My Marriage: A Million Lies

My marriage to the cold New York tycoon, Eli Drake, was supposed to be an impossible love story. I was the rebellious artist who had chased him across continents, believing I' d found my soulmate.

Then I overheard a conversation that shattered everything. Our three-year marriage was a lie, a charade designed to protect his fragile sister-in-law, Kala. I was just the "lightning rod," strong enough to take the hits meant for her.

The worst part? He' d secretly had a vasectomy, letting me endure his family' s scorn for being "barren" while he knew the truth all along.

It all clicked into place: the public humiliations, the framed financial crimes, the "accidents" that left me scarred. They systematically broke me, forcing me to give a piece of my own skin to heal Kala and staging a car crash that landed me in prison.

Eli' s justification was always the same: "Kala is delicate. Not like you." He thought I was strong enough to take it, that my defiance was a tool he could use.

He exiled me, thinking I was broken and forgotten. He was wrong. I reinvented myself as the celebrated artist 'Lark.' And when he came crawling back, begging for forgiveness on a global stage, I knew my moment had come. My revenge would be a masterpiece.

Chapter 1

Carissa Vang POV:

"Our marriage was a lightning rod, Carissa. You were always meant to take the hits, not protect the vulnerable." Eli' s voice, cold and precise, cut through the last vestiges of my hope like a scalpel.

I tried to tell myself he was lying. I wanted to deny it, to cling to the fabricated love story where he was my hero and I, his vibrant, rebellious artist, had chased him across continents. But the words hung in the air, dense and suffocating, far heavier than the humid New York summer.

Three years. Three years of believing I' d found my impossible love with the disciplined, cold New York tycoon, Eli Drake. Three years of navigating his ancient, traditional family, a gilded cage I' d gladly entered, thinking it was the price of true passion. I had fallen deeply, completely, when he' d saved me from a mugging, an act that felt like destiny. Now, the bitter truth coated my tongue, tasting of ash and betrayal.

Eli, the man who had promised forever, the man whose touch I had craved like air, stood before me, his face a mask of his usual controlled composure. But this time, I saw it differently. It wasn't discipline; it was calculation. It wasn't coldness; it was a wall built specifically to keep me out.

I was the vibrant, rebellious artist from a wealthy Los Angeles family. He was the CEO of the Drake conglomerate, old money, old rules. Our worlds were supposed to collide and create something beautiful, something new. Instead, they had merely been exploited.

My early days in his world were a constant battle. I painted a mural on a pristine white wall in our Hamptons estate, a burst of color and chaos that mirrored my soul. Eli' s mother, Elyssa, had recoiled, her lips thinning to a pale line. "Drake women uphold tradition, Carissa, not... deface it." I had scoffed, looking to Eli for support, but he had merely given a tight, almost imperceptible smile. I thought it was amusement, a shared secret between us against his rigid family. Now, I knew it was approval for my role as their designated rebel.

Then came my attempts to introduce modern art to the family's annual charity gala, a move I thought would showcase my passion and bring a fresh perspective. Elyssa had intervened, canceling my arrangements last minute, replacing them with dusty classical sculptures. "This is how we do things," she'd stated, her voice as unyielding as granite. I had fought back, loudly and publicly, causing a scene that Eli had smoothly diffused. He'd put an arm around me, whispering placating words, but his eyes, I realized now, had been scanning the room, assessing the damage I'd absorbed.

The deepest wound, however, was the constant pressure for an heir. Eli's family, obsessed with legacy and "proper" bloodlines, had hounded us since our wedding day. I' d bristled under their expectations, arguing for choice, for our own timing. Eli had always seemed to side with me, deflecting their questions with vague answers, a gentle squeeze of my hand. I thought he was protecting me from their archaic demands.

The breaking point had come weeks ago, a heated argument with Elyssa about my supposed "failure" to conceive. She had implied my artistic pursuits were frivolous, distracting me from my wifely duties. I had exploded, my voice echoing through the silent mansion, declaring that my body was my own, my choices mine to make. Eli had walked in then, his face unreadable. I' d expected his usual calm diplomacy, or perhaps even a rare moment of genuine support. Instead, his gaze had been distant, almost calculating.

His next words, spoken softly in our bedroom, had landed like a fist to my stomach. "You know, Carissa, sometimes you're too much. Too loud, too defiant."

I' d stared at him, my breath catching in my throat. This was the man I had loved, the man I had chased, the man I had believed in. He was criticizing my very essence, the fire he had once claimed to adore. My spirit, once so bright, felt like a candle snuffed out by a sudden, cold gust of wind.

It wasn't just his words. It was the complete dismissal of my feelings, the subtle hints that my pain was an inconvenience. It was the way he' d let me be humiliated, the way he' d allowed me to be framed for crimes I didn' t commit, all while standing silently by. Each time, I' d rationalized it, convinced myself he was secretly on my side, that he would eventually sweep me away from their suffocating grip.

But now, standing in the opulent, yet sterile, drawing-room of his family's New York penthouse, the truth was laid bare. I had inadvertently overheard a conversation, a hushed exchange between Eli and his family lawyer. My heart had pounded a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I pressed my ear closer to the heavy mahogany door.

"She' s served her purpose, Eli. Three years is long enough to divert their attention from Kala. Now, we need to finalize the framework for the eventual divorce," the lawyer had stated, his voice low but clear.

Kala? My purpose? The words had spun in my head, a dizzying, sickening realization.

Eli' s reply had been even worse. "Carissa was always strong enough to take it. She thrives on defiance. Kala, on the other hand... she needs protection."

My blood had run cold. Strong enough to take it? Thrives on defiance? Was that all I was to him? A shield? A pawn in his twisted family drama?

Then the lawyer had continued, "And the vasectomy? Still holding up, I presume? No messy heir complications?"

The world had tilted on its axis. A vasectomy. Eli had secretly had a vasectomy. All those years of longing for a child, of feeling inadequate under the family's watchful eyes, of silent tears shed in the sterile quiet of our bedroom. He had known. He had known and let me believe it was my fault, my body failing us.

My breath hitched, a sharp, ragged gasp. My knees felt weak, threatening to buckle beneath me. This wasn't just betrayal; it was a calculated, heinous desecration of everything I thought we had.

I had stumbled back, my mind reeling, my vision blurring. The ornate patterns on the Persian rug seemed to writhe, mocking my shattered illusions. My love for Eli, once a burning inferno, chilled instantly, solidifying into a block of ice in my chest. It wasn' t just ice; it was a cold, sharp blade, ready to carve out a new path.

I craved for him to deny it, to look at me with tenderness, to tell me it was all a terrible misunderstanding. But as I watched him, his gaze still impassive, I knew. There was no denial, only a chilling confirmation.

His gaze flickered to my face, then away, dismissive. He hadn't even seen me until that moment, so consumed was he by his callous conversation. His eyes, devoid of any warmth, any regret for my pain, cemented the truth. I was a tool, a means to an end.

My heart didn't break; it shattered into a million sharp fragments, each one a weapon. The naiveté I had carried, believing in our fabricated love, dissolved, replaced by a searing, metallic taste of vengeance. My face, my muscles, became stone. My eyes, once bright with love, now held a dangerous, chilling glint. He had used me. He had broken me. And now, he would pay. Every single psychological abuse, every public humiliation, every false accusation-I would repay it a thousandfold.

I would make him regret the day he ever thought I was "strong enough to take it."

Carissa Vang POV:

My phone buzzed, a jarring vibration against the cold marble tabletop. I ignored it, my gaze fixed on the empty space where Eli had stood moments before. My mind was a whirlwind of shattered memories, each one a fresh sting. The vasectomy. The calculated sham. Kala.

The revelation of Eli's secret vasectomy wasn't just a betrayal; it was a brutal amputation of my future, a future I had ignorantly woven with him, dreams of children and family now lying in tatters. I had endured his family's incessant prodding, their thinly veiled insults about my "barren" state, all while Eli, my supposed husband, knew the truth and let me twist in the wind. The pain of that knowledge twisted my gut, a physical agony that mirrored the hollowness in my chest.

The phone buzzed again, persistent. It was Eli. I almost let it ring, but a flicker of something new-cold, sharp, and utterly determined-stirred within me. I needed to act, and action required information. I answered, my voice a carefully constructed monotone.

"Carissa? Where are you?" His tone was clipped, demanding. No concern, just impatience.

"I' m here," I replied, my voice sounding strangely hollow to my own ears. "What do you want?"

"There's an issue with Jonte. He's made a mess again. Kala is distraught." His words tumbled out, revealing the same old pattern: Jonte, his reckless younger brother, causing trouble, and Kala, his 'fragile' sister-in-law, needing protection. The same old story, but now with a gaping hole of truth ripped through it.

"And you're going to fix it, like always," I stated, not a question, but a bitter observation.

"Of course. Someone has to. She's delicate, Carissa. Not like you." His words were a backhanded compliment, or perhaps, in his mind, a justification. Not like you. He was right. I wasn't delicate. I was a weapon being forged in fire.

He hung up abruptly, already in motion, probably rushing to Kala's side. He hadn't even waited for my response, hadn't noticed the seismic shift that had just occurred within me. He was so blind, so utterly consumed by his illusion of duty and protection.

A moment later, my phone pinged again. A text from Eli: "Find me. Don't leave the penthouse." A command, as always.

I walked to the window, the glittering New York skyline a stark contrast to the rubble of my life. My mind raced, piecing together fragments of the past. The relentless scrutiny from Elyssa about my childlessness, Eli's evasiveness, Kala's seemingly innocent "concerns" about my "reckless" behavior. It all clicked into place with sickening clarity.

I was the lightning rod. My high-profile, wild reputation, carefully cultivated by Eli's family to absorb the wrath and scrutiny away from Kala. Kala, the fragile sister-in-law, who was married to his irresponsible brother Jonte. Kala, who was the real object of his twisted protection. Kala, the true villain, who had likely orchestrated many of the public humiliations that I had simply endured.

I remembered the time my beloved pet parrot, Echo, had mysteriously flown out an open window in our well-secured penthouse. Eli had simply shrugged, saying, "He was a wild bird at heart, Carissa. He found his freedom." Kala had offered a saccharine "I'm so sorry, dear," while her eyes had glittered with something I now recognised as malicious glee. I had cried for days, and Eli had offered no comfort, just a detached observation about my "over-emotional nature." Now, I knew. It wasn't an accident.

Then there was the incident with my art studio, where a faulty heater had caused a small fire, resulting in me needing a skin graft on my arm. Kala, ever the picture of concern, had been the one to "discover" the fire, but her eyes had held a strange, almost triumphant glint as the paramedics worked on me. Eli had been furious at the damage to the property, but his anger had been directed at the "negligence" of the staff, not at the potential harm to me. He had later dismissed my lingering pain with a wave of his hand, saying, "Artists are dramatic, Carissa. A scar will only add character." He saw my suffering as an aesthetic, not a wound.

And the financial crimes. The framed documents, the manipulated accounts that had put my reputation and my family's business at risk. Eli had played the hero then, too, swooping in to "clear my name," but not before letting me face the public humiliation, the accusations. He had used my wild reputation as a smokescreen, making it easy for the public to believe I was capable of such recklessness. He had meticulously orchestrated it all, ensuring I bore the brunt of his family's displeasure and the public's judgment, all to keep Kala safe.

The pieces of the puzzle weren't just fitting; they were exploding in my mind, each shard of truth cutting deeper than the last. He believed I was strong enough to take it. He believed I would simply absorb the blows and continue to stand. He was about to learn how wrong he was.

My hands trembled, but not from fear. From raw, incandescent rage. This wasn't despair anymore; it was a cold, calculated fury. My love for him had turned to venom, a potent cocktail of hatred and an unyielding desire for justice. He had taken everything from me: my affection, my trust, my future. He had used me as a shield, a scapegoat, a distraction.

I picked up my phone, my fingers flying across the screen. I called my father, Forest Neal. He was a powerful LA business magnate, emotionally distant, but fiercely protective of his own. He had warned me about Eli, had disapproved of the marriage, but I had been blinded by love.

"Dad," I said, my voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil raging within me. "I need your help. I want a divorce. And I want to burn the Drake empire to the ground."

There was a long silence on the other end, then a deep sigh. "Carissa, what has that man done now?" His voice was laced with a familiar exasperation, but underneath it, I detected a spark of concern, a hint of the unwavering support I knew he possessed, even if he rarely showed it.

"Everything," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "He's done everything. And I'm going to make him regret it."

"Are you sure about this, Carissa? The Drakes are old money, old power. This won't be easy," he cautioned, his voice now serious, the casual tone gone.

"I' m sure. I want him to lose everything. His empire, his reputation, his peace. Everything he holds dear," I stated, the words pouring out with a chilling conviction. "And if you don't help me, I'll do it myself, and I'll make sure the Vang name goes down with the Drakes."

Another silence, heavier this time. My father knew I was capable of it. He knew the fire that burned within me, the same fire he himself possessed. He had always seen it, even when he hadn't approved of its direction.

"Alright, Carissa," he finally said, his voice grim. "Tell me everything. And then, we'll begin."

A cold smile touched my lips. "Oh, we're just getting started, Dad. He thought I was a deflector. He's about to learn I'm a destroyer."

Carissa Vang POV:

My father' s words, "We'll begin," were a chilling echo in the otherwise deafening silence of the penthouse. The weight of his agreement, the implicit promise of unleashing the Vang family's formidable resources, both terrified and exhilarated me. It was done. The decision was made. There was no going back.

My hands, still trembling slightly, balled into fists. I closed my eyes, picturing Eli's impassive face, his dismissive words. Strong enough to take it. I would show him how strong I truly was, strong enough to dismantle his carefully constructed world piece by piece.

I needed to clear my head, to numb the raw edges of my pain, if only for a few hours. I picked up my phone again, scrolled through my contacts, and called Lena, my oldest friend, a fellow artist who understood my volatile spirit better than anyone. "Lena, I need a drink. A strong one. Meet me at The Velvet Lounge, now."

An hour later, surrounded by the pulsating beat of music and the chatter of strangers, I felt a fragile sense of release. The alcohol burned, but it was a welcome fire compared to the ice in my veins. Lena, her eyes wide with concern, listened as I recounted the bare bones of my decision.

"You' re really ending it?" she asked, her voice barely audible over the music, but her shock was palpable. She knew how much I had poured into this marriage, how desperately I had wanted it to work.

"It was never real, Lena," I said, the words tasting like ash. "Just a charade. A shield for his precious Kala."

She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Carissa... I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," I said, my voice firmer than I felt. "Be angry. Be ready to watch the fireworks."

Suddenly, the music cut out. The lights flickered, then dimmed, bathing the lounge in an eerie, red glow. A hush fell over the crowd, replaced by urgent whispers. A tall, imposing figure in a crisp, dark suit strode through the parted crowd, his eyes scanning the room with an unnerving intensity. It was Mr. Davies, Eli' s head of security.

His gaze landed on me, sharp and unwavering. "Mrs. Drake, Mr. Drake requires your immediate presence."

My jaw tightened. Eli. Always Eli. Even now, he sought to control. "I' m not Mrs. Drake," I retorted, my voice ringing with a newfound defiance. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Mr. Davies's face remained impassive, but his posture hardened. Two more men, equally imposing, materialized behind him. "With all due respect, Mrs. Drake, this is not a request."

Lena started to protest, but I squeezed her arm, a silent command for her to stay out of it. "You think you can just march in here and drag me out?" I scoffed, a bitter laugh bubbling up. "Is this how he 'protects' his delicate flower? By sending his goons?"

Before I could finish, Mr. Davies moved, swift and efficient. He grabbed my arm, his grip like steel. I struggled, my anger flaring, but his hold was unbreakable. The lounge, once a refuge, now felt like a cage. I was being forcibly removed, not a gentle escort, but a kidnapping in plain sight. Whispers followed us, judgmental stares. The humiliation was a familiar, bitter taste.

I was shoved into a waiting black SUV, the door slamming shut behind me. The last thing I saw was Lena's horrified face, then the blur of city lights.

I woke up to the smell of antiseptic and old wood. My head throbbed, and a dull ache resonated through my body. I was lying on a narrow cot in a dimly lit room, the walls bare and cold. The door creaked open, and Elyssa Drake, Eli's mother, stood framed in the doorway, her face a mask of disapproval.

"Carissa," she said, her voice a low, chilling reprimand. "Your behavior is unacceptable. A Drake woman does not cause public scenes. You are bringing shame upon this family."

I pushed myself up, wincing as my muscles protested. "Shame? You want to talk about shame?" I retorted, a fresh wave of fury washing over me. "What about the shame of a family built on lies and manipulation? What about the shame of a husband who secretly castrates himself and uses his wife as a human shield?"

Her eyes widened slightly, a rare crack in her icy composure, but it quickly vanished. "You are hysterical. You need to understand your place. Kala is vulnerable. She needs protection. You, Carissa, are a wild animal. You always have been, always will be."

A cold, mirthless laugh escaped my lips. Wild animal. They' d always seen me that way. A creature to be tamed, or, failing that, exiled. "A wild animal, indeed," I murmured, my gaze hardening. "And wild animals bite back."

"Eli is busy dealing with your latest disgrace," Elyssa continued, ignoring my words. "He has no time for your histrionics. You will stay here until you learn to behave."

"I want to see Eli," I demanded, my voice shaking with a mixture of anger and a perverse need for confrontation.

"He refuses to see you. You've caused enough trouble," she snapped, her tone dismissive. "Now, stay put. Perhaps some solitude will teach you the value of obedience." She turned to leave, her back ramrod straight.

My mind reeled. All those years, all the times I had swallowed their insults, believed their lies. I had loved him, truly loved him, despite everything. I had fought for our love, for my place in this family, only to be cast aside like a broken toy. The injustice of it all was a suffocating weight.

"I said, I want to see Eli!" I shouted, my voice raw. I scrambled off the cot, my legs unsteady, and lunged towards her. I didn't care about the consequences anymore. I only cared about making them see, making them feel.

Elyssa turned, her eyes blazing with fury. "How dare you! You ungrateful wretch!" She raised her hand, poised to strike.

I met her gaze, unflinching. "Go ahead. Hit me. It wouldn't be the first time this family has laid hands on me." My words were a direct challenge, a culmination of years of suppressed rage.

Her hand dropped, but her eyes narrowed with a dangerous gleam. "You require more... persuasive measures." She barked orders at the guards who had suddenly appeared behind her, their faces grim. "Teach her respect. Teach her obedience."

The next few hours were a blur of pain. My body became a canvas for their lessons, each blow a stark reminder of their power, their cruelty. I refused to cry out, refused to give them the satisfaction. My teeth dug into my lip, the metallic taste of my own blood a small comfort in the storm. I wouldn't break. I wouldn't give in.

Finally, darkness claimed me. I welcomed it, a temporary escape from the physical agony and the crushing despair.

I stirred slowly, the distant sound of muffled voices filtering into my consciousness. My body ached with a dull, persistent throb. I tasted iron in my mouth. I was still in the same sterile room, but I sensed a different presence. I slowly opened my eyes, wincing at the harsh hospital-like lights.

The voices were clearer now, coming from just outside the door. Eli. And Kala.

"She' s a loose cannon, Eli. You have to control her,\" Kala's voice, usually soft, was laced with a venom I recognized all too well.

\"I know, Kala. I' m handling it. She' s... being disciplined,\" Eli replied, his voice calm, detached. Disciplined. Was that what he called it? My body screamed in protest, a testament to their "discipline."

\"But what if she tells? What if she exposes us?\" Kala whined, her fragile facade barely holding. \"She's so volatile. So dramatic.\"

\"Shhh,\" Eli soothed, his voice suddenly thick with a tenderness he had never once offered me. \"It's alright, my dear. I'll take care of everything. I promised I would. You're my priority. Always.\"

I heard his fingers tracing her arm, a gesture of comfort, of intimacy. My breath hitched. This was it. The absolute, undeniable proof. He was doing this for her. He was protecting her. He had always protected her.

A wave of nausea swept over me, mingling with the searing agony in my heart. He was responsible for this. He had allowed my suffering, orchestrated my humiliation, all for this manipulatve, 'fragile' woman. My body, bruised and battered, pulsed with a new kind of pain, an emotional wound so deep it felt like a gaping chasm.

No, not pain. Rage. A cold, calculated fury that would become my guiding star. He had shattered me, reduced me to a pawn in his game. But a pawn, once broken free, could become the queen. And queens, I knew, played for keeps. He would regret this. He would regret every single moment he had ever underestimated me.