THE BEAUTIFUL LIE I LIVED

Chapter 0014

THE BEAUTIFUL LIE I LIVED

ELENA,

The sting of antiseptic bit into my wounds, sharp and unforgiving. When Evan wanted to hurt me the last time he got a call from someone, and when he was told what they wanted, he untied me.

Whoever that was saved me that day. Evan was ready to kill us both rather than lose me. His obsession led him to do crazy things—to hurt me and make excuses that it was out of love, that I made him do it. I knew Evan loved me, but his demons were out for me.

I winced, sucking in a breath, but exhaustion dulled most of the pain. It was just another wound, another moment of suffering, blending into the endless cycle I had come to endure.

"Ouch…," I murmured, forcing myself to sit still as the doctor worked. "How long do we have to keep doing this?"

"Until it heals," he replied matter-of-factly, his voice calm but indifferent. "Hopefully, you’ll start feeling better soon."

Feeling better. The words felt foreign—meaningless. What did better even mean anymore? The bruises littering my body, the constant ache in my bones, the suffocating weight of my husband's control—none of it aligned with the idea of getting better.

I exhaled a weary sigh. "Doctor, can I get something stronger for the pain?"

"You’re already on pain medication." His tone was final, dismissive. "You’ll be fine."

Fine. Such a cruel, empty word. Fine was what I was supposed to be. What I had to pretend to be. But nothing about my existence felt fine.

Before I could dwell on it, the door swung open. The abrupt sound sent a jolt through my already tense body. My husband walked in, his presence filling the room like an oppressive storm. His tailored suit was flawless, his face a mask of indifference. But I knew better than to mistake his calm demeanor for concern.

"We have a deal tonight. Will she be okay?" Evan's voice was detached, as if discussing a business asset rather than his wife. "I don’t want anyone finding out."

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms, grounding myself in the pain. He never addressed me directly. He never asked how I felt—only whether I could be presentable. The resentment churned in my stomach, thick and suffocating.

"You always do this," I muttered under my breath, too soft for him to hear.

But he did.

His sharp gaze flickered toward me. "What was that?"

"Nothing," I said quickly, swallowing the bitter truth before it could escape.

Evan exhaled, irritation simmering beneath his composed exterior. "Well, you need to be up. I have a business dinner, and the client insists I bring my wife. Don’t embarrass me."

I didn’t respond. Arguing was pointless. It always was.

---

The hot water cascaded over my bruised skin, offering no real relief. I stood under the stream, letting it wash over me, trying to numb myself to everything—physically, emotionally. But the pain remained, woven into the very fabric of my existence. The bruises on my body told a story no one cared to read.

Stepping out, I wiped the condensation from the mirror, revealing a reflection that felt like a stranger. Hollow eyes stared back at me. A face sculpted by suffering, yet perfectly poised. A woman crafted to be admired, but never truly seen.

Still, I dressed the part. Silk wrapped around my body, concealing the marks beneath. Jewelry adorned my wrists, my ears—pretty distractions from the reality I lived. The perfect wife. A beautiful lie.

When I stepped into the living room, Evan barely spared me a glance. But his slight nod of approval was all I needed to know—I had done my job. We left without another word.

---

The restaurant was a realm of wealth and power, where men sealed deals over extravagant meals and women played the roles expected of them. The ambiance was designed for exclusivity, for control. Just like my life.

Evan led me to our table, every detail meticulously arranged to maintain the illusion of perfection. Shortly after, the client arrived, his wife elegantly poised at his side. A woman who, in another life, I might have admired.

Evan had warned me to be on my best behavior. I knew what that meant.

As the men delved into business, their voices low and serious, the women were expected to sit, smile, and listen. I let my hands rest delicately in my lap, my expression unreadable. I was there in body, but my mind drifted elsewhere.

“Elena?”

The voice pulled me back. I blinked, realizing the client’s wife was speaking to me.

“Oh… I’m sorry. Did you say something?” I forced a polite smile.

She chuckled, her gaze warm but observant. “Yes, I was just saying how lucky you are. Your husband is a well-known businessman—one who is utterly obsessed with his wife.”

I felt Evan’s eyes on me, expectant, commanding. He didn’t need to speak. The lie had already been written; I just had to recite it.

I smiled, the practiced gesture effortless.

The woman leaned in slightly, her expression turning curious. “You must feel so lucky to have him.”

“Of course,” Evan answered for me, his voice smooth, the manipulation seamless.

I nodded, lips curving into the well-rehearsed lie.

Lucky.

If only they knew.

Then, something shifted. The woman studied me, her brow furrowing in contemplation.

“Elena… you seem strangely familiar. Have we met before?”

My breath hitched. I opened my mouth, but before I could respond, Evan’s voice cut through the moment like a blade.

“Of course not,” he said sharply.

She arched an eyebrow. “Let her speak, Evan. Maybe we have.”

Tension thickened the air. I felt his warning gaze burn into me, a silent command to comply.

I swallowed. “I doubt that very much.”

Her eyes lingered on me a moment too long. Then, in a hushed voice, she asked, “Are you okay, Elena? I noticed some bruises…”

Evan’s grip on his glass tightened. His posture remained composed, but I knew better.

“She had an accident in the kitchen,” he answered smoothly. A lie so effortless, it sent a chill down my spine.

The woman didn’t seem convinced. Her husband glanced at her, a flicker of uncertainty in his expression.

A pause.

Then Evan, ever the strategist, shifted the conversation. “Now, about our deal…”

The client hesitated, doubt flashing in his eyes, but eventually, he nodded.

“Alright then. We’ll be in touch.” He turned to me, his gaze lingering in a way that unsettled me. “Take care of yourself, Elena.”

Something about his tone made my skin prickle but I tried to keep calm as we walked to the car.

We got in and Evan began to drive home. Thee silence in the car was suffocating. The air crackled with unspoken fury. Evan’s hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles turning white.

“If I lose this deal because of you,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “you will suffer for it.”

My heart pounded against my ribs. I knew what suffering meant in his world.

Then—his phone chimed.

I held my breath as he pulled over to check the message.

Please, I prayed silently. Let him get the contract. Let him be in a good mood.

His eyes scanned the screen, his face unreadable. A long, dreadful silence filled the space between us.

Then—

A fist slammed against the dashboard. I flinched.

“No,” he growled, his voice low, seething. “This can’t be happening.”

My stomach twisted into knots. “What… what does it say?” My voice was barely a whisper.

His head snapped toward me, dark eyes gleaming with barely contained rage.

“They backed out.”

I exhaled shakily, scrambling for a way to salvage this, to fix whatever damage had been done. But before I could speak, his phone chimed again.

His brows furrowed as he read the second message.

Then, slowly, a smile crept onto his lips.

“They backed out,” he repeated, his tone unnervingly calm.

Then his gaze locked onto mine, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“But they want to meet with you.”

His voice was low, laced with quiet fury.

“What did you do, Elena?” What did you do?