His Most Beautiful, Cruel Lie

"Don't just stand there. Let's go."

The assistant, Liam, gave me a cold look, his tone as glacial as his gaze.

Like a robot, I bent down to retrieve the key I’d been given for a guest locker.

My phone vibrated. It was a message from Curtis.

[Go with Liam for now. I'll come over later tonight and explain.]

I stared at the cold text, my fingers trembling as I typed a reply. [Why did you lie to me?]

His response was even more impatient.

[Don't make a scene. This isn't the place for you to throw a tantrum.]

A tear splattered onto the screen.

I followed Liam downstairs, past the corporation's elite security team, who all stared at me with undisguised contempt.

"Is that her? The gold digger who's clinging to the CEO?"

"The future Mrs. Van der Meer is so magnanimous, personally trying to placate her."

"Magnanimous? Ha. A true matriarch doesn't waste her time on a stray cat."

A burst of laughter followed. I gritted my teeth, trying desperately to ignore their piercing words.

The car stopped in front of a skyscraper that pierced the clouds.

Liam tossed me a key card. "The CEO's orders. You'll be staying here for the time being."

Without another word, he drove away.

This was a penthouse on Park Avenue. In a building so secure, even if I wanted to leave, I couldn't.

I swiped the card and opened the door.

The sheer luxury of the place was staggering.

It was a duplex penthouse. An entire wall was made of floor-to-ceiling glass, overlooking the glittering lights of New York City. The faint scent of a woman's perfume lingered in the air.

This was the "rundown rental apartment" Curtis had told me about?

I thought about how I had scrimped and saved every month, even pulling all-nighters to do freelance design work for a meager income, just to support him in any way I could.

I thought about how I had rejected all the promising men in my circle because I believed in the man I had chosen.

It was all a colossal joke.

I collapsed onto the plush carpet, my eyes drawn to an unlocked safe in the study.

I froze.

Inside, a gilded prenuptial agreement lay waiting. It bore the signatures and family seals of Curtis and Victoria.

In the bottom right corner, the date of signing was printed in elegant script.

I remembered that day. It was the day he told me his business had failed and his family had disowned him.

That day, full of heartache and determination, I had told him, "It's okay, Curtis. I'll be with you."

He had replied, "I'm sorry, Destiny. I'm sorry for making you suffer with me."

And on that very day, at the Van der Meer Group headquarters, he was pledging his life to another woman.

Like a madwoman, I rushed into the bedroom. On the nightstand was an intimate photo of them. The closet was filled with Victoria's Hermès and Chanel. The vanity was covered in expensive jewelry.

When I pulled open the nightstand drawer, the last shred of hope in my heart died.

A copy of Forbes magazine slid out.

It was Curtis's cover story. In the photo, he was shirtless, and right on his chest was an intricate family crest—the emblem of Victoria's family.

And the matching tattoo we'd gotten—our symbol—was gone, completely covered up.

I curled up on the cold floor and sobbed my heart out.

I remembered that rainy night seven years ago when I found him in a Brooklyn alley. He had been ambushed by enemies, covered in blood.

I used every bit of first-aid knowledge I had to keep him alive.

When he woke up, he told me his name was Curtis. A poor man whose business had failed and who had been cast out by his family.

We spent six blissful months together before he told me he had to go to another city to pursue a business opportunity.

He held my hand, his eyes more serious than I had ever seen them. "Destiny, this is fate. But right now, I have nothing. I can't give you any promises."

I squeezed his hand back. "I don't care. Curtis, when you make your comeback, we'll get married. I can wait."

After that, we grew closer than ever, but he would never acknowledge our relationship in front of his friends. He always said the time wasn't right.

It turned out he had been lying from the very beginning.

He wasn't an entrepreneur; he was the heir to a financial empire.

He wasn't going off to make a living; he was going to claim his throne.

I curled up on the floor, crying until my throat was raw, until my whole body convulsed.

In the cover photo, Curtis stared into the camera, his eyes filled with a pure, commanding coldness.

Just like how he once looked at me and said:

"Destiny, in my heart, nothing is more important than you."