Chapter 4 The Lie

Lyssa POV

I smile, lifting my hands to cup his face gently, the way a sister would.

“Zeta… you’re my elder brother,” I say, my voice soft, betraying nothing. “I’ve always seen you that way.”

The lie slides out of me.

“And besides…” I force a small smile again, “I’m happy for you. Truly. You’ll finally reunite with Isabella. It’s a good thing, right? I’ll have a sister-in-law soon.”

His eyes soften with relief. Relief. It hurt more than anything he’s said today. To see that he really didn’t want me.

“There’s nothing you should be worried about,” I continue. “Once I go for my master’s program, I’ll start a new life. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted for me? To spread my wings? To meet new people? To chase my dreams and do what makes me happy?”

He nods.

I nod too, matching his movement. The air between us feels heavier now, filled with the weight of everything I didn’t say and everything I forced myself to say.

Inside, I feel stupid, so stupid, my chest tightening with every fake smile I give him. How could I stand here smiling when my heart is bleeding out in front of him? How could I pretend I’m fine when everything in me wants to scream that he’s the only life I’ve ever wanted?

But I keep reminding myself, this is for the best. For him. For the image he holds of me. For the dignity I’m desperately trying to keep from breaking in tears at his feet.

He exhales, relieved again. Then, like it’s nothing, he says, “Roland will be meeting you later today. He’ll bring some documents. Property documents. I want you to sign them. It’s compensation from me, you know, to help you start a new life.”

My stomach twists painfully.

Compensation.

Like I’m some employee getting severance pay after years of dedicated service.

I never wanted any of this. Not the estate. Not the shares. Not the money.

It was him I wanted, his love. Always him.

The man who protected me. The man who held my hand through nightmares at age 12. The man I married, believing, hoping that maybe someday he would look at me the way he looked at her.

But instead, I bite back the hurt and offer him a polite smile.

“Thank you, Mr. Zeta.”

His head jerks slightly, surprise flickering across his features. Of course I never called him that. It was my first.

“What did you call me?”

“Mr. Zeta,” I repeat calmly.

His brows draw together and then he steps closer like he wants to ask something else, maybe question why I suddenly feel like a stranger with him.

But before he can speak, a knock interrupts us.

One of the maids peeks her head in. “Madam Lyssa? The doctor has just arrived, he’is waiting in the sitting room.”

Perfect timing. An escape for me to walk out of his confrontation.

I look him for a second and then turned away from him without another word.

He stays planted where he is as I leave, or maybe I just don’t allow myself to look back long enough to know.

Downstairs, Dr. Harlan checks my pulse, my breathing, and my temperature.

“Physically, you’re fine,” he concludes eventually. “But you’re exhausted, Lyssa. Your body is reacting to stress. You need rest.”

I nod quietly. There’s nothing else to say.

Zeta, on the other hand, is nowhere to be seen.

“Mr. Zeta left,” the maid informs me after the doctor leaves. “He said he needed to meet Miss Isabella. She needed him urgently. And that he might come home late tonight… or tomorrow.” I say nothing.

Of course she needs him. Of course he would run to her.

Why wouldn’t he? I’m just the soon-to-be ex-wife, the placeholder. The convenient warm body beside him for three years. And she… she’s the love of his life.

Later that afternoon, another knock on the door of my bedroom.

“Madam Lyssa, Mr. Roland is downstairs to see you,” a servant announces.

Roland.

Roland has been Zeta’s childhood best friend since they were boys, kids, the kind who followed each other. Roland is one person Zeta trusted with everything. He became a lawyer after he graduated a couple of months ago and now, he is one of the best lawyers in New York, brilliant and loyal to a fault to Zeta. I’ve known him almost as long as I’ve known Zeta, but always from a respectful distance.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs, he’s sitting comfortably on the couch, one ankle crossed over his knee, a luxurious black suit fitting him perfectly. His hair is neatly styled, his jawline clean and strong, his eyes friendly.

He’s handsome. It’s not a thing to hide. Everyone in New York calls him the hot handsome lawyer and they were all right.

Handsome in a way that catches ladies attention.

Handsome in a way Zeta never was, not because Zeta wasn’t good-looking, but because Roland carries a different kind of quiet, powerful presence. A confidence that fills the room without a word.

Soon, he stands in front of me, offering a polite, warm smile. “Lyssa.”

“Roland,” I reply, returning the smile. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Not at all.” His gaze softens slightly. “You look… well. Better than I expected.”

If only he knew.

We sit across from each other at the long glass coffee table. He opens the brown envelope he brought and begins pulling out document after document, deeds, valuations, legal agreements.

“Zeta transferred the lake house to your name,” he explains professionally. “Along with the 50% shares in the real estate company.”

50 percent? Why is Zeta being so generous? 50 percent is a lot.