Three Years, One Cruel Lie

For three years, my fiancé Jaxon kept me in a top Swiss clinic, helping me recover from the PTSD that shattered my life. When I was finally accepted into Juilliard, I booked a one-way ticket to New York, ready to surprise him and start our future.

But as I was signing my discharge papers, the receptionist handed me an official certificate of recovery. It was dated a full year ago.

She explained that my "medication" for the last twelve months had been nothing but vitamin supplements. I had been perfectly healthy, a prisoner held captive by forged medical reports and lies.

I flew home and went straight to his private club, only to overhear him laughing with his friends. He was married. He had been for the entire three years I was locked away.

"I've been handling Alina," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "A few tweaked reports, the right 'medication' to keep her foggy. It bought me the time I needed to secure my marriage to Krystal."

The man who swore to protect me, the man I worshipped, had orchestrated my imprisonment. My love story was just a footnote in his.

Later that night, his mother slid a check across the table. "Take this and disappear," she ordered.

Three years ago, I had thrown a similar check in her face, declaring my love wasn't for sale. This time, I picked it up.

"Alright," I said, my voice hollow. "I'll leave. After my father's death anniversary, Jaxon Francis will never find me again."

Chapter 1

The email glowed on my screen, a single line of hope in the sterile white of the Swiss clinic. 'Congratulations, Ms. Phillips. We are pleased to offer you a place at the Juilliard School.'

For three years, this was the dream that kept me going, the light at the end of a very long, dark tunnel. My hands shook as I booked a one-way ticket to New York.

I didn' t tell Jaxon. I wanted to see the look on his face when I walked through the door, whole and healed, ready to start our life.

I packed my small bag, a nervous energy buzzing under my skin. I was finally free.

Three years of therapy, of medication, of isolation. Jaxon had sent me here after the kidnapping, after my father' s death, when the world had shattered into a million pieces.

He said it was the best place in the world for PTSD. He was my protector, my guardian, the man my father trusted with his life, and with me. He was everything.

At the front desk, I signed the discharge papers. The receptionist smiled warmly. "We' re all so happy for you, Alina. It' s a miracle."

I smiled back. "Thank you. It' s been a long road."

"It certainly has," she said, tapping on her keyboard. "But to be fully recovered for a whole year and show no signs of relapse, it' s wonderful. Here' s your official certificate of recovery, dated a year ago. It' s a formality, but I believe Mr. Francis wanted a copy for your records."

The air left my lungs.

I stared at her, the smile frozen on my face. "What did you say?"

"Your certificate?" She turned the monitor toward me. There it was, in black and white. My name. The date. A full twelve months ago. Stamped with the signature of the clinic' s head doctor. 'Patient has made a full and complete recovery.'

"There must be a mistake," I whispered. My heart started to pound, a frantic, painful rhythm against my ribs. "The reports Mr. Francis sent me... they said I was still... unstable. That the medication was still necessary."

The receptionist frowned, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Mr. Francis? He hasn' t requested a report in over a year. Not since we issued the recovery certificate. And the medication... Ms. Phillips, your prescription was for a low-dose vitamin supplement. It has been for the last year. It' s all in the system."

My mind went blank. The room tilted. Vitamin supplements. Forged reports. An entire year. A year of my life, stolen. I thought about the letters Jaxon sent, filled with worry about my "slow progress." I remembered pushing back my Juilliard application, another year, because he said I wasn't ready. Because I trusted him.

I didn' t believe it. I couldn' t. It had to be a system error. A terrible, cruel mistake.

"I need to see him," I said, my voice tight. "I need to ask him."

I left the clinic in a daze, the certificate clutched in my hand like a death sentence. I went straight from the airport to The Onyx Club, his favorite haunt. A place where deals were made over whiskey and secrets were traded like currency. The hostess recognized me and let me pass. I heard his voice from a private room, the door slightly ajar. I stopped, my hand hovering over the handle.

"So, the merger is finally done. The Francis and Gomez empires are one. Congratulations, man." A friend' s voice, loud and jovial.

Then, Jaxon' s. Smooth as silk, laced with an amusement that made my blood run cold. "It was a long time coming. Three years of a very... structured arrangement."

"An arrangement that came with a beautiful wife," another voice teased. "Don' t tell me you' re not falling for Krystal Gomez. Everyone in New York can see how you dote on her."

My breath caught in my throat. Wife? Krystal Gomez? The socialite whose face was plastered on every magazine?

"Krystal is... necessary," Jaxon said, his voice dropping. "The marriage is a contract. It secures Nexus Corp for the next century. That' s all."

"And what about Alina?" the first friend asked, his tone more serious. "She' s supposed to be coming home soon, right? How are you going to explain your wife?"

A low chuckle. "I' ve been handling Alina. A few tweaked medical reports, the right 'medication' to keep her foggy. She thinks she' s still too sick to come home. It bought me the time I needed."

The room erupted in laughter.

"You' re a cold bastard, Jaxon. Keeping your fiancée locked away in Switzerland while you marry another woman."

"She' s fragile," Jaxon said, a dismissive wave in his tone. I could picture it perfectly. "She was so obsessed with me after her dad died. Worshipped the ground I walked on. It was easy. A little more time, and then I' ll end things with Krystal. Alina never has to know."

"You sure about that? Krystal seems to have you wrapped around her finger."

"Krystal is part of the deal," Jaxon stated, his voice hard. "Alina is my responsibility. I promised her father. I' ll take care of her."

My body went rigid. I couldn' t breathe. The air was thick, suffocating. Three years. He had lied to me for three years. He was married. The man I loved, the man who promised to wait for me, the man who held me when I woke up screaming from nightmares of my father' s death, was married.

I bit my lip, hard, and tasted blood. The sharp, coppery tang was the only thing that felt real.

I remembered the day my father was buried. I was a wreck, eighteen years old and an orphan. Jaxon, his handsome face grim, had wrapped his arm around me. He was my father' s young protégé, the brilliant tech prodigy my dad had mentored. He' d shielded me from the reporters, from the pitying looks. He whispered in my ear, "I' m here, Alina. I' ll always protect you."

I fell in love with him then. A desperate, all-consuming love. I chased him relentlessly. I left anonymous gifts at his office. I learned his coffee order. I even went to a temple, kneeling for hours on the cold stone floor, praying for his safety when a rival company threatened him.

The day I confessed, he smiled, a real, warm smile that reached his eyes. He pulled me into his arms and said, "It' s about time." We were happy. So happy.

Then his enemies came for me. They kidnapped me, tortured me. The trauma, layered on top of my father' s death, broke something inside me. The doctors diagnosed me with severe PTSD. Jaxon held my hand, his eyes filled with a pain that mirrored my own.

"Marry me, Alina," he' d whispered, slipping a simple diamond band on my finger. "As soon as you' re better, we' ll get married. I' m sending you to the best clinic in Switzerland. I' ll wait for you. I promise."

I clung to that promise like a lifeline. I worked so hard in therapy. I endured the treatments, the nightmares, the loneliness. I did it all for him, for our future.

And all along, he was planning a life with someone else.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. A message from Mrs. Francis, Jaxon' s mother. I never had her number.

'Meet me at the St. Regis. King Cole Bar. Now.'

I walked there, a ghost in my own life. The city lights blurred around me. His mother was already there, a picture of cold, aristocratic elegance. She didn' t waste time with pleasantries.

"Jaxon is married to Krystal Gomez," she said, her voice like ice. "It was a necessary merger to protect our family' s legacy. You are an obstacle."

She slid a check across the table. The number on it had so many zeros I couldn' t count them.

"This is for your troubles. Take it and disappear. Do not contact Jaxon again."

I stared at the check. It felt like a scene from a movie, a bad one. This had happened before, three years ago. She had tried to pay me to leave him then, too. I had thrown the check in her face, declaring my love was not for sale.

This time, I was too broken to fight. My love had been a joke all along.

I picked up the check. My voice was hollow, a stranger' s voice. "Alright."

She looked surprised by my easy compliance.

"I' ll leave," I said, meeting her cold gaze. "After my father' s death anniversary. After that, Jaxon Francis will never find me again."

I would make sure of it.

Jaxon and Krystal left the villa early the next morning. I waited until their car disappeared down the long, winding driveway before I let myself back in.

The bedroom was a disaster. Her clothes were thrown over the chair where I used to sit and read. The sheets were a tangled mess on the bed we once shared. An empty champagne bottle and two glasses sat on the nightstand. The air smelled of her perfume, a cloying, sweet scent that made me want to gag.

I stood frozen in the doorway. A memory surfaced, unbidden. Jaxon, his arms wrapped around me in this very bed, whispering, "I' ll never let anyone hurt you again, Alina. I swear it."

I let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a sob. How could I have been so stupid?

I walked through the house, a ghost in my own memories. My music studio was the worst. My sheet music was gone, my keyboard covered in a thin layer of dust. In its place, on an easel in the center of the room, was a half-finished painting. Krystal' s, I presumed.

He hadn' t just replaced me in his bed. He had erased me from his life.

I turned to leave, a wave of nausea washing over me. There was nothing left for me here. As I stepped out onto the driveway, a sleek sports car came screeching around the corner, heading straight for me.

I only had a second to register the driver' s face. Krystal Gomez. A triumphant, vicious smile stretched across her perfect features.

The impact sent me flying. I landed hard on the gravel, a searing pain shooting up my leg. My head hit the ground, and the world spun. Through the haze, I saw her get out of the car, her smile gone, replaced by a look of panicked innocence.

I woke up to the smell of antiseptic and the muted beeping of machines. Hospital. Again. My head throbbed, and my leg was encased in a heavy cast.

Through the half-open door of my room, I heard Jaxon' s voice, low and soothing. "It was an accident, Krystal. The doctor said she just has a few scrapes and a minor fracture. She' ll be fine."

I saw him wrap his arm around her, pulling her into a protective embrace as she sobbed against his chest. My own chest felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. I remembered him holding me just like that, whispering words of comfort. Now, he was comforting the woman who had tried to kill me.

I tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness sent me falling back against the pillows. A moment later, Jaxon was there, his face a mask of concern. He gently lifted me back onto the bed.

"Alina, what were you thinking?" he asked, his voice a frustrated sigh. "Why did you come back without telling me?"

I stared at him, at the handsome face I had loved so much. It was the face of a stranger. A liar.

I took a deep breath, pushing down the rage and the pain. "Who was that woman?" I asked, my voice raspy.

He had the decency to look away. "That' s Krystal."

Krystal herself appeared in the doorway, her eyes red-rimmed but her makeup perfect. She glided to my bedside, a concerned frown on her face. "Oh, you must be Alina. Jaxon talks about you all the time. He thinks of you like a little sister. I' m so, so sorry about what happened. The brakes on my car... they' re just not what they used to be."

Sister. The word was a slap in the face. I laughed, a bitter, broken sound. "I want to press charges. I want the police to investigate."

The atmosphere in the room turned to ice.

Jaxon' s jaw tightened. "Alina, don' t be ridiculous. It was an accident. There' s no need to make a scene."

"It wasn' t an accident," I said, my voice rising. "She accelerated. She aimed right for me."

"That' s enough!" Jaxon' s voice was sharp, cutting. He turned to Krystal, his expression softening. "You should go home and rest, honey. I' ll handle this."

He walked her to the door, his arm around her waist. He didn' t even look back at me.

I had always believed he would choose me. That he would stand by me against anyone. The reality of his betrayal was a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs.

He didn' t come back until the next evening. He brought me my favorite pastries from a bakery across town, the same ones he used to bring me after a bad nightmare. The gesture felt like an insult.

"We need to talk," I said, pushing the box away.

He sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "I know this is a shock. The marriage... it' s a business arrangement. A contract. As soon as the merger is stable, I' ll divorce her. I promise."

He took my hand. His touch felt wrong, foreign. "I love you, Alina. I' ve only ever loved you. Just... wait for me. Please."

I looked at him, at the earnest expression on his face, the pleading in his eyes. For a terrifying second, I almost believed him. He was that good.

Then his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, his expression immediately softening into one of genuine concern. He hung up quickly.

"I have to go," he said, already moving toward the door. "Krystal isn' t feeling well. I' ll be back to check on you later."

He never came back.

A few days later, my leg was feeling better, and I was allowed to walk with crutches. I hobbled down the hallway, needing a change of scenery. That' s when I saw him.

He was in a private room at the end of the hall. The door was open. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Krystal' s hand. She was crying softly.

"Don' t cry," he murmured, his voice so tender it made my stomach churn. "The doctor said we can try again. We' ll have a baby, Krystal. Our baby."

He gently stroked her hair. "You just need to rest and get strong again. I' ll take care of you."

He was taking care of her. And I was just... the obstacle. The little sister. The responsibility he had to "handle."

Krystal cried in Jaxon' s arms, her sobs delicate and theatrical. "I' m so sorry, Jaxon. I wanted to give you a child so badly."

"It' s not your fault," he soothed, his voice a low murmur. "We' re a team. We' re husband and wife. We' ll get through this together."

He leaned in and kissed her forehead. A gesture of such gentle intimacy that it felt like a physical blow. I stumbled back, my crutches clattering against the polished floor.

I didn' t need to hear any more.

The nurses at the station were whispering as I passed.

"Did you see Mr. Francis? He' s so devoted to his wife."

"I know, right? He rushed here in the middle of a board meeting when she called. And the way he looks at her... she' s the luckiest woman in the world."

"I heard he threw a lavish party for her birthday last month. Flew in a Michelin-star chef from Paris. And when some reporter tried to ask an invasive question, Jaxon had his press credentials revoked permanently. He' s so protective."

I limped back to my room, their words echoing in my ears. This was the man who claimed he didn' t love his wife. This was the "temporary contract."

I didn' t see Jaxon for the rest of my hospital stay. I only heard about him. I heard how he stayed by Krystal' s side day and night. How he patiently massaged her feet when they swelled. How he had her favorite foods from every top restaurant in the city delivered to her room.

The day I was discharged, he was the one who came to pick me up. Krystal was in the passenger seat of his Bentley, a bright, triumphant smile on her face.

"Alina! You' re all better!" she chirped, as if she hadn' t been the one to put me here. "I' m so glad. You have to come to our anniversary party tonight. It' s our three-year! Can you believe it?"

I should have said no. I should have walked away and never looked back. But a dark, self-destructive part of me needed to see it. I needed to witness the full extent of the lie.

"I' d love to," I said, my voice flat.

The party was at their mansion, a sprawling estate that overlooked the city. I stood in a corner, a glass of untouched champagne in my hand, feeling like an intruder.

Then the lights dimmed. A giant screen descended from the ceiling, and a video began to play. A montage of Jaxon and Krystal' s life together over the past three years.

There they were, laughing on a yacht in the Mediterranean. Kissing under the Eiffel Tower. Building a snowman in Aspen. All the places he and I had dreamed of going. He was doing it all with her, while I was locked away, fighting for my sanity, believing he was waiting for me.

The room spun. My head felt light. The video ended with a close-up shot of them on their wedding day. He was looking at her, his eyes shining with an emotion I couldn' t deny. It was love. Real, undeniable love.

My own love story was their romantic backdrop.

I stumbled out to the garden, gasping for air. The manicured flowerbeds were filled with white roses, Krystal' s favorite. My favorite, the wild, purple irises that used to grow here, were gone. Dug up and discarded, just like me.

Suddenly, a low growl came from the shadows. A massive Doberman, its teeth bared, launched itself out of the rose bushes. I screamed and stumbled backward, tripping over the hem of my dress.

Krystal shrieked from the patio. Jaxon was by her side in an instant, pulling her behind him, his body a shield. His first instinct was to protect her.

The dog, seeing its primary target protected, turned its attention to me. It lunged, its jaws clamping down on my arm. Pain, sharp and blinding, shot through me. Blood bloomed on the sleeve of my dress, a grotesque flower against the pale fabric.

The pain in my heart was so much worse.

I remembered telling Jaxon once, years ago, that I was terrified of big dogs after a childhood incident. He had held me and promised he' d never let one near me.

Now, he was watching as his wife' s dog tore me apart. His choice was made. It wasn' t me.