Burning Down His World Of Lies

My husband, Dax, was cold and distant, obsessed with his ex-girlfriend, Frida. His neglect cost me our first child. Then, Frida' s schemes cost me my dream job.

When I became pregnant again, Dax abandoned me while I was in agony to rush to Frida's side for a minor scratch. This time, I didn't just lose the baby-I almost died.

He never even visited me in the hospital. Instead, he was photographed comforting Frida, his "one true love."

His mother finally revealed the truth: Dax's loyalty stemmed from a twisted childhood memory. He believed he had saved Frida from a traumatic event, a debt he felt he owed her for life.

But as I lay broken, a memory of my own surfaced. A dark warehouse. A kind boy who saved me. A promise whispered. It wasn't Dax. His entire devotion to Frida was built on a lie.

Now, he stands on my doorstep in Argentina, begging for a second chance after I've filed for divorce. He doesn't know that I know his secret. And I'm about to burn his world to the ground.

Chapter 1

Aliza's POV:

The chill of the sheets felt like a prophecy of what was to come, a cold dread seeping into my bones even as Dax's body was still warm next to mine. He had just taken me, with a practiced indifference that pierced deeper than any physical act. His movements were precise, powerful, and utterly devoid of the lingering tenderness I craved. He sighed, a sound of pure release, and then the familiar withdrawal began, a quiet retreat from my touch that left my skin tingling with a phantom chill.

He didn't say my name. He rarely did, not in moments like these.

He slid out of bed. His back was to me as he pulled on his silk robe. It was dark blue, the color mirroring the deep, impenetrable ocean I often felt separated us.

"I have early calls," he said, his voice flat, already distant.

He didn't wait for a reply. He never did. The door clicked shut, leaving me in the vast, echoing silence of our marital bedroom. I watched the spot where he had been, the indentation still warm on the pristine white sheets. It was a painful echo. I closed my eyes, a wave of familiar loneliness washing over me.

After a few minutes, the silence became too heavy to bear. I pushed myself up, the silk nightgown clinging to my skin. I needed to know. I always needed to know. I padded quietly to the door, pressing my ear against the cool wood. Nothing. He wasn't in his study. Curiosity, a venomous thing, coiled in my gut. I opened the door a crack.

The house was dark, but a faint light spilled from the far end of the hallway, from the small, rarely used sitting room next to the library. That was unusual. He only went there when he wanted to be truly alone. I moved like a ghost, my bare feet silent on the cold marble floors. As I got closer, a soft, familiar voice drifted out. It was a woman's voice, lilting and self-assured, the kind that filled large spaces.

It was Frida. Her celebrity talk show podcast.

My stomach clenched. I knew this ritual. Every night, after our perfunctory encounters, Dax would retreat, not to work, not to sleep, but to this. To her voice. I stopped just outside the half-open door, peering through the gap.

Dax sat in a large armchair, silhouetted against the glow of his tablet. His head was tilted slightly, a soft, almost tender expression on his face that I rarely saw directed at me. He listened, utterly engrossed, as Frida' s voice filled the quiet room. She was talking about her day, a minor mishap on set, a funny anecdote about a co-star. Mundane things, yet he absorbed every word like it was gospel.

A low, guttural sound escaped him, a quiet chuckle. My breath hitched. He was laughing. For her. The sound was foreign, intimate. I had not heard him laugh like that, not truly, not since our wedding day, and even then, it felt more like polite amusement.

My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand. The raw pain of seeing him so utterly captivated by another woman, by a ghost from his past, was a physical ache. My vision blurred. He looked so vulnerable, so lost in her world. It was a look I would have given anything to earn, even for a fleeting moment. But it wasn't for me. It was for Frida. Always Frida.

I was his wife. I shared his name, his bed, his life. But in his heart, I was an afterthought, a convenient arrangement. I was the second choice, a stand-in for the woman he truly adored. The realization hit me like a fresh punch to the gut. I was nothing more than a placeholder.

My chest tightened with a suffocating mix of sorrow and indignation. I backed away slowly, silently, the cold marble biting into my feet. The soft drone of Frida' s voice, accompanied by Dax' s occasional, tender sigh, faded behind me. When I reached the bedroom, I shut the door quietly, the click echoing the finality of my broken heart.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the muffled sounds of his devotion to another woman. It felt like hours before I heard the quiet click of the sitting room door, then his footsteps retreating to his study. The house fell silent once more, but the image of his soft gaze, the sound of his private laugh, branded itself into my mind.

The next morning, he appeared at the breakfast table, impeccably dressed, his usual mask of cold efficiency in place. There was no trace of the tenderness I had witnessed just hours before. He sipped his coffee, eyes scanning the financial news on his tablet.

I cleared my throat, forcing a smile. "My parents are hosting their annual summer barbecue next weekend," I said, trying to make my voice sound light. "They'd love for you to come. It' s been a while."

He lowered his tablet, his gaze neutral. "Next weekend? I'll check my schedule." It was his usual polite evasion, a phrase I'd learned to translate as 'no.'

I pressed on, a strange desperation gripping me. "It would mean a lot, Dax. To them. To me." I even reached across the table, placing my hand gently over his. His skin was cool beneath my touch, unresponsive.

He pulled his hand back slowly, deliberately. "Aliza, you know how demanding my schedule is." His voice was devoid of emotion. "And frankly, your family gatherings can be… overwhelming."

The polite dismissal stung, but I pushed through the pain. "Dax," I started, my voice softer, "we've been married for over a year. Don't you think it's time we start thinking about our future? A real future?" I looked into his eyes, searching for a flicker of recognition, a hint of shared dreams. "Children, perhaps?"

His expression hardened. The polite mask cracked, revealing a flash of something cold and distant. "Children?" He almost scoffed. "Aliza, we've discussed this. My focus is on West Enterprises. I'm not ready for such a monumental distraction."

"But… a family. Don't you want one? Eventually?" My voice was barely a whisper now, my heart hammering against my ribs.

He pushed his chair back, the scrape of wood against marble a harsh sound in the quiet room. "A family is a huge responsibility. And frankly," he paused, his gaze sweeping over me, devoid of warmth, "I won't bring a child into a situation where they might face the same pain I witnessed another child endure." His voice was low, almost a growl. "Not again. Not after Frida."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Frida. Even now, she was the barrier, the ghost haunting our marriage. My breath hitched. He linked the concept of having a family with the trauma he believed he shared with Frida. It was too much. The air left my lungs in a silent gasp. My vision swam.

He didn't seem to notice. He stood up, his jaw tight. "I'm leaving for the office," he said, turning his back to me. "I'll see you tonight."

He walked away, leaving me shattered at the breakfast table, the untouched food growing cold. My dream of a family, of a shared future, lay in ruins around me. The bitter taste of unrequited love and the crushing weight of his emotional neglect settled deep in my soul.

The barbecue. I went alone. My parents, bless their hearts, tried to be understanding. "He's a busy man, Aliza," my mother said, patting my hand. "We understand." But their eyes held a familiar pity that burned me from the inside out. I smiled, nodded, and pretended that everything was fine. Dax was gone, but his absence, and the reason for it, was a constant, suffocating presence.

The next morning, a call came. My supervisor, Dr. Aris, her voice crackling with excitement. "Aliza, the board just approved funding for Project Chimera! And they want you to lead the biochemistry team. It's groundbreaking work, darling. Your dream project!"

A genuine surge of hope, a feeling I hadn't felt in months, coursed through me. My dream project. My work. Something that was finally mine, untainted by the shadow of Dax's past. "Oh, Dr. Aris, that's incredible news!" I exclaimed, a wide smile spreading across my face. "Thank you! I won't let you down."

"I know you won't," she chuckled. "We're holding an introductory meeting at the West Enterprises biotech campus this afternoon. Just a preliminary walkthrough. Can you make it?"

"Absolutely!" I said, my heart soaring.

I was still buzzing when Dax walked in later that morning, surprisingly early. He saw my bright expression. "Good news?" he asked, a rare hint of curiosity in his tone.

"The Chimera project got approved!" I blurted out, unable to contain my excitement. "And I'm leading the biochemistry team!"

He nodded slowly. "Congratulations," he said, his voice flat but polite. "That's good to hear." He even offered to drive me to the West Enterprises campus, an unprecedented gesture. A tiny, foolish part of me dared to hope. Maybe, just maybe, things were changing.

We were halfway to the campus, the radio playing softly in the background, when the news bulletin broke through the music. "Breaking news from Hollywood! Actress Frida Brennan has been involved in a minor on-set accident. Sources say she sustained a concussion and is being transported to St. Jude's Medical Center. Her condition is stable…"

Dax's hand, which had been resting casually on the steering wheel, tightened. His face drained of color. The car swerved slightly. "St. Jude's," he muttered, his eyes wide with a familiar panic.

"Dax, my meeting, it's at the biotech campus, not St. Jude's," I said, a cold premonition creeping into my heart.

He didn't acknowledge me. He swung the car around in a screeching U-turn, heading in the opposite direction, toward St. Jude's. "She needs me," he said, his voice raw with an urgency I had never heard directed at me. "I have to be there."

"Dax, please! My meeting! This is important!" I pleaded, my voice rising in desperation. But it was useless. He was already gone, his mind miles away, pulled by a past that held him captive.

The hospital was a blur. He parked haphazardly, practically leaping out of the car before it had fully stopped. "Wait here," he commanded, his voice sharp, devoid of any concern for me or my meeting. He disappeared into the emergency entrance, a man possessed. I sat in the car, utterly stunned, the magnitude of his abandonment crashing down on me. He had left me. Again. For her.

Suddenly, a sharp, searing pain ripped through my lower abdomen. It was unlike anything I had ever felt. A wave of nausea washed over me, cold sweat beading on my forehead. My vision tunneled. The world tilted. I gasped, clutching my stomach, the pain intensifying. Then, blackness. My last thought was of the small, fluttering hope I had secretly held onto for weeks.

When I woke, the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room swam into view. A nurse was adjusting an IV drip beside my bed. My mouth felt like cotton. "What... what happened?" I whispered, my voice hoarse.

The nurse turned, her expression gentle but tinged with pity. "You're at St. Jude's, Mrs. West. You collapsed in your car. It seems you had a… miscarriage."

The word hung in the air, heavy and final. Miscarriage. My mind reeled. Pregnant? I hadn't even known. And now… gone. A profound emptiness echoed in the space where a tiny, secret hope had once resided. I grasped at the thin blanket, my knuckles white. A tear escaped, then another, tracing a hot path down my temple. The pain in my body was nothing compared to the sudden, crushing weight in my chest. A silent scream tore through me. My dream, my future, gone. And Dax was nowhere to be seen.