Burning Down His World Of Lies

a's

e never did. He just sat there, impassive, as if the pain tearing through me was an inconvenience, a minor bug in our carefully choreographed charade. The words

with anguish. My gaze, filled with unshed tears, pleaded wit

," he said, his tone flat, a practiced response. "It's... unfortunate. But life moves on. We wil

had flickered and died inside me. The stark contrast between his words and the deep, aching void in my soul was a chasm I coul

lowed by a procession of interior designers, nannies-to-be, and child psychologists. They carried swatches, blueprints, an

ion. "We must finalize the nursery plans! Time is of the essence. And these ex

ace, quickly masked. He clearly hated his mother's intrusions, but he wouldn't

t Senior, noticing my pale face, rushed to my side. "Aliza, dear, are you alright? You look a bit peaked. This is all very exciting, isn't it?" She patted my

cating silence of my own thoughts, the empty nursery, the hollow promises. As I passed Dax' s study, I heard voices. His, low and intens

fter all these years? Frida Brennan again? The tabloids are havi

e the one who orchestrated all of this. You tore us apart. You lied, you manipulated, all to ensure I marri

d? What was he talking about? A kno

was! And I will not have her dragging our family name through the

d before. "This is my life. And Aliza..." He trailed off, his voice softening, then hardening again. "

me. He still loved her. Not just loved her, but saw her as the great lost love, a victim o

h hope blossoming in my chest, believing that in time, I could win his heart, mend the wounds of his past. The irony was a bitte

y his mother, and perpetuated by his own blind devotion to a phantom love. My love, my hope, my entire future with hi

stark contrast to the storm raging within me. I needed to get out.

serious. "Aliza, we need to talk. The board received some... directives from West Enterprises. They're insisting on a 'collaborative' approach to Project Chim

Them?" I whispered,

She wore a pristine white lab coat, her hair perfectly coiffed, a dazzling smile for the cameras that, unfathomably, were still trailing

project, he had made her my direct supervisor, my shadow. My gaze met

d, my voice level. "Dr. Aris,

to 'observe' and 'contribute creative ideas' to the project. You'll be gui

tic conditions." I handed her a pair of gloves, then pointed to a complex diagram on the whiteboard. "This is the schematic for the bioreactor. Please familiari

She looked at the papers, then at the intricate diagram, a flicker of genuine confusion crossing her fa

I demonstrated the precise measurements, the delicate handling of chemical reagents. Frida, cle

a sensitive piece of equipment. She didn't wait for my answer,

riously. "Frida, watch out!" I shouted, instinctively reaching for it. But it was too late. The

er sleeve, burning through the fabric and grazing her skin. She collapsed dramatic

every angle of Frida's theatrical distress. Dr. Aris rush

as now sobbing hysterically, cradling her arm. He didn't even glance at me, standing amidst t

filled with a desperate concern that was so utterly fore

alous!" Frida cried, burying her face in his chest, her vo

ed with a primal rage I had never witnessed. "Aliza," he snarled, hi

e, amidst the wreckage of the lab, and the wreckage of my life, utterly numb. The pain in my abdomen, a dull throb since the miscarriage, flared with a sudden, sharp intensit