The Price of a Perfect Lie

Hei Baidong

Billionaires | Completed

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My husband, the real estate magnate Gregory Thompson, had a five-year affair and a secret son. When the scandal broke, he went on national television, his face a mask of sorrow. He swore I was the only woman he had ever truly loved and that he would spend the rest of his life earning back my trust. I believed him. That belief shattered tonight at a charity gala. I saw him speaking quietly with his mistress, Holly, and overheard their conversation. "The stupid bitch actually believed you," she whispered. Gregory chuckled. "Of course she did. It's what makes her so easy to handle." He promised Holly that he would break me slowly, first my heart, then my spirit, until the Thompson fortune belonged to her and their son. The champagne glass slipped from my fingers, shattering on the marble floor. My perfect marriage was an elaborate, cruel lie. Across the room, his eyes met mine, not with panic, but with cold calculation. He took the microphone and proposed a toast to me, his "beautiful wife," the "light of his life." The room erupted in applause for the devoted husband. I saw a monster hiding in plain sight. He leaned in close as I stood beside him on stage, his lips brushing my ear. "Smile, darling. The whole world is watching." I smiled as my world burned to the ground. But as soon as the ceremony ended, I slipped away and booked the first flight out of the city. I had to escape.

Betrayal Revenge Divorce CEO Kickass Heroine

Chapter 20

01-06 21:35

Chapter 1

That belief shattered tonight at a charity gala. I saw him speaking quietly with his mistress, Holly, and overheard their conversation.

"The stupid bitch actually believed you," she whispered.

Gregory chuckled. "Of course she did. It's what makes her so easy to handle." He promised Holly that he would break me slowly, first my heart, then my spirit, until the Thompson fortune belonged to her and their son.

The champagne glass slipped from my fingers, shattering on the marble floor. My perfect marriage was an elaborate, cruel lie. Across the room, his eyes met mine, not with panic, but with cold calculation. He took the microphone and proposed a toast to me, his "beautiful wife," the "light of his life."

The room erupted in applause for the devoted husband. I saw a monster hiding in plain sight. He leaned in close as I stood beside him on stage, his lips brushing my ear.

"Smile, darling. The whole world is watching."

I smiled as my world burned to the ground. But as soon as the ceremony ended, I slipped away and booked the first flight out of the city. I had to escape.

Chapter 1

The news of the scandal broke like a tidal wave across New York City. Gregory Thompson, the real estate magnate, the man whose name was synonymous with power and success, had a secret. A five-year affair. A son. The city was in an uproar, tabloids feasting on every detail. The mother was a former intern, a nobody named Holly Skinner.

But just as the scandal reached its peak, Gregory appeared on national television. He sat with a famous interviewer, his face a mask of sorrow and regret. He spoke of a terrible mistake, a moment of weakness. Then, his eyes found the camera, and he spoke directly to the city, to the world.

"My greatest regret is the pain I have caused my wife, Isabella. She is my rock, my soul, the only woman I have ever truly loved. I will spend the rest of my life earning back her trust."

The world swooned. He was a devoted husband, a man who had strayed but was fighting his way back home. A tragic hero.

I believed him. I was Isabella Ramirez, a successful architect, and Gregory Thompson' s wife. I believed in the perfect marriage we had built, in the love that felt as solid as the skyscrapers I designed. I believed every word he said.

That belief shattered tonight.

The gala was in full swing, a charity event for the architectural foundation I had established in my late father' s name. The ballroom of The Plaza Hotel glittered. Crystal chandeliers dripped light onto the city' s elite. I stood by the grand staircase, a glass of champagne in my hand, watching my husband work the room. He was magnetic, charming everyone he spoke to. He was perfect.

Then I saw it. A slight, almost imperceptible nod from Gregory toward a quiet corner of the room. My eyes followed his gaze. A woman stood there, holding a little boy' s hand. Holly Skinner.

My breath caught in my throat. He had promised me she would be gone, out of our lives forever. He had sworn it.

I excused myself and moved toward the alcove, hidden behind a large marble pillar. I just needed to see. As I got closer, their voices drifted toward me, low and intimate.

"Did you see the look on her face when you were giving that speech?" Holly' s voice was a saccharine whisper. "She looked so proud. The stupid bitch actually believed you."

Gregory chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that used to make my heart race. Now, it made my stomach turn. "Of course she did. Isabella believes everything I tell her. It' s what makes her so easy to handle."

"And Jaden?" she asked, her hand stroking the boy' s hair. "When are you going to tell her he' s not just some mistake? That he' s our future?"

"Soon, my love. Patience. I have to break her slowly. First, her heart. Then, her spirit. When I' m done, the Thompson family fortune, and my name, will belong to you and our son."

The champagne glass slipped from my fingers, shattering on the marble floor. The sound was deafening in the sudden silence of my world. My body went numb. I couldn' t feel my legs, my arms. I could only stare at the three of them. A perfect little family.

A memory flashed in my mind. Holly, a few years ago, when she was still just an intern. She had "accidentally" spilled a scalding cup of coffee on my hand, just moments before a major presentation. My hand had blistered instantly, the pain excruciating.

Gregory had been furious. He had fired her on the spot, his voice booming with rage. He had held me, his eyes full of concern, and promised he would never let anyone hurt me again. He promised she would be punished, that she would pay for what she did.

And now, here she was. Not punished, but rewarded. Standing beside my husband, holding the hand of his son. The woman who had hurt me was now intimately entwined in his life, in our life.

A waiter rushed over to clean up the broken glass. The sharp clinking of the shards echoed the splintering of my heart. My perfect marriage, my perfect life, was a lie. A cruel, elaborate lie.

Across the room, Gregory saw the commotion. His eyes met mine for a fraction of a second. There was no panic, no guilt. Just cold, calm calculation. He excused himself, walked to the center of the ballroom, and took the microphone from the band leader.

"If I could have your attention, everyone," he announced, his voice smooth as silk. He raised his glass. "I' d like to propose a toast. To my beautiful, talented wife, Isabella. The light of my life. I love you more than words can say."

The room erupted in applause. Guests smiled, their eyes shining with admiration for this devoted man. They saw a grand romantic gesture. I saw a monster hiding in plain sight.

I forced a smile, my face feeling like a porcelain mask about to crack. I raised my own glass, my hand trembling so badly I could barely hold it. I had to get through this. I had to walk to the stage, stand by his side, and accept the award for my father' s foundation.

I walked. Each step was an agony. I felt a thousand pairs of eyes on me, but the only ones I could feel were his. Cold. Triumphant.

I stood beside him, the applause washing over us. He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. "Smile, darling. The whole world is watching."

I did as I was told, the smile plastered on my face while my world burned to the ground. I accepted the heavy crystal award, my hands numb. I gave a speech I don' t remember writing. The words came out, but they weren' t mine. They belonged to the woman I used to be, the woman who believed in fairy tales.

As soon as the ceremony ended, Gregory was swarmed by well-wishers. I slipped away. My phone buzzed. A text from him.

"Got held up by investors. Will be home late. Don' t wait up for me. Love you."

A lie. Another lie in an endless sea of them.

A cold suspicion took hold. I didn' t go home. I got in a taxi and gave the driver an address-a penthouse apartment Gregory owned on the Upper East Side, one he claimed was for visiting business partners.

I waited across the street, huddled in the back of the cab, the city lights blurring through my tears. An hour later, a black town car pulled up. Gregory got out. Then Holly. Then the boy, Jaden.

Gregory lifted the boy into his arms, kissing his forehead. Holly wrapped her arm around Gregory' s waist. They walked into the building together, laughing. A happy family returning home.

I paid the driver and got out, my legs unsteady. I walked to the building, my hand shaking as I used my master key. The elevator ride felt like an eternity. The doors opened directly into the apartment.

The first thing I saw was a large family portrait on the wall. Gregory, Holly, and Jaden, all smiling, posed in a sun-drenched park. My stomach lurched.

The apartment was not the sterile, corporate space I remembered. It was a home. Toys were scattered across the floor. Small shoes were by the door. On the coffee table, a framed photo of Jaden taking his first steps. The walls were painted a warm, buttery yellow-my favorite color. He had taken our shared memories, our intimate moments, and used them to build a life with her.

I was an intruder in my own husband' s life. A ghost peering into a world where I had been replaced.

I backed out of the apartment, my heart a raw, open wound. I stumbled back into the elevator, my hand fumbling for the button. Once outside, I leaned against the cold brick wall, gasping for air.

I tried to call him. The first time, it went straight to voicemail. The second, the third, the tenth. Silence. After an hour of frantic ringing, he finally picked up.

"Isabella? What' s wrong? It' s late." His voice was groggy, as if I had woken him.

"Where are you, Gregory?" I whispered, my voice hoarse.

"I told you, with investors. It ran late. I' m at the hotel downtown."

Just then, I heard a child' s voice in the background, small and sleepy. "Daddy, can I have some water?"

Silence. A long, heavy pause.

Then another voice, this time his lawyer, Jevon Salazar. "Greg, we' re wrapping up here. Are you good?"

Gregory cleared his throat. "Yes, everything is fine. Jevon' s kid is with him tonight. Look, Isabella, I' m exhausted. I' ll see you in the morning."

He hung up.

The pieces clicked into place. The five-year affair. The secret son. The lies, the gaslighting, the public performance of devotion. It wasn' t a mistake. It was a plan. A long, cruel, calculated plan to erase me.

I remembered our wedding day. He had stood before me, his eyes shining with what I thought was love. "From this day forward," he had vowed, "you will never be alone. I will protect you. I will cherish you. I will love you, until my last breath."

I leaned my head against the cold glass of a storefront and laughed. A hollow, broken sound that was swallowed by the city noise. My marriage, my pride, my entire life was a joke.

My phone buzzed again. A text from Gregory.

"Can' t wait for our anniversary next week. I have a surprise for you. It' s going to be the best day of our lives."

The irony was a physical blow. Our anniversary. He was planning a surprise. The only surprise left was how much more I could take before I shattered completely.

I scrolled through my contacts until I found the name. Kevin. My brother. Not by blood, but by a bond forged in childhood that was stronger than any blood tie. He was in Silicon Valley, a world away. But right now, he was the only person I could trust.

I booked a flight. The first one out in the morning.

New York was my home, the city I had helped build. But it was no longer safe. I had to get out. I had to escape.