My Marriage: A Million Lies

Carissa Vang POV: My father' s words, "We'll begin," were a chilling echo in the otherwise deafening silence of the penthouse. The weight of his agreement, the implicit promise of unleashing the Vang family's formidable resources, both terrified and exhilarated me. It was done. The decision was made. There was no going back. My hands, still trembling slightly, balled into fists. I closed my eyes, picturing Eli's impassive face, his dismissive words. Strong enough to take it. I would show him how strong I truly was, strong enough to dismantle his carefully constructed world piece by piece. I needed to clear my head, to numb the raw edges of my pain, if only for a few hours. I picked up my phone again, scrolled through my contacts, and called Lena, my oldest friend, a fellow artist who understood my volatile spirit better than anyone. "Lena, I need a drink. A strong one. Meet me at The Velvet Lounge, now." An hour later, surrounded by the pulsating beat of music and the chatter of strangers, I felt a fragile sense of release. The alcohol burned, but it was a welcome fire compared to the ice in my veins. Lena, her eyes wide with concern, listened as I recounted the bare bones of my decision. "You' re really ending it?" she asked, her voice barely audible over the music, but her shock was palpable. She knew how much I had poured into this marriage, how desperately I had wanted it to work. "It was never real, Lena," I said, the words tasting like ash. "Just a charade. A shield for his precious Kala." She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Carissa... I'm so sorry." "Don't be," I said, my voice firmer than I felt. "Be angry. Be ready to watch the fireworks." Suddenly, the music cut out. The lights flickered, then dimmed, bathing the lounge in an eerie, red glow. A hush fell over the crowd, replaced by urgent whispers. A tall, imposing figure in a crisp, dark suit strode through the parted crowd, his eyes scanning the room with an unnerving intensity. It was Mr. Davies, Eli' s head of security. His gaze landed on me, sharp and unwavering. "Mrs. Drake, Mr. Drake requires your immediate presence." My jaw tightened. Eli. Always Eli. Even now, he sought to control. "I' m not Mrs. Drake," I retorted, my voice ringing with a newfound defiance. "And I'm not going anywhere." Mr. Davies's face remained impassive, but his posture hardened. Two more men, equally imposing, materialized behind him. "With all due respect, Mrs. Drake, this is not a request." Lena started to protest, but I squeezed her arm, a silent command for her to stay out of it. "You think you can just march in here and drag me out?" I scoffed, a bitter laugh bubbling up. "Is this how he 'protects' his delicate flower? By sending his goons?" Before I could finish, Mr. Davies moved, swift and efficient. He grabbed my arm, his grip like steel. I struggled, my anger flaring, but his hold was unbreakable. The lounge, once a refuge, now felt like a cage. I was being forcibly removed, not a gentle escort, but a kidnapping in plain sight. Whispers followed us, judgmental stares. The humiliation was a familiar, bitter taste. I was shoved into a waiting black SUV, the door slamming shut behind me. The last thing I saw was Lena's horrified face, then the blur of city lights. I woke up to the smell of antiseptic and old wood. My head throbbed, and a dull ache resonated through my body. I was lying on a narrow cot in a dimly lit room, the walls bare and cold. The door creaked open, and Elyssa Drake, Eli's mother, stood framed in the doorway, her face a mask of disapproval. "Carissa," she said, her voice a low, chilling reprimand. "Your behavior is unacceptable. A Drake woman does not cause public scenes. You are bringing shame upon this family." I pushed myself up, wincing as my muscles protested. "Shame? You want to talk about shame?" I retorted, a fresh wave of fury washing over me. "What about the shame of a family built on lies and manipulation? What about the shame of a husband who secretly castrates himself and uses his wife as a human shield?" Her eyes widened slightly, a rare crack in her icy composure, but it quickly vanished. "You are hysterical. You need to understand your place. Kala is vulnerable. She needs protection. You, Carissa, are a wild animal. You always have been, always will be." A cold, mirthless laugh escaped my lips. Wild animal. They' d always seen me that way. A creature to be tamed, or, failing that, exiled. "A wild animal, indeed," I murmured, my gaze hardening. "And wild animals bite back." "Eli is busy dealing with your latest disgrace," Elyssa continued, ignoring my words. "He has no time for your histrionics. You will stay here until you learn to behave." "I want to see Eli," I demanded, my voice shaking with a mixture of anger and a perverse need for confrontation. "He refuses to see you. You've caused enough trouble," she snapped, her tone dismissive. "Now, stay put. Perhaps some solitude will teach you the value of obedience." She turned to leave, her back ramrod straight. My mind reeled. All those years, all the times I had swallowed their insults, believed their lies. I had loved him, truly loved him, despite everything. I had fought for our love, for my place in this family, only to be cast aside like a broken toy. The injustice of it all was a suffocating weight. "I said, I want to see Eli!" I shouted, my voice raw. I scrambled off the cot, my legs unsteady, and lunged towards her. I didn't care about the consequences anymore. I only cared about making them see, making them feel. Elyssa turned, her eyes blazing with fury. "How dare you! You ungrateful wretch!" She raised her hand, poised to strike. I met her gaze, unflinching. "Go ahead. Hit me. It wouldn't be the first time this family has laid hands on me." My words were a direct challenge, a culmination of years of suppressed rage. Her hand dropped, but her eyes narrowed with a dangerous gleam. "You require more... persuasive measures." She barked orders at the guards who had suddenly appeared behind her, their faces grim. "Teach her respect. Teach her obedience." The next few hours were a blur of pain. My body became a canvas for their lessons, each blow a stark reminder of their power, their cruelty. I refused to cry out, refused to give them the satisfaction. My teeth dug into my lip, the metallic taste of my own blood a small comfort in the storm. I wouldn't break. I wouldn't give in. Finally, darkness claimed me. I welcomed it, a temporary escape from the physical agony and the crushing despair. I stirred slowly, the distant sound of muffled voices filtering into my consciousness. My body ached with a dull, persistent throb. I tasted iron in my mouth. I was still in the same sterile room, but I sensed a different presence. I slowly opened my eyes, wincing at the harsh hospital-like lights. The voices were clearer now, coming from just outside the door. Eli. And Kala. "She' s a loose cannon, Eli. You have to control her,\" Kala's voice, usually soft, was laced with a venom I recognized all too well. \"I know, Kala. I' m handling it. She' s... being disciplined,\" Eli replied, his voice calm, detached. Disciplined. Was that what he called it? My body screamed in protest, a testament to their "discipline." \"But what if she tells? What if she exposes us?\" Kala whined, her fragile facade barely holding. \"She's so volatile. So dramatic.\" \"Shhh,\" Eli soothed, his voice suddenly thick with a tenderness he had never once offered me. \"It's alright, my dear. I'll take care of everything. I promised I would. You're my priority. Always.\" I heard his fingers tracing her arm, a gesture of comfort, of intimacy. My breath hitched. This was it. The absolute, undeniable proof. He was doing this for her. He was protecting her. He had always protected her. A wave of nausea swept over me, mingling with the searing agony in my heart. He was responsible for this. He had allowed my suffering, orchestrated my humiliation, all for this manipulatve, 'fragile' woman. My body, bruised and battered, pulsed with a new kind of pain, an emotional wound so deep it felt like a gaping chasm. No, not pain. Rage. A cold, calculated fury that would become my guiding star. He had shattered me, reduced me to a pawn in his game. But a pawn, once broken free, could become the queen. And queens, I knew, played for keeps. He would regret this. He would regret every single moment he had ever underestimated me.