Four Years Built On Deceit

Shen Xiyan

Modern | Completed

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For four years, I believed my fiancé, Damari, was fighting for us. I watched him endure his grandfather' s cruel punishments-exile, financial ruin, public humiliation-all because the old man supposedly refused to approve our marriage. I waited, believing his sacrifice was the ultimate proof of his love. Then I found the real document hidden in his office. It wasn't a rejection. It was an approval, stamped and dated, with a tiny, forged "not" scrawled in different ink. The entire four-year struggle was a lie. When I confronted him, he crumbled. He did it for his obsessive assistant, Cydney. "She can't live without me, Augusta," he pleaded. "She needs me." My world collapsed. His devotion wasn't for me; it was a performance to appease another woman. All his "sacrifices" were just a cruel way to keep me waiting while he played the hero for someone else. So when he abandoned me one last time to run to Cydney's side, I made my choice. I packed my bags, left New York, and started a new life, determined to never be anyone's second choice again.

Betrayal Feigned love Romance Rebirth Personal growth

Chapter 17

01-06 22:25

Chapter 1

Then I found the real document hidden in his office. It wasn't a rejection. It was an approval, stamped and dated, with a tiny, forged "not" scrawled in different ink.

The entire four-year struggle was a lie.

When I confronted him, he crumbled. He did it for his obsessive assistant, Cydney.

"She can't live without me, Augusta," he pleaded. "She needs me."

My world collapsed. His devotion wasn't for me; it was a performance to appease another woman. All his "sacrifices" were just a cruel way to keep me waiting while he played the hero for someone else.

So when he abandoned me one last time to run to Cydney's side, I made my choice. I packed my bags, left New York, and started a new life, determined to never be anyone's second choice again.

Chapter 1

My heart shattered the moment I saw the real document. Not the one Damari showed me every year, not the polite refusal from his grandfather, but the true approval, stamped and dated, hidden away. It wasn't a rejection at all. It was a lie. Four years of my life, four years of patiently waiting, four years of believing in his fight for us-all built on a lie.

I had always considered myself strong. An architect, I built structures, not just of steel and glass, but of trust and enduring love. Damari and I, we were supposed to be one of those structures. Solid. Unbreakable. We'd been together since we were kids, our lives intertwined, a future meticulously planned. Every year, for the past four years, we put our marriage proposal before his family's patriarch, Eldridge Gross. Every year, it was publicly "rejected." I watched Damari shoulder the burden, saw him accept the harsh corporate punishments his grandfather dished out. Impossible projects, forfeited bonuses, public humiliations. He did it all, seemingly for us, for our love.

"It's just Grandfather," he'd say, his eyes tired but determined. "He's stubborn. He wants to test me, to make sure I'm worthy of you, worthy of the family name. But I won't give up. Never."

I believed him. I waited. I supported him. My family, they were concerned, but I assured them. "He's fighting for us," I'd whisper, even to myself, needing to hear the words, to believe them. Each rejection was a wound, but his supposed devotion was the balm. I told myself it was a test of our love, a trial we would overcome together.

The first punishment was the most brutal. He was exiled, sent to oversee a failing copper mine in the middle of nowhere. No cell service, no contact for months. I counted the days, held onto his last letter like a lifeline. When he came back, gaunt and tired, but triumphant, I was so proud. I thought, This is love. This is sacrifice.

The second year, it was financial. His entire annual bonus, earmarked for our dream home, was stripped away. He didn't complain. He just looked at me, his eyes full of regret, and said, "It's okay. We'll earn it back. Together." I saw him work harder, longer hours, pushing himself to the breaking point. I admired his resilience, his unwavering commitment.

The third year, it was public humiliation. Eldridge made him oversee some disastrous project that ended in a massive public relations nightmare. Damari took the fall, his name dragged through the mud, his reputation tarnished. He stood tall, almost defiant, in the face of it all. "It's worth it," he'd whispered to me, holding my hand tight, "if it means I can finally marry you." My heart swelled. I was so sure. So utterly, completely sure.

Then came the fourth attempt. The ritual was the same. The anticipation, the tension, the quiet hope I tried to hide. Damari went in, emerged with that same weary but resolute expression. "He said no again," he told me, his voice heavy. "Another impossible project. But I'll do it, Augusta. For us."

That night, I was at his private office, bringing him dinner. His assistant, Cydney, wasn't there. She was always there, a phantom presence, a shadow in his periphery. He was pouring over blueprints, his mind miles away. I saw a file, half-hidden under a stack of papers, an official-looking document. My name was on it. His name was on it. The Gross family seal.

Curiosity, or perhaps a premonition, tugged at me. I slid it out. It was the marriage approval form. The one from this year. My eyes scanned the page, searching for the familiar "not approved." But it wasn't there.

Instead, a single word, boldly typed: "Approved."

My breath hitched. My vision blurred. I blinked, reread it. Approved.

Then, my eyes caught a small, almost imperceptible detail. A faint watermark, a different font. And next to "Approved," a tiny, hand-scrawled "not" inserted before it, carefully, almost invisibly, with a different pen. It was a forgery. A meticulous, cruel forgery.

I heard his soft humming from the other side of the room. He was still lost in his work, utterly unaware. My mind reeled. Approved. It had been approved. Every time.

"Augusta? What are you doing?" His voice cut through the fog. He was looking at me, a flicker of concern in his eyes.

I held up the paper, my hand trembling so hard I thought it would tear. "This... this says 'approved'." My voice was a whisper, a ghost of itself.

His face drained of color. The blueprints slipped from his grasp, scattering across the floor. He stared at the document, then at me, his carefully constructed facade crumbling before my eyes.

"Augusta, I can explain," he started, his voice suddenly hoarse, full of a panicked urgency I'd never heard before.

"Explain what, Damari?" The words tore from my throat, raw and broken. "Explain four years of lies? Four years of making me believe your grandfather was the villain? Four years of watching you 'sacrifice' for us, when he'd already given us his blessing?"

His eyes darted around the room, settling on the door. He looked like a trapped animal. "No, it's not like that. He did reject it. The first few times, he really did. But then... then I had to make it seem like he still was."

"Why?" The single word was laced with ice, with every ounce of pain I felt.

He ran a hand through his hair, his perfect composure gone. "Cydney. She... she can't live without me, Augusta. She said she'd do something drastic if I left her."

Cydney. Her name hung in the air, a venomous whisper. His personal assistant. The woman who had been his shadow for eight years. The woman I had always dismissed as harmless, a mere inconvenience.

"You mean to tell me," my voice was dangerously low now, "that you sabotaged our marriage for Cydney Miller? You chose her over me? Over us?"

"No, Augusta, it's not like that!" He took a step towards me, his hand reaching out. I recoiled as if burned. "She's been with me since I was nothing. She's devoted. She needs me. She has nobody else."

The profound pain of betrayal twisted in my gut. It wasn't just the lie about the approval. It was the entire foundation of our relationship, crumbling into dust. His devotion wasn't to me, but to a misplaced sense of pity for Cydney. He hadn't been fighting for us; he had been fighting to keep us apart, while making me believe he was a martyr.

I looked at the altered document again. The tiny, insidious 'not'. A testament to his cowardice, his deceit. My breath caught, a sob tearing at my chest. This wasn't the man I loved. This was a stranger, a liar, a coward. The realization hit me like a physical blow. The man I had loved, the man I had built my future around, was nothing but a mirage. And Cydney Miller, his obsessive assistant, was the architect of its destruction, albeit with his willing participation. My world tilted on its axis, and I knew, with chilling certainty, that nothing would ever be the same again.