Lies Of A Thousand Lives

On our third anniversary, I found ninety-nine love letters my husband wrote.

None of them were for me.

They were for Kennedy, the woman who stole my award-winning design years ago, the woman he swore he was over.

His letters spoke of a soul-deep connection, a passion I'd only ever dreamed of.

Then, my best friend called from the airport. She saw him there, with Kennedy, locked in a Hollywood-style embrace.

He wasn't just cheating. This was a long-con.

He'd married me to silence me, using my DNA to help Kennedy fraudulently claim the inheritance of the powerful Olsen family-an inheritance that was rightfully mine.

He canceled my credit cards, renounced his citizenship, and secretly married her in France, all while I played the part of the loving wife.

When I tried to fight back, he had me drugged, imprisoned, and nearly drowned, all to protect his precious Kennedy.

He thought he had erased me, a mere footnote in their grand story.

But he made one fatal mistake.

He didn't know I was the real Olsen heiress.

And I was coming back to claim everything he stole.

Chapter 1

Aubrey Burris POV:

The ninety-nine love letters weren't tucked away in some forgotten drawer.

They were right there.

Stacked neatly on Cooper' s side of the nightstand.

Beside our wedding photo.

It was our third anniversary.

The air in our bedroom, usually a sanctuary, suddenly felt like a freezer door had been left open. Chilling me to the bone.

Each envelope was thick, old-fashioned, sealed with a wax stamp. A careful, almost reverent touch that made my stomach churn.

I picked up the top letter.

My fingers trembled. The elegant script, so familiar from Cooper' s early, more romantic notes to me, now felt alien. A language I suddenly couldn' t understand. The first line blurred.

"My dearest Kennedy…"

Kennedy.

The name hit me like a physical blow. It was a name that had haunted me for years. A ghost in the periphery of my life. Always just out of reach, yet always present.

The woman who stole my winning design. My chance at that international scholarship. Years ago.

The woman Cooper had supposedly long moved on from.

I fumbled with the letter. Tearing the wax seal open in my haste. The scent of old paper and something faintly floral wafted up. Something that wasn't my scent.

Cooper' s words, painstakingly crafted, poured out onto the page.

He wrote about her "unrivaled brilliance," her "vision that reshaped his world," and a "connection that defied explanation."

It was a stark contrast to the functional texts he sent me. The terse emails.

Pick up dry cleaning.

Dinner at 7. My breath hitched. He had written these words with a passion I' d only ever dreamed of. A devotion that felt like an open wound in my own heart.

He described details of their shared dreams. Their future plans. Plans that sounded eerily like the ones we' d discussed. The life we were building.

My mind raced. Trying to reconcile the man who wrote these fervent declarations with the husband who kissed me goodnight. Often with a distant look in his eyes.

My heart shattered.

Piece by agonizing piece. Dissolving into a cold, hollow ache in my chest. Each word was a tiny shard. Piercing deeper. Twisting within me.

The elegant calligraphy now seemed sinister. A testament to a love that was never mine.

I felt a wave of nausea. A dizzying sense of displacement. My elegant wedding dress, hanging pristine in the closet, suddenly felt like a cruel joke. Our anniversary dinner, planned for a fancy downtown restaurant, tasted like ash in my mouth before I' d even left the house.

This wasn't just a clandestine affair. This was a love so profound. So deeply etched into his being. It felt like an insult to my very existence.

He was describing my husband. The man I loved. To another woman.

He spoke of her as his muse, his destiny.

"You are the architecture of my soul, Kennedy," one line read. "Every structure I build, every dream I pursue, begins and ends with you."

The bitter irony was a punch to the gut.

I specialized in architectural translation. Translating the visions of others into tangible plans. And here I was. Translating the reality of my own crumbling marriage. Word by agonizing word.

It was all a cruel, elaborate lie.

The rage simmered beneath the surface of my despair. How could he? How could we?

My phone buzzed against the bedside table. A jarring intrusion into my private hell.

It was Jonna. My best friend.

I took a deep, shaky breath. Trying to compose myself. Jonna had no filter. But she was fiercely loyal. She wouldn't mince words if I told her. But I couldn't bring myself to speak.

"Aubrey? Happy anniversary, girl!" Jonna's voice, usually a bright, energetic burst, sounded strained. "Listen, I just saw something. I… I think you need to see this."

There was a pause. A hesitant uncertainty in her tone that was rare for Jonna.

"What is it, Jonna? I… I can't really talk right now," I managed. My voice thin and reedy.

"No, you have to. It's Cooper. At the airport." Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "He's hugging Kennedy. Like, a full-on, Hollywood movie, swept-off-her-feet embrace. She just got off a flight."

The blood drained from my face. My hand tightened around the letter. It felt like the universe was conspiring to twist the knife deeper.