Burning Down His World Of Lies

My husband, Dax, was cold and distant, obsessed with his ex-girlfriend, Frida. His neglect cost me our first child. Then, Frida' s schemes cost me my dream job.

When I became pregnant again, Dax abandoned me while I was in agony to rush to Frida's side for a minor scratch. This time, I didn't just lose the baby-I almost died.

He never even visited me in the hospital. Instead, he was photographed comforting Frida, his "one true love."

His mother finally revealed the truth: Dax's loyalty stemmed from a twisted childhood memory. He believed he had saved Frida from a traumatic event, a debt he felt he owed her for life.

But as I lay broken, a memory of my own surfaced. A dark warehouse. A kind boy who saved me. A promise whispered. It wasn't Dax. His entire devotion to Frida was built on a lie.

Now, he stands on my doorstep in Argentina, begging for a second chance after I've filed for divorce. He doesn't know that I know his secret. And I'm about to burn his world to the ground.

Chapter 1

Aliza's POV:

The chill of the sheets felt like a prophecy of what was to come, a cold dread seeping into my bones even as Dax's body was still warm next to mine. He had just taken me, with a practiced indifference that pierced deeper than any physical act. His movements were precise, powerful, and utterly devoid of the lingering tenderness I craved. He sighed, a sound of pure release, and then the familiar withdrawal began, a quiet retreat from my touch that left my skin tingling with a phantom chill.

He didn't say my name. He rarely did, not in moments like these.

He slid out of bed. His back was to me as he pulled on his silk robe. It was dark blue, the color mirroring the deep, impenetrable ocean I often felt separated us.

"I have early calls," he said, his voice flat, already distant.

He didn't wait for a reply. He never did. The door clicked shut, leaving me in the vast, echoing silence of our marital bedroom. I watched the spot where he had been, the indentation still warm on the pristine white sheets. It was a painful echo. I closed my eyes, a wave of familiar loneliness washing over me.

After a few minutes, the silence became too heavy to bear. I pushed myself up, the silk nightgown clinging to my skin. I needed to know. I always needed to know. I padded quietly to the door, pressing my ear against the cool wood. Nothing. He wasn't in his study. Curiosity, a venomous thing, coiled in my gut. I opened the door a crack.

The house was dark, but a faint light spilled from the far end of the hallway, from the small, rarely used sitting room next to the library. That was unusual. He only went there when he wanted to be truly alone. I moved like a