Eight Years Of His Lies

For eight years, I gave up everything to protect my son from his deadly peanut allergy. This meant three months of crushing loneliness every winter while he and his father, Greg, lived in a separate "allergy-free zone." I called it lonely; my doctors called it seasonal depression. But the allergy was a lie. I overheard them through the apartment door-Greg, my son Josh, and Brittany, his high school sweetheart. They were feeding my son his allergen on purpose. "Just a little bit to keep the allergy strong," Greg coached him. It was their ticket for a secret life. When Josh was later hospitalized for a reaction, he cried for Brittany, not me. "Mommy's always sad," he whimpered, as she swept in to play the hero. Then I discovered the pills Greg gave me for my "depression" were actually powerful sedatives. He wasn't just lying; he was drugging me to keep me docile and confused. The final blow was our marriage certificate-a worthless fake. He had built my entire world on a foundation of deceit. So I walked out, leaving him to the mess he created, ready to reclaim the life he stole from me.

Chapters

Chapter 2

Kiana Valenzuela POV:

The next morning, Greg tried to touch me. His hand reached for my shoulder as I sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly at a cold cup of coffee. I flinched away, as if his touch burned. He pulled back, his face a mixture of confusion and annoyance.

Hours later, the phone rang. It was the hospital. Josh. An allergic reaction. My heart leaped into my throat, a sick, familiar terror. I drove there like a madwoman, the image of his swollen face already flashing in my mind.

He was in a bed, hooked up to monitors. Greg was there, looking harried. A nurse was adjusting an IV. As I approached, Josh stirred, his eyes fluttering open.

"Mommy?" he mumbled, his voice hoarse. Relief flooded me, so potent it made my knees weak.

"I'm here, baby," I whispered, reaching for his hand. He looked past me.

"Where's Brittany?" he asked, a small, childish whimper. "She promised me ice cream if I was brave."

The words hit me like a physical blow. My breath hitched. Ice cream. A reward for bravery. He was asking for her, even here, even now. My own son. I felt the last sliver of my heart crack.

A hot, stinging sensation burned behind my eyes. I blinked furiously, forcing the tears back. This was not the time. I was his mother. He needed me.

"Greg," I said, my voice tight and strained. I handed him a small, worn notebook. "This has all of Josh's medical history. All the specific triggers, his dosages, every little detail." My hand trembled slightly as I passed it over.

He looked at me, bewildered. "What are you doing?"

"I'm done," I stated, the words flat and final. "We're done. This marriage, whatever it was, is over."

He scoffed, a dismissive sound. "Kiana, don't be dramatic. You're overwrought. We can talk about this later, in private." He dismissed my pain, my devastation, as mere theatrics.

Just then, the door swung open. Brittany. She walked in, carrying a ridiculously oversized teddy bear and a bright pink balloon. Her eyes went straight to Josh.

"Oh, my poor little superhero!" she cooed, rushing to his side. She pushed me gently aside, her presence radiating a possessive warmth. "Brittany's here! You were so brave!" She kissed his forehead, pushing his hair back.

A chilling feeling washed over me. She was playing the mother. In front of me. In front of everyone.

She then noticed my presence. Her smile faltered, replaced by a sugary, condescending smirk. "Oh, Kiana. I'm so sorry. I know this must be hard for you. Greg told me you've been a little... sensitive lately." She patted my arm, a gesture of false sympathy.

My hands clenched into fists. I could feel the eyes of the nurse, the doctor, even Greg, on me. They saw the 'unstable' wife, the 'sensitive' Kiana. They saw her as the caring, nurturing presence.

"I'm so sorry if I overstepped," Brittany said, her voice dripping with insincerity. "But Josh just loves me so much. He practically begs me to come. And I just can't say no to his sweet face, can I?" She glanced at Greg, a sly triumph in her eyes.

I couldn't respond. The air felt thick, suffocating. I needed to escape, just for a moment. I turned and walked out of the room, my legs feeling like lead.

Outside, in the sterile hallway, I leaned against the wall, trying to catch my breath. The past years flashed before my eyes. The endless winters alone, the crushing depression, the careful monitoring of Josh's every bite. All of it a stage for their secret life. My sacrifice, their convenience.

I heard the door open again. I didn't turn. It was Greg and Brittany. Their voices were low, hushed.

"Josh is stable," Greg said. "He wants you to stay tonight, Brittany."

"Oh, baby," Brittany purred. "You know I'd love to, but Kiana looked pretty upset. She might make a scene."

My son. My sweet boy. He was asking for her. Not me.

"Please, Brittany," Josh's small voice floated out. "Stay with me. Mommy's always sad."

Greg sighed. "She'll be fine. She always is." He sounded annoyed. Not worried. Annoyed.

I was an outsider. A ghost haunting my own life.

Later, a doctor came out to speak with Greg. She asked about Josh's specific triggers, his past reactions, any recent changes in medication. Greg fumbled, stammering. "I... I'm not sure. Kiana handles all of that." He looked helpless, incompetent.

I stepped forward. "His primary trigger is peanuts, specifically refined peanut oils. He's on a daily antihistamine, Fexofenadine, 180mg, and we carry two EpiPens. His last serious reaction was two years ago, to cross-contamination at a school fair." My voice was steady, factual. The doctor nodded, grateful. Greg looked surprised, almost embarrassed.

A bitter laugh bubbled up. They needed me for the messy, real stuff. But they wanted her for the fun.

Brittany emerged, her arms crossed. "Well," she huffed, looking at Greg. "I guess I'll go then. Josh needs his real mother, after all." She started to walk away, a dramatic exit.

"Brittany, no!" Josh cried out from inside the room. His voice was raw, heartbroken. "Don't go! Don't leave me! I want you!"

My heart shattered, a thousand tiny shards piercing me. He didn't want me. He wanted her.

I walked back into the room. Josh was crying, reaching for Brittany. My eyes met hers. A triumphant, vicious smirk.

"Don't worry, Josh," I said, my voice barely a whisper. It was almost steady. "She can stay. I'll go." I looked at Greg. His face was unreadable. "I won't be here. You won't have to worry about me making a 'scene' anymore." I turned and walked out, each step a deliberate release, leaving behind the wreckage of my family.

Continue to next part

The day my adoptive brother's lover falsely accused me of pushing her into the lake, I was kidnapped. It wasn't until the third day that I was finally rescued. Limping barefoot to the car, I saw Maxwell, the brother I had loved for eight years, roll down the window. He looked at me with a furrowed brow. "Esperanza, you're too disheveled. Sit in the car behind us." I caught a glimpse of his lover sitting beside him, and with a pale face, I got into the other car and was driven to the hospital for treatment. During my stay, I received a recording. Amidst the noisy background, someone asked Maxwell, "Maxwell, Esperanza is so fragile, aren't you worried she'll turn against you when she finds out you took so long to rescue her?" Maxwell laughed softly, his voice smooth and detached. "Those kidnappers were hired by me. They know their boundaries and won't harm her too much.

Modern Mystery Romance

8.5

After My Dead Wife's Revenge, I Found New Love

8.5

The champagne flute slipped from my fingers, crystal shattering against marble as the world exploded around me. One moment I was laughing at Donovan's joke about our future children, my hand resting on the gentle curve of my belly where our baby grew. The next, the Seattle waterfront venue erupted in a deafening roar of fire and debris. The blast wave hit me like a freight train, lifting me off my feet and hurling me backward into the concrete pillar with bone-crushing force. Pain shot through my spine, my ribs, my skull. Something warm and wet trickled down my face—blood, I realized dimly as darkness crept in from the edges of my vision. Through the ringing in my ears, I heard screams, sirens, the crackle of flames consuming what had been our perfect anniversary celebration just seconds before. "Donovan," I whispered, my voice barely audible even to myself. Where was my husband? The explosion had torn us apart, scattered guests like leaves in a hurricane.

Modern Mystery Romance

9.1

Betrayal's Payback

9.1

I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, practicing the surprised smile I'd need to wear in a few hours. Six years with Ryan had led to this moment—our engagement day. At least, that's what everyone thought was happening tonight. My fingers trembled as I applied mascara, careful not to smudge it despite the hollow ache spreading through my chest. Two weeks ago, I'd found the text messages. Two weeks of silent agony, watching Ryan whisper on phone calls he thought I couldn't hear, noticing how he'd grown distant, making excuses to stay late at work. With Isabella. My stepsister. The mascara wand clattered into the sink. I gripped the cold marble countertop, steadying myself as memories flooded back—Isabella stealing my prom date in high school, Isabella convincing my father to pay for her semester abroad instead of my internship, Isabella's sympathetic smile whenever I achieved something she couldn't quite reach.

Modern Mystery Romance

9.5

Discarded Wife: The Shadow Strategist Returns

9.5

I stood in the center of the ballroom, watching my husband accept credit for the massacre I had meticulously planned. To the underworld, Craig Snyder was the King, a strategic genius who had crippled the Russian mafia. To me, he was the man who had just re-gifted my anniversary present—a Patek Philippe watch—to match the diamond bracelet dangling from his mistress’s wrist. The Senator’s daughter, Chanel, laughed at a joke only he could hear, wearing a red dress and a look of naive adoration that used to be mine. When I confronted him, expecting an apology, Craig didn't just dismiss me. He slapped me across the face in front of the city's elite, the sound echoing like a gunshot. He yanked the wedding ring off my finger, drawing blood, and placed it into Chanel’s palm, calling me a hysterical, barren relic. Later, I found the forged documents. He had signed my name to transfer every asset we built together into his sole possession, leaving me with nothing but a hush-money check. He thought I was just a scorned wife. He forgot that I was the architect of his empire. So, I drove my car off a bridge. I let the world believe I was dead. I let him mourn the woman he destroyed while I watched from the shadows, erasing his existence from my accounts. Six months later, at the Global Crime Summit, Craig stood up with a diamond ring, ready to beg my memory for forgiveness. But the doors opened, and I didn't walk in alone. I walked onto the stage holding the hand of his deadliest rival, Felix Tyson. I wasn't there to take him back. I was there to take his kingdom.

Mafia Modern Romance

8.9

Disposable Wife: He Married A Nobody? Think Again

8.9

In the third year of marriage, she uncovered a cruel truth-her husband had treated her as nothing more than a pawn in his medical research. Their union was a sham, and his real wife was his childhood sweetheart all along. Evelyn walked away without hesitation. Soon after, she learned she was the daughter of the nation's richest man-and had unknowingly married the continent's most powerful tycoon. Her ex waited for her to beg, only to discover her new status and rising influence. As he pleaded in regret, her new husband pulled her close and declared, "She's mine now."

Billionaire Modern Romance

7.9

My Psycho Billionaire

7.9

Valerie Ashford, a girl who had just turned twenty-one, was introduced by her father to his business associates at a grand party, where she met a frightening, cold-blooded man. That man was none other than her father's business partner, the CEO of a major corporation. He was taken with Valerie and had wanted her from the moment he first laid eyes on her. For Rovano Morvane, whatever he desired was absolute and he had to have it, even by the worst means possible. That night Valerie vanished without a trace and Rovano became the prime suspect, yet the Ashford family could not prove their allegations. "P-please, I don't want to die, sir..." Valerie whispered so softly that Rovano had to bend down even lower. "Didn't you just say you didn't care whether you were kidnapped or not? So shut your mouth." Rovano ordered. Cold, Valerie felt the other side of the folding knife pressed against her cheek. Rovano was going to mark Valerie. It felt like something was missing if Rovano didn't take out his psychopathic urges on someone. And this time, for the first time, he wanted a girl: Valerie Ashford. Would Valerie's life end here?

Billionaire Modern Mystery

Eight Years Of His Lies

Chapter 2

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