Five Years of His Lies

For five years, I tolerated my husband Franklyn' s cheating. My only condition was simple: keep it out of my sight.

Then his college crush, Heaven, came back. He didn't just parade her around-he stole the community center I designed in memory of our late son and gave it to her as a gift.

When photos of their affair were leaked at her launch event, he shielded her from the cameras and pointed the finger at me. He told the world I was an unstable, grieving wife who was having an affair.

He forced me to publicly confess, shattering my reputation. Then he came home and told me Heaven was pregnant and that I needed to move out of our penthouse to give her a "calm environment."

"You know how much you care for children, Clara," he said, using my deepest pain against me.

That night, I signed the divorce papers. At the airport, as he screamed my name from behind the security gate, I calmly pulled the SIM card from my phone, dropped it in the trash, and boarded the plane.

Chapter 1

I had tolerated his infidelities for five years. Five years of quiet acceptance, of pretending the whispers didn't exist.

My single condition was simple: keep it out of my life. Out of my sight. That was the fragile boundary our marriage stood on.

Then Heaven Russell walked back into our world. A name I' d only ever heard whispered, a ghost from Franklyn' s past.

She was his college crush, the one he never got over. The one every man secretly wishes he'd had.

She moved with an arrogant grace, her self-made tech empire adding a sharp edge to her beauty. She didn't just enter a room; she owned it.

Franklyn changed around her. The cold, calculating Wall Street tycoon melted into a boy who still yearned. It was sickening to watch.

Tonight, at the high-profile charity gala, he didn't even try to hide it. He paraded her, a trophy wife in all but name, on his arm.

My spine remained perfectly straight, my smile politely fixed. My composure was a shield, protecting the crumbling pieces inside.

But something had shifted. A quiet resolve had solidified within me, a secret plan already taking root.

Heaven made her grand entrance late, as expected. The air crackled with anticipation the moment she appeared.

She wore a dress that defied convention, a stark contrast to the glittering gowns, almost a subtle rebellion.

Franklyn had sent her a diamond necklace. She openly refused it, placing it back on a silver tray held by a startled waiter. "Not my style," she purred, loud enough for us to hear.

"I'm here for the cause, not for trinkets," she added, her eyes sweeping over the crowd, landing briefly on me. A challenge.

The ballroom fell silent, a collective gasp swallowed by the velvet drapes.

I watched Franklyn, a knot forming in my stomach. What would he do? How would he defend me, his actual wife?

He just smiled, a soft, indulgent look. "She's always been fiercely independent," he announced, as if explaining a charming quirk.

He then took her hand, pulling her deeper into the room, abandoning the necklace where it lay.

Her eyes, over his shoulder, met mine. A flicker of triumph. "You really think you can keep him?" she seemed to ask.

She pulled her hand free, a practiced move, and walked towards the quieter corner of the room, leaving Franklyn momentarily stranded.

Without a second glance at me, he followed her, his face a mask of concern.

I stood there, amidst the glittering crowd, suddenly alone in a very public way.

A waiter offered champagne. I took two glasses, draining one almost immediately. The bubbles did little to numb the sting.

I excused myself from the table, a polite lie about finding the ladies' room. But I wasn't looking for a restroom. I was looking for them.

I found them near the conservatory, partially hidden by a towering palm. Franklyn' s voice was low, laced with a tenderness I hadn't heard in years.

He was gently stroking Heaven' s hair, murmuring something about how unfair the world had been to her.

Heaven leaned into his touch, then pulled back slightly. "I don't need pity, Franklyn," she said, her voice sharp. "I need to prove myself. On my own."

His eyes, usually so calculating, softened further. "You deserve every success, Heaven. More than anyone I know."

Then he pulled a thick, leather-bound portfolio from inside his jacket. It was too familiar. My heart dropped.

He pressed it into her hands. "This community arts center project. It needs a visionary. Someone with your drive."

"But this is... immense," Heaven demurred, but her fingers already traced the cover. "It would make my foundation's year."

"And it will be credited to you," Franklyn said, his voice firm. "Every single piece of it."

My breath hitched. The blood roared in my ears. I stepped out from behind the palm, my legs feeling like lead. "That's my design," I stated, my voice shaking despite my best efforts.

Franklyn turned, his expression quickly hardening. "Clara. What are you doing out here?" His tone was dismissive.

"That portfolio," I insisted, pointing a trembling finger. "That's my community arts center design. For our son."

He sighed, as if I were being inconvenient. "Heaven needs this, Clara. She's building something from nothing. You have everything."

"You built nothing from nothing," I countered, my voice cracking. "That project was my soul. It was for us. For him."

Franklyn's jaw tightened. "Don't be dramatic. It's just a design. And it's going to do a lot of good, now. For Heaven."

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. Heaven clutched the portfolio tighter, a sly smirk ghosting her lips.

"Thank you, Clara," Heaven said, her voice dripping with fake sincerity. "I'll be sure to make your... original vision proud."

Franklyn opened the conservatory door for Heaven. She passed me, her perfume sickeningly sweet. He didn't look back.

The sleek black car pulled away, leaving me standing alone in the grand, empty driveway. The first drops of rain splattered against my bare shoulders.

I kicked off my heels. The cold asphalt felt like ice beneath my feet. I walked, not caring where. The rain began to pour.

Through the downpour, I heard it. Their laughter. Free, joyful, utterly oblivious laughter. It cut through the night like a knife.

I remembered Franklyn' s vows, five years ago. "Forever," he' d promised, his eyes shining. "Always."

He wasn't always. He was never. The man who stood next to me on our wedding day was a stranger. The one who truly hurt me was him.

I somehow made it back to the penthouse. The city lights blurred through the rain-streaked windows. I felt a sudden, dizzying lurch.

My legs gave out. I crumpled to the cold marble floor, my head hitting the ground with a dull thud. Everything swam.

Hours later, the bedroom door creaked open. Franklyn. He found me there, a heap on the floor. His eyes widened.

He rushed to me, lifting me into his arms. "Clara? What happened?" His voice was laced with a concern that felt foreign.

He carried me to the bed, stroking my hair. His touch was almost tender. It was the way he used to hold me.

A sickeningly sweet scent of Heaven' s perfume clung to him. It was everywhere. On his shirt, in his hair, on his skin.

"You smell nice," I said, my voice barely a whisper. My own words tasted like ash.

He pulled back, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. "It's nothing. Just... business."

"Of course," I said, staring blankly at the ceiling. "Business. And when business is done, you'll come back to me, won't you? Like a good little boy."

He sighed, a long, weary sound. "Clara, you know I always come home to you."

But his words held no comfort. They were just empty promises. I couldn't even cry. My tears had dried up long ago.

I stared at him, numb. He was my husband. And he was a stranger.

The sharp clang of metal woke me. My head throbbed. I sat bolt upright in bed, disoriented.

Heaven was in my home office, sifting through my blueprints. My private space. My designs.

She held up a rolled parchment, a blueprint for a community center, the one that meant everything to me. "I'm having trouble with the structural integrity here," she said, without a trace of shame. "You're the expert. Help me fix it."

I stared at her, my throat tight with disgust. "No," I managed, my voice hoarse. "I won't."

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't be difficult, Clara. Franklyn said you'd be cooperative."

"Franklyn said a lot of things," I retorted, pushing myself out of bed. My head still swam.

"Look, I know this is hard for you," she continued, her voice falsely gentle. "But this project is my big break. I need it."

She took a step closer, gesturing with the blueprint. In her carelessness, the corner of the heavy parchment scraped sharply across my arm. A thin line of blood welled up.

"Oh, my God! You clumsy fool!" Heaven shrieked, clutching her hand as if I had attacked her. "You tried to hurt me!"

Just then, Franklyn strode into the room, his eyes instantly falling on Heaven's feigned distress. "What happened here?" His voice was cold.

Heaven burst into theatrical tears. "She... she attacked me, Franklyn! She doesn't want me to succeed!"

He didn't even look at my bleeding arm. His gaze was fixed on Heaven, then flickered to me with pure contempt. "Clara, what have you done?"

"She scratched me," I said, holding out my arm, a futile gesture. "She did it to herself."

Franklyn's expression softened for a fleeting second as his eyes landed on the blood. But it vanished as quickly as it came. "Don't play the victim, Clara," he snarled. "You're better than this cheap trick."

"Apologize to Heaven," he commanded, his voice steel. "And then you will help her with this project. You will teach her everything she needs to know."

My jaw dropped. "Apologize? For what? And you want me to... hand over my life's work to her?"

"Your family's business," Franklyn said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "still relies heavily on my investments, Clara. Don't forget that."

My breath caught in my throat. My family. My loyalty to them was my greatest vulnerability. He knew it.

I swallowed hard, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. "Fine," I choked out. "I'll help her."

I watched, numb, as Heaven gathered my blueprints, asking questions I mechanically answered. Each word felt like a betrayal of my own soul.

When she finally left, a triumphant smile on her face, I sank to the floor. The tears came then, hot and stinging.

Franklyn reappeared at the doorway. He watched me, his gaze unreadable. "Crying again?" he asked, a strange note in his voice.

I quickly wiped my eyes, forcing a composure I didn't feel. "Just tired," I mumbled. "And my arm stings."

He seemed to relax, a subtle shift in his shoulders. "Good. Because tomorrow, you'll be on my arm. At Heaven's launch event."

He turned and left. I let the tears fall freely then. Not for him to see. Never for him to see again.