The Empress Who Buries Her Past

I sacrificed my womb and my youth to build Alec' s architectural empire from the shadows.

He repaid me by bringing his mistress, Billie, to frame me for plagiarism and destroy my reputation.

When my father suffered a massive heart attack, Billie used her influence to block his life-saving surgery.

Alec held my dying father' s life hostage, forcing me to my knees in front of the woman who ruined me.

"Apologize to her, Cydney," he commanded, "or I pull the plug."

I begged. I scraped my dignity off the floor. But they let my father die anyway.

Discarded and humiliated, I vanished in a plane crash, leaving only a wedding ring in a landfill.

Years later, at a global summit, Alec watched his company crumble under the attacks of a ruthless new rival.

He grabbed the woman in the emerald dress, his hands trembling as he recognized the eyes he thought were gone forever.

"Cydney? You're alive?"

I smiled, cold as ice.

"Ms. Frazier is dead, Alec. I' m the one who' s going to bury you."

Chapter 1

My world cracked wide open the moment Billie Thomas walked into my newly opened design studio, her eyes wide and overflowing with fabricated tears. I had just launched "Frazier Designs," a small, bespoke architectural firm I'd poured my soul into for the past six months. It was a leap of faith, a step towards a future I'd put on hold for too long, just before I committed to a deferred master's program abroad.

"Cydney," she whimpered, her voice barely a whisper, yet loud enough to echo in the quiet space.

She looked like a drowned kitten, all vulnerability and despair. Her expensive dress was rumpled, her usually perfect hair disheveled. It was a performance I recognized, one Alec had always fallen for.

"Billie," I replied, my voice flat, betraying none of the turmoil churning inside me. "To what do I owe this… unexpected visit?"

She collapsed onto the plush velvet sofa, burying her face in her hands. Her sobs filled the room, theatrical and practiced. I watched her, my professional facade firmly in place. I was an architect, yes, but also a trained therapist, a skill I' d cultivated to manage Alec' s volatile family, never imagining I' d use it on his mistress.

"I can't... I can't do this anymore," she choked out between gasps. "The pressure. The expectations. It's too much."

She lifted her head, her mascara-streaked eyes meeting mine. "You wouldn't understand, Cydney. You've always had everything. A loving family, a brilliant mind. You never had to claw your way up from nothing."

Her words were a subtle jab, a reminder of the perceived chasm between us. She was right about one thing; I hadn' t clawed. I' d built. But my foundations were crumbling fast.

"What exactly are you struggling with, Billie?" I asked, my voice calm, almost detached. My heart, however, was a frantic drum against my ribs.

She sniffled, pulling a silk handkerchief from her clutch. "The world is so cruel, Cydney. You have to sacrifice so much just to survive, to get a taste of the life you deserve. Things... things you never thought you'd do."

A shiver ran down my spine. The way she said "sacrifice," the veiled implication of illicit dealings, it was all too clear. She was confessing, in her own twisted way, to selling herself.

Before I could formulate a response, the muted thud of footsteps in the hallway outside grew louder. My breath caught. I knew that confident, purposeful stride.

Billie' s eyes flickered to the door, a sly, knowing glint momentarily replacing her distress. A ghost of a smile touched her lips.

"He's here," she announced, her voice suddenly stronger, laced with an unsettling triumph. "Your husband. My… benefactor."

My gaze snapped to the frosted glass of the door. A tall silhouette, unmistakably Alec' s, appeared. He held a ridiculously large bouquet of vibrant red roses, their petals a garish splash of color against the elegant neutrality of my studio.

My throat tightened. Alec. Here. With her. The scene was a grotesque parody of every romantic gesture he' d ever made to me. But this time, the roses weren't for me.

His eyes, usually so sharp and commanding, were momentarily wide with shock when they met mine through the glass. He hadn't expected to find me here. Or perhaps, he hadn't expected to find Billie with me. The surprise quickly morphed into a mask of polite concern, but I saw the flicker of panic, the brief crack in his polished facade.

I closed my eyes for a fraction of a second, wishing I could rewind time. I remembered the early days, when Alec had courted me with shy earnestness, a single, hand-picked daisy from a roadside field, his face flushed with genuine affection. He' d promised me the world then, not with roses bought from a fancy florist, but with the raw ambition in his eyes and the calloused hands that built our first shared dreams.

We had started with nothing, a tiny apartment, late-night ramen, and shared dreams sketched on napkins. He was the visionary, I was the quiet strategist, the architect of his empire behind the scenes. We worked tirelessly, fueled by youthful optimism and the fierce belief in each other. He swore he' d make our lives beautiful, that I' d never have to want for anything again. I believed him. I poured my talent, my time, my life into Johns Development, sacrificing my own aspirations so his could soar.

Now, his empire stood tall, gleaming, and I was left standing on the outside, a ghost in the gleaming halls I had helped design. The wealth had come, but the love, the intimacy, the shared future, had withered. My heart ached with a familiar, dull throb. I took a deep, steadying breath, refusing to let the hurt show. I would not give them the satisfaction.

The door opened, and Alec stepped in, the scent of roses clashing harshly with the faint aroma of fresh paint and new beginnings in my studio. He smiled, a practiced, charming curve of his lips that didn' t quite reach his eyes.

"Cydney, darling," he said, his voice smooth, trying to bridge the awkward silence. He held out the roses to me, an absurd gesture of feigned normalcy. "I came to pick up Billie. And congratulations on the studio. I heard about it from... well, from Billie."

I didn't take the bouquet. My hands remained clasped loosely in front of me, steady as stone.

"You heard about it from Billie?" I asked, my voice calm, but with an edge I hoped he wouldn't miss. "How interesting. My grand opening wasn't exactly widely publicized."

Billie, still on the sofa but now composed, offered a sweet, innocent smile. "Oh, Cydney, I told Alec. I saw your post on that professional networking site, and I just had to tell him how proud I was of you starting your own venture." She glanced at Alec, a silent exchange passing between them, a shared secret language that excluded me.

That smile, that shared glance, was a knife twisting in an old wound. I looked at the framed photo on my desk-a faded picture of Alec and me on our wedding day, young, hopeful, naive. I felt a sudden, visceral urge to smash it, to shatter the illusion of a love that had long been dead. But I didn't. I was not that impulsive girl anymore. I had responsibilities, a fledgling business, a name to reclaim. My anger simmered, a cold fire in my gut.

"I see," I finally said, the word heavy with unspoken meaning. "Well, thank you for the compliment."

Alec seemed relieved by my controlled response. He dropped the roses onto a nearby table, their thorny stems scratching against the polished wood. "Are you ready, Billie?" he asked, his attention already shifting back to her.

"Yes, Alec," she replied, standing up with a newfound lightness in her step. She gave me another saccharine smile, her eyes sparkling with malicious glee. "It was... enlightening, Cydney. Take care."

They turned to leave, but before they reached the door, the first shouts began. A cacophony of voices erupted from outside, growing louder, more aggressive.

"Cydney Frazier, is that you?"

"The plagiarist! The fraud!"

"How dare you open a business after stealing someone else's work?"

My blood ran cold. I heard the frantic clicking of cameras, the blinding flashes illuminating the once-serene space. Billie hadn't just 'told Alec.' She had orchestrated this.

Alec, momentarily stunned, instinctively pulled me behind him as the mob surged against the glass door. Their faces, contorted with manufactured outrage, pressed against the panes.

"What is this, Cydney?" Alec demanded, his voice low and furious. "What have you done?"

"I haven't done anything," I retorted, my voice trembling despite my efforts. "This is Billie's doing. She framed me."

Billie, meanwhile, had pressed herself against Alec' s back, feigning terror. "Oh, Alec, they're so angry! What if they hurt us?"

Suddenly, a heavy object-a rotten tomato, from the smell of it-smashed against the door, splattering red pulp onto Alec's expensive suit. Another followed, hitting Billie's arm. She shrieked, clutching her elbow dramatically.

Alec' s protective stance towards me evaporated. He spun around, his attention solely on Billie. "Are you alright, darling? Let me see." He completely ignored the barrage of insults and filth, the shouts of "plagiarist" and "home-wrecker" that were now explicitly directed at me. He had accused me of being a home-wrecker in a whisper, but the crowd now screamed it, and my name was tied to it.

He guided Billie out of the studio, through a side door she seemed to know existed, leaving me standing alone, unprotected, facing the angry crowd. The last thing I saw before the door slammed shut was Alec's hand gently supporting Billie's uninjured back, his face etched with concern for her.

My body felt like ice. I was alone. Utterly, completely alone. Another projectile, a bag of what smelled like decaying garbage, hit my shoulder, spilling its contents onto my pristine white coat. The stench was overwhelming. I stumbled backward, my vision blurring.

My assistant, a young woman named Sarah whom I' d hired just last month, rushed in, her face pale. "Ms. Frazier! Are you okay? Where are we going?"

I didn't answer. I just pushed past her, my legs moving on autopilot, desperate to escape the suffocating humiliation. I barely registered the concerned murmurs of the remaining staff. I just needed to get away.

As I struggled into the back of a waiting car, my phone rang. It was the hospital. My father.

"Ms. Frazier," the voice on the other end said, urgent and grave. "Your father… he suffered a massive heart attack. We need to perform emergency surgery, but the funds haven't been authorized yet."

My breath hitched. "What? That's impossible. Alec handles all his medical expenses. He should have authorized it immediately." My voice was a desperate whisper. I clutched the phone, my knuckles white. "Get me to the hospital, Sarah. Now!"

As Sarah sped through the chaotic city streets, I saw them. Alec and Billie. Their car was stopped at a red light, just a few lanes over. He was tenderly dabbing Billie's arm with a handkerchief, stroking her hair, his eyes filled with a concern I hadn't seen directed at me in years. For a twisted ankle. While my father lay dying.

At the hospital, the sterile smell of antiseptic clawed at my throat. I ran, my shoes slipping on the polished floors, my soiled clothes a stark contrast to the quiet dignity of the waiting area. When I reached his room, he was already hooked up to a tangle of machines, his face ashen. I sank to my knees beside his bed, the strength draining from my body.

"Cydney?" His voice was weak, barely audible. "Why... why isn't Alec here with you?"

My chest tightened. I couldn't tell him. Not now. Not when he was so frail. "He... he had an emergency at work, Dad," I lied, the words tasting like ash. "But he sent his best wishes. He's worried about you."

He smiled faintly, a flicker of his old self. "Good. He's a good man, Cydney, always so busy. You look tired, my girl. Did... did you ever go for that master's program abroad?"

The question caught me off guard. "Not yet, Dad. I started my own firm."

"That's wonderful," he whispered, a proud glint in his eyes. "But don't put off your dreams for too long. Don't worry about me. I've lived a full life." He paused, his gaze distant. "Tell Alec... tell him I'm sorry for trying to stand in the way of your marriage, all those years ago. I thought... I thought he wasn't good enough for you. But you loved him. And that was all that mattered in the end."

A nurse gently touched my shoulder. "Visiting hours are over, Ms. Frazier. We need to prepare him for the procedure."

As I walked out, my phone buzzed. It was a message from my old professor, the one who' d urged me to pursue further studies. "Cydney, the application deadline for the global research fellowship is tomorrow. It's your last chance. Think about it."

My mind reeled. All those years, I' d put Alec first. His career, his dreams, his fragile ego. I' d sacrificed my own. My father, my steadfast champion, was fading, and Alec was tending to Billie' s scraped knee. I was being publicly humiliated, my reputation shredded. My marriage was a hollow shell. My father' s words echoed in my ears: Don' t put off your dreams for too long.

A fierce, desperate resolve hardened in my heart. This was it. This was my escape. My lifeline. My chance to finally choose myself. My fingers trembled as I typed out a reply to my professor. "I'm in. I'll be there."

Her reply was immediate: "Excellent! The next flight to London departs in three days. See you then, Cydney."

Three days. Three days to disappear. To die. To be reborn. The thought sent a chilling thrill through me. My thirteen-year marriage, my old life, my very identity as "Mrs. Alec Johns," felt like a heavy anchor. I knew what I had to do. I would make sure that anchor sank to the bottom of the deepest ocean.