving for the office," he said, turning his back to me. "I'll see you tonight."

He walked away, leaving me shattered at the breakfast table, the untouched food growing cold. My dream of a family, of a shared future, lay in ruins around me. The bitter taste of unrequited love and the crushing weight of his emotional neglect settled deep in my soul.

The barbecue. I went alone. My parents, bless their hearts, tried to be understanding. "He's a busy man, Aliza," my mother said, patting my hand. "We understand." But their eyes held a familiar pity that burned me from the inside out. I smiled, nodded, and pretended that everything was fine. Dax was gone, but his absence, and the reason for it, was a constant, suffocating presence.

The next morning, a call came. My supervisor, Dr. Aris, her voice crackling with excitement. "Aliza, the board just approved funding for Project Chimera! And they want you to lead the biochemistry team. It's groundbreaking work, darling. Your dream project!"

A genuine surge of hope, a feeling I hadn't felt in months, coursed through me. My dream project. My work. Something that was finally mine, untainted by the shadow of Dax's past. "Oh, Dr. Aris, that's incredible news!" I exclaimed, a wide smile spreading across my face. "Thank you! I won't let you down."

"I know you won't," she chuckled. "We're holding an introductory meeting at the West Enterprises biotech campus this afternoon. Just a preliminary walkthrough. Can you make it?"

"Absolutely!" I said, my heart soaring.

I was still buzzing when Dax walked in later that morning, surprisingly early. He saw my bright expression. "Good news?" he asked, a rare hint of curiosity in his tone.

"The Chimera project got approved!" I blurted out, unable to contain my excitement. "And I'm leading the biochemistry team!"

He nodded slowly. "Congratulations," he said, his voice flat but polite. "That's good to hear." He even offered to drive me to the West Enterprises campus, an unprecedented gesture. A tiny, foolish part of me dared to hope. Maybe, just maybe, things were changing.

We were halfway to the campus, the radio playing softly in the background, when the news bulletin broke through the music. "Breaking news from Hollywood! Actress Frida Brennan has been involved in a minor on-set accident. Sources say she sustained a concussion and is being transported to St. Jude's Medical Center. Her condition is stable..."

Dax's hand, which had been resting casually on the steering wheel, tightened. His face drained of color. The car swerved slightly. "St. Jude's," he muttered, his eyes wide with a familiar panic.

"Dax, my meeting, it's at the biotech campus, not St. Jude's," I said, a cold premonition creeping into my heart.

He didn't acknowledge me. He swung the car around in a screeching U-turn, heading in the opposite direction, toward St. Jude's. "She needs me," he said, his voice raw with an urgency I had never heard directed at me. "I have to be there."

"Dax, please! My meeting! This is important!" I pleaded, my voice rising in desperation. But it was useless. He was already gone, his mind miles away, pulled by a past that held him captive.

The hospital was a blur. He parked haphazardly, practically leaping out of the car before it had fully stopped. "Wait here," he commanded, his voice sharp, devoid of any concern for me or my meeting. He disappeared into the emergency entrance, a man possessed. I sat in the car, utterly stunned, the magnitude of his abandonment crashing down on me. He had left me. Again. For her.

Suddenly, a sharp, searing pain ripped through my lower abdomen. It was unlike anything I had ever felt. A wave of nausea washed over me, cold sweat beading on my forehead. My vision tunneled. The world tilted. I gasped, clutching my stomach, the pain intensifying. Then, blackness. My last thought was of the small, fluttering hope I had secretly held onto for weeks.

When I woke, the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room swam into view. A nurse was adjusting an IV drip beside my bed. My mouth felt like cotton. "What... what happened?" I whispered, my voice hoarse.

The nurse turned, her expression gentle but tinged with pity. "You're at St. Jude's, Mrs. West. You collapsed in your car. It seems you had a... miscarriage."

The word hung in the air, heavy and final. Miscarriage. My mind reeled. Pregnant? I hadn't even known. And now... gone. A profound emptiness echoed in the space where a tiny, secret hope had once resided. I grasped at the thin blanket, my knuckles white. A tear escaped, then another, tracing a hot path down my temple. The pain in my body was nothing compared to the sudden, crushing weight in my chest. A silent scream tore through me. My dream, my future, gone. And Dax was nowhere to be seen.

Aliza's POV:

The sterile scent of the hospital room filled my nostrils, a stark reminder of the void that had suddenly opened within me. Miscarriage. The word still felt foreign, a cruel punchline to a joke I hadn't understood until now. I reached for my abdomen, a phantom ache blooming where life had briefly, secretly, resided.

The nurse, a kind woman named Sarah, gave me a small, sad smile. "You're going to be okay, Mrs. West." Her voice was soft, but the words felt like sandpaper against my raw soul. "Your husband has been informed."

As if summoned, the door creaked open. Dax stood there, tall and imposing, yet for a split second, I saw a flicker of genuine concern in his eyes. But then, Frida materialized beside him, her arm linked through his, a bandage neatly wrapped around her temple. She looked pale, but undeniably radiant, basking in his undivided attention. She offered me a sympathetic, yet oddly triumphant, smile.

"Oh, darling, I'm so terribly sorry to hear about your... unfortunate incident," Frida cooed, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. She pressed her free hand to her chest. "Dax was so worried, rushing to my side after my little bump. Imagine, you were in an accident too! What awful luck."

Dax's arm tightened around Frida's waist. He didn't look at me, his gaze fixed on Frida's face, his concern palpable. "Frida, are you sure you should be up?" he murmured, ushering her gently back towards the door. "You need to rest."

"But Aliza, my dear, I just had to see you," Frida insisted, casting a fleeting glance at me, a mirage of compassion. "We'll leave you to recover. Dax has been such a rock for me."

And then they were gone, the door closing softly behind them, leaving me in the suffocating silence once more. My throat tightened, a bitter, metallic taste filling my mouth. "Unfortunate incident." "A little bump." That was all my loss amounted to, a footnote in their drama. He hadn't even stayed. He had chosen her again. The crushing ache in my chest intensified, a slow, agonizing burn.

My phone, lying forgotten on the bedside table, suddenly rang. It was Dr. Aris. I fumbled for it, my hands trembling.

"Aliza, what on earth happened?" Dr. Aris's voice was tight, strained. "You missed the Chimera project kickoff. The board is furious. They see this as a huge red flag for your commitment."

"Dr. Aris, I... I had an emergency," I stammered, my voice cracking. "I was in the hospital. I just had a miscarriage."

A heavy silence stretched between us. Then, Dr. Aris sighed, a long, weary sound. "Aliza, I'm so sorry to hear that. Truly. But this project... it's high stakes. We needed you there. The board is already questioning your stability. Especially after... well, after the company has already invested so much in you."

"But it wasn't my fault," I pleaded, tears stinging my eyes. "Dax was driving me there, and then Frida's accident happened, and he just... he took me here instead."

Another sigh. "Aliza, I understand you're going through a lot. But this isn't making things easy. The decision has been made. You're off the project. Effective immediately." Her voice was firm, leaving no room for negotiation.

The phone slipped from my numb fingers. Off the project. My dream. Gone. In a single, horrifying day, I had lost everything. My child, my career, and the last shred of my belief in Dax's love. The room spun. I closed my eyes, a silent sob escaping my lips.

That evening, Dax returned to the hospital room alone. He carried a bouquet of white lilies, their scent cloying in the air. "Aliza," he said, his voice a little softer than before. "I'm sorry. About... everything." He placed the flowers on the bedside table, careful not to look directly at me. "Frida is resting at home. Minor concussion, nothing serious."

My gaze was fixed on his face, searching for something, anything. "And me?" I whispered, my voice barely audible. "What about me, Dax?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "I told you, Aliza. I'm sorry." He reached for my hand, but I pulled away, recoiling from his touch. "It was an accident. These things happen."

"These things happen?" The words were ice on my tongue. "You left me. You abandoned me in the car to rush to her. And now... I've lost our baby. And my job. All for her 'minor bump'?" My voice rose, raw with grief and anger. "Why, Dax? Why is she always more important?"

His jaw tightened. His eyes, usually so guarded, flashed with something akin to annoyance. "Aliza, don't you dare accuse me of that. Frida needed me. She was terrified. And as for the baby, it's unfortunate, but we can try again." He paused, then his voice dropped, a warning underlying his words. "And don't forget your place. You are my wife. You will not question my loyalty."

His words, cold and dismissive, plunged a dagger into my already wounded heart. My place. He saw me as a possession, a status symbol, not a partner, not a woman who had just lost his child. I felt a profound emptiness, a cold, hard space where my love for him had once resided. The expectations I had carried into this marriage, the naive hope that my devotion would eventually melt his icy exterior, crumbled into dust. I had envisioned a life of mutual respect, of shared dreams, of a family. Instead, I had found a gilded cage, and a husband whose heart belonged to a ghost.

A few days later, back in the sprawling, silent mansion, my parents came to visit. My mother, seeing my hollow eyes, wrapped me in a tight embrace. "My poor girl," she murmured, stroking my hair. My father, usually stern, patted my shoulder awkwardly. They were worried. Dax, ever the dutiful husband in public, had arranged for me to be brought home, ensuring all appearances were maintained.

That evening, Dax walked into the living room, a rare smile on his face. "Aliza," he said, holding out a glossy brochure. "My mother insisted we start planning. For the nursery." He pointed to a picture of a lavish, pastel-filled room. "She thinks we should go with a classical theme. What do you think?"

I stared at the brochure, then at him. The thought of another child, of filling that empty space, was a terrifying prospect. My voice was a whisper. "Dax... will you be a good father?"

He paused, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. Then, he smiled, a real smile this time, though it felt forced. He knelt before me, pulling out a small, velvet box. "Aliza, I promise you, I will be the best father." He opened the box to reveal a glittering diamond pendant, shaped like a tiny star. "This is for our future. Our new beginning." He closed the box, opened his palm, and with a childish grin, placed my hand on his. "Pinky promise?"

A strange lightness, fleeting and fragile, touched my heart. It was a childish gesture, so unlike the stoic CEO, yet it offered a momentary reprieve from the crushing weight of my grief. It reminded me, vaguely, of another promise, long ago, in a different lifetime. A promise of safety, of forever. I almost believed him. Almost.

I nodded, a weak smile playing on my lips. "Okay, Dax," I whispered. "Pinky promise."

That night, alone again in our bedroom, I stared at the star pendant. The memory of the Chimera project, my dream job, flickered in my mind. I couldn't let everything go. I had to reclaim some part of myself. I picked up my phone. I would call Dr. Aris again, beg for another chance, anything. I wouldn't just be "Mrs. West," a grieving woman whose only purpose was to bear an heir. I was Aliza Hayes, biochemist. And I would fight for that.

The next day, armed with renewed determination, I dressed in my sharpest suit and headed to the university. Dr. Aris was hesitant but agreed to give me a chance to present my case to the departmental board. As I walked down the familiar hallway, my heart thumped with a mix of hope and anxiety. I pushed open the door to the research lab, only to freeze.

Frida Brennan was there. In a lab coat two sizes too big, striking a pose for a camera crew. She was laughing, her high-pitched giggle echoing through the usually sacred space. "Oh, the wonders of science!" she chirped, holding up a test tube for the camera. "So fascinating!"

My blood ran cold. What was she doing here?

She spotted me. Her smile faltered for a microsecond, then brightened, becoming even more saccharine. "Aliza, darling! What a surprise! Dax said you were... recovering."

"Frida," I said, my voice tight. "What are you doing in my lab?"

She batted her eyelashes, feigning innocence. "Oh, didn't you hear? Dax pulled some strings. West Enterprises is a major sponsor of this project now, and I'm joining the team as a 'celebrity ambassador' to raise awareness! Isn't it just fabulous?" She winked at the camera.

My world tilted. Dax. He had done this. He had not only ensured I lost my original position but had now inserted his precious Frida into my project, making a mockery of my life's work. The rage that surged through me was cold and pure.

Just then, my supervisor, Dr. Aris, walked in, looking flustered. "Aliza, perfect timing. We just finished the orientation for our new... team member." She gave me an apologetic glance that spoke volumes.

"Team member?" I scoffed, my voice laced with venom. "She's an actress, Dr. Aris. What does she know about biochemistry?"

Frida pouted dramatically for the cameras. "Oh, Aliza, don't be such a naysayer! I'm here to learn, to inspire! Dax thinks it's a brilliant idea!"

"Dax thinks it's a brilliant idea," I repeated, the words burning on my tongue. He hadn't just neglected me; he was actively sabotaging me, for her. The last threads of my naive hope snapped.

Suddenly, Dax appeared, striding confidently into the lab, a proprietary hand landing on Frida's shoulder. He looked at me, a flicker of defiance in his eyes. "Aliza. I assume you're here to apply for a research assistant position. This project is vital, and Frida's involvement will ensure maximum public interest."

He said it so casually, as if demoting me from team leader to assistant, and replacing me with a b-list actress, was a perfectly normal, acceptable action. His hand stroked Frida's arm with a tenderness he reserved only for her. Then he leaned down, whispering something in her ear that made her giggle, her eyes sparkling with delight.

My heart shattered, not into a thousand pieces, but into a fine, bitter dust. The pinky promise, the star pendant, the faint hope for a family-all of it felt like a cruel joke. He wasn't just emotionally distant; he was a walking, breathing betrayal. The man I had loved for a decade, the boy who had once filled my dreams, was a stranger. And worse, he was my enemy.

Aliza's POV:

Dax' s hand lingered on Frida' s arm, a touch so tender it twisted a knife in my gut. He bent his head, murmuring something to her, and she giggled, her eyes sparkling. It was an intimacy I had spent a year yearning for, an affection he reserved solely for his "beloved" ex-girlfriend. The sight made my stomach churn, a sickening blend of jealousy and despair. I watched him, this man I was married to, whose gaze was now solely on another woman, a woman who reveled in his attention like a spoiled child.

A cold, suffocating pressure crept up my throat. I felt like I was drowning in a sea of his indifference and her calculated charm. My lungs burned, starved for air. I wanted to scream, to lash out, to rip that smug smile off Frida's face, but I couldn't. Not here. Not in front of the camera crew, who were still dutifully filming Frida's every pout and pose.

I swallowed hard, forcing the hot tears back. My professional reputation was on the line, the very thing I had fought so hard to reclaim. I straightened my spine, pushing down the tidal wave of humiliation and betrayal. "Dr. Aris," I said, my voice surprisingly steady, "I'm here for the research assistant position. I understand the project's importance." My eyes flicked to Dax, a silent challenge in their depths. "And I assure you, my commitment is unwavering."

Dr. Aris looked relieved, though a shadow of concern still lingered in her eyes. "Excellent, Aliza. I'm glad you're on board. This is a critical moment for the project. Last chance, mind you." She stressed the last part, a clear warning.

I nodded, acknowledging the unspoken pressure. This wasn't just a job; it was my lifeline, my identity. I wouldn't let him, or her, take that from me. I presented my detailed research proposal, outlining groundbreaking methodologies, my voice firm and clear. I spoke with passion, with conviction, about the potential of Project Chimera. The science, the hope it offered for humanity, flowed through me, momentarily eclipsing the bitter reality of my personal life.

The board members, initially skeptical, began to nod. Dr. Aris's expression shifted from concern to pride. My proposal was sound, my expertise undeniable. They couldn't deny my qualifications, even with Dax's blatant interference. When the final vote was cast, it was unanimous. I was in. As a research assistant, yes, but I was in. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

A fragile sense of triumph bloomed in my chest as I left the campus. I had done it. I had fought for my place, for my passion. My steps felt lighter, a glimmer of hope returning.

As I approached the mansion, I noticed a flurry of activity. Boxes, ribbons, and baby decor were being carried inside. My heart gave a strange lurch. They were setting up the nursery. Dax's assistant, Mrs. Evans, met me at the door, her face wreathed in a warm smile.

"Mrs. West, welcome home! Mr. West wanted to ensure everything was perfect for the baby's room. He's been so particular. He even sent over sketches himself." Her words, meant to be comforting, felt hollow.

I forced a smile, my joy from the project approval suddenly overshadowed by a familiar dread. Dax, particular about a nursery? The man who couldn't even remember my favorite color? A cynical laugh caught in my throat. This wasn't for me. This was for the image, for the West legacy.

Later, as I walked through the half-decorated room, the pastel colors and tiny furniture felt alien, suffocating. A tiny, irrational fear gripped me. A child. His child. I had lost one, and now the prospect of another, of bringing a new life into this fractured world, felt terrifying. My own childhood, a blur of emotional neglect and unspoken resentments, flashed before my eyes. My parents, caught in their own silent war, had offered little warmth. I didn't want to repeat that cycle. Not for an innocent child. Not with Dax.

The ringing of my phone startled me. It was Dax. "Aliza," his voice was clipped, urgent. "The media got wind of your... condition. It's everywhere. We need to control the narrative."

My heart sank. "What do you mean?"

"They're painting you as a calculating gold-digger, trying to trap me with a pregnancy. And of course, there are whispers about Frida's accident and your sudden job loss. It's a mess." His tone was devoid of sympathy, filled only with annoyance at the PR nightmare. "We need a united front. There's a press conference tonight. Be ready."

"A press conference?" My voice was weak. "Dax, I just lost a baby. And my job. I'm not ready for this."

"You will be ready," he snapped, his patience wearing thin. "This isn't about your feelings, Aliza. This is about West Enterprises. This is about protecting our image, and more importantly, protecting Frida from further scrutiny. A baby is a powerful tool for public perception. It shows stability, commitment."

His words were a bitter chill. A baby, a tool. Not a miracle, not a new beginning, but a PR strategy. The last vestige of warmth in my heart withered and died.

That evening, I stood beside Dax on a brightly lit stage, a forced smile plastered on my face. The cameras flashed blindingly, a hungry horde of reporters shouting questions. My hand rested on my still-flat stomach, a gesture I hoped conveyed a serene, expectant mother. It was a performance. Our marriage was a performance.

"Mr. West," a reporter called out, "There are rumors you gifted Ms. Brennan a rare diamond necklace just last week. Is it true your wife received a similar, even more extravagant, piece of jewelry as a token of your enduring love?"

Dax's grip on my hand tightened, a silent warning. He smiled charmingly. "Of course. My wife means the world to me. She deserves nothing less than the best." He turned to me, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Isn't that right, dearest?"

The lie tasted like ash in my mouth. I hadn't received a single piece of jewelry from him since our forced engagement ring. The "star pendant" was a flimsy prop in his childish promise, a cheap bauble compared to the diamonds that adorned Frida. Yet, I smiled, a chillingly perfect imitation of his own. "Absolutely," I murmured, my voice saccharine. The bitterness, however, was mine alone.

Another reporter chimed in, his question sharper. "Mrs. West, some tabloids are suggesting your relationship with Ms. Brennan is strained, particularly after her recent accident. How do you feel about Ms. Brennan's involvement in the Chimera project, given her previous relationship with your husband?"

Dax's hand squeezed mine, almost painfully. My gaze met his. His eyes held a silent threat, a clear command to play along. But something inside me snapped. The years of neglect, the constant humiliation, the fresh wound of my miscarriage, and now this blatant disrespect. It was too much.

I took a deep breath, my smile unwavering, even as my heart pounded a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "Frida Brennan is a talented actress," I began, my voice clear and calm. "Her involvement brings valuable public visibility to important scientific research." I paused, letting my gaze drift to Dax, then back to the reporter. "As for her past relationship with my husband, that is precisely what it is-the past. My husband and I are focused on our future. And our child."

A ripple went through the reporters. Dax's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise, perhaps even grudging respect, in their depths. He hadn't expected that. He had expected me to crumble, to stutter, to confirm their suspicions. But I had played his game, and I had won. For now.

Back in the mansion, the silence felt heavier than usual. Dax sat across from me in the living room, scrolling through his tablet. The comments section of a news article flashed on the screen: Gold-digger. Home-wrecker. She clearly drove Frida away. Just look at how smug she is. The internet was a cesspool of hate, fueled by Frida's carefully crafted victim narrative.

Dax cleared his throat. "I'll have my team deal with this. It will blow over." His voice was flat, devoid of real comfort.

I looked at him, my heart a hollow ache. "Do you believe them, Dax?" My voice was barely a whisper. "Do you think I'm a home-wrecker? That I drove Frida away?"

He didn't answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the screen, then shifted to the flickering fireplace. "Aliza," he said, his voice laced with a familiar weariness, "you knew what this marriage was. A pact. A merger. Your family's struggling biotech firm, my family's empire. There were... expectations." He finally met my gaze, his eyes cold, distant. "Frida and I... we had a history. A long one. You were aware of that."

The words were a brutal affirmation of my deepest fears. He didn't deny it. He didn't defend me. He simply reiterated the terms of our loveless contract. I was the inconvenient truth, the outsider who dared to disrupt his carefully constructed narrative. My chest tightened, a fresh wave of grief washing over me. I had foolishly hoped, even after everything, that he might, just might, see me as more than a business arrangement. But he didn't. He never would. The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken accusations and the bitter taste of a love that was never truly reciprocated.