Kiss Of Their Hidden Truths

Hello Guys!

Just a heads up..

I just changed my Book name and cover. I hope you will like this new cover and novel name.

This is the second book in "THE KISS OF FATE SERIES"

Book 2: KISS OF THEIR HIDDEN TRUTHS

This is a slow-burn romance, and these first few chapters:

Some of you who may not have read my first book

Book 1: KISS OF HIS BETRAYAL

Might find it slightly difficult to understand.

While those who have read KISS OF HIS BETRAYAL will get to see Eva's Pov and some more clarity and may even find some of it repetitive.

This won't be a long novel, and soon after this one I will start Jenny's story.

Book 3: KISS OF HER SHADOWS

My third book in this series, and the most awaited story by many of my readers.

Eva's Pov:

The first thing I felt was silence.

The only sound that reached me was the steady, mechanical beeping of machines. My head throbbed, every inch of my body weighed down by a heaviness that felt more like chains than flesh, and beneath it all was a numbness that frightened me more than pain ever could.

It wasn’t the kind of silence that comforts, the kind that wraps around you like a blanket. No— this was hollow, sterile silence, the kind that belongs to hospital rooms where machines hum faintly and the air reeks of antiseptic. My eyelids resisted me, heavy as though they carried the burden of years instead of hours, but I forced them open.

White ceiling.

White sheets.

White walls.

Everything sterile.

Everything foreign.

It didn’t take long to realize where I was— lying on a hospital bed, surrounded by emptiness. My mind scrambled, desperate to stitch together the broken pieces of memory, but they slipped through my grasp like shards of glass.

I had hoped Ryan would be there— the first face I wanted to see, I hoped to see when I opened my eyes.

My husband.

My anchor.

My torment.

But there was no sign of him.

Instead, the last image that lingered in my mind was Shefali.

My Shifu, whom I lovingly called Fu.

My best friend.

My soul sister.

Her face had been the final one I saw, like a passing shadow, making me believe for a moment that I had died and crossed into heaven, where she waited.

But I don’t deserve her. Not after what I did years ago. Never once did I imagine she would leave me, leave this world, and go. I had clung to the hope that someday I would get the chance to apologize, to beg for forgiveness.

But perhaps I don’t deserve even that relief.

That's when it hit me......

Why was I even here?

What had happened?

Who brought me here?

My mind wandered, desperate, pushing further to recollect the events that had led me to this point. It was so hard to keep my eyes open.

And then came the ache. A dull, gnawing ache in my chest— not physical, but something deeper. Memory clawing its way back, demanding to be felt.

I tried to piece together the fragments, but they came in jagged shards. His voice raised, mine trembling.

Another fight.

Another storm.

Always the same refrain— his negligence, his absence, his indifference. His name dragged through tabloids, cozy pictures with another rising model splashed across social media. He had brushed it off as a PR stunt, a desperate attempt to stay in the limelight after his last two films had failed.

But I hadn’t cared about the scandal. I had begged him, not for money, not for gifts, but for something far simpler.

His presence.

His care.

His love.

No woman should ever be forced to beg her husband for love and care — least of all during pregnancy.

No woman should be trapped in the humiliation of seeing her husband’s name linked to yet another woman, splashed across headlines, while she stands helpless, powerless, enduring the sting in silence.

No woman should be hidden away like a dirty secret, treated as shame, erased from the world even after becoming a wife.

That has been my life since marrying Ryan Williams.

Years of it.

Each one filled with fragile hope that he might look at me differently, that he might love me again, that he might remember how to care.

But Ryan Williams— the man adored by millions— had no affection left to give me.

I shook my head, forcing the thoughts away. They weren’t good for me, not good for my baby. I tried to push further, to remember what had happened, to piece together the fragments that had led me here.

I remembered standing in our living room, my hands pressed against my swollen belly, eight months pregnant and exhausted.

My voice had broken as I told him I felt invisible. That while the world saw him as a star, I was fading into shadows. His mother’s horrible tortures and her taunts echoed even now— sharp words slicing me open, reminding me I was never enough, never worthy of their name.

And Ryan… he had laughed. Not cruelly, but dismissively. As if my pain was nothing more than a trivial inconvenience. He had thrown money at me, crisp notes fluttering across the table like confetti.

“Buy whatever you need,” he had said, his tone cold, detached.

What I needed was him.

But I dared not say it out loud.

Because love, in our marriage, had become a forbidden word.

I saw myself again, trembling, standing before him.

Every fight was the same.

Every wound reopened.

Every scar deepened.

My voice cracked as I told him he wasn’t there for me, that he hadn’t cared for me through the pregnancy, that his films mattered more than the child we had created. Well, for it was a child, a life we created together, but for him it was a mistake, an accident. His eyes had been distant, glazed with exhaustion— or perhaps disinterest.

Every minute of that fight replayed in my mind now, like a cruel film reel.

The way my heart had pounded when I dared to speak.

The way his jaw had tightened, as though my words were an attack.

The way his mother had appeared, venom dripping, reminding me I was nothing but a burden.

I had tried to help him, countless times. But all I ever heard from him was the same bitter refrain — that I was his bad luck. That after marrying me, his career had collapsed. That I had jinxed his life.

I had tried to tell him it wasn’t me. That his choices of scripts, his stubborn insistence on acting when his true gift was music, were what dragged him down. His voice was his strength, his music his soul. But he never listened. He believed only looks mattered for an actor, not talent to act.

And me?

To him, I was nothing but an illiterate fool.

A plain, ignorant woman who didn’t understand the world. A shame he had to hide. He paid millions to erase every trace of us, every photograph, every mention— except for once.

Ryan’s absence from doctor’s appointments.

His mother’s horrible tortures and constant reminders that I was replaceable.

The way he had chosen fame over family, applause over affection.

And yet, I stayed.

Because leaving him felt impossible.

Because I had built my life around the illusion of him.

And that illusion was my greatest vulnerability.

In our marriage, vulnerability was weakness.

And weakness was unforgivable.

And I was already too weak.

But lying here in this hospital bed, I felt something shift.

I closed my eyes, and the hospital room dissolved into memory.

My body felt unbearably heavy, my mind spiraling into fragments I couldn’t control.

Instinctively, my hand flew to my belly, desperate to feel the reassuring flutter of life within.

No… no… I can’t overthink. It’s not good for you, baby.

I whispered silently, caressing the curve of my stomach. But the silence inside me was deafening.

No movement.

No response.

Panic surged like fire through my veins.

Where is my baby?

What happened?

The emptiness clawed at me, terror rising until I could barely breathe. My chest tightened, my breath hitched, and my eyes darted wildly around the sterile room.

No one was there.

The silence mocked me, cruel and unrelenting.

And then, like a flood, the memories rushed back. The fight. My mother-in-law's tortures, Ryan’s voice sharp, mine breaking. Ryan storming out of the house, leaving me shattered. Ryan abandoning me. My own steps carrying me outside of the room, me being kicked out into the night, desperate for food and warm clothes, trying to escape, desperately calling Ryan.

The headlights.

The car.

Damon’s infamous car, Rolls-Royce Sweeptail— or so I thought.

But no… it wasn’t him.

It was her.

Shefali.

My best friend, who died years ago, the one I had abandoned when I chose a life with Ryan. She had died, and yet in that moment before impact or after impact I don't remember, but one thing I am certain of is that I saw her— clear as day, as if she had returned to haunt me.

It wasn’t possible.

It had to be a hallucination.

Stress twisting my mind, grief playing cruel tricks. My memory was all jumbled up as if I couldn't think straight; one after another, random, bad memories resurfaced, and my pulse raced, panic rising again. I pressed the emergency button, desperate, frantic. I had no memory of childbirth.

Was my baby safe?

I had no idea.

The need to see my daughter twisted inside me like a glass shard piercing my insides. I wanted to scream, to tear the silence apart, to demand answers.

And then, mercifully, the door opened.

A nurse entered, her face calm, her voice steady. She checked me, reassured me that my son was safe with his father, and told me that I had given birth to a healthy and beautiful baby and that my baby was fine. She kept saying how lucky I was to have Ryan Wills as my husband, who was so responsible. She informed me that he specifically requested for me to be moved to VVIP ward, emptied the whole floor, even arranged for the best doctors to treat me, and he had also made every staff member who treated and cared for me to sign a NDA so that no one leaks the news of his marriage to me and about the kids to ensure our privacy.

But I couldn't believe anything she said. I couldn't believe he came and was taking care of my son and that he was with my newborn daughter. That... that doesn't sound like the Ryan I knew.

I was worried ever scared and that fear didn’t leave no matter how much the nurse tried to convince me.

It lingered, coiled tight in my chest.

I had to see my baby girl and my son.

While something inside me whispered soon everything is going to change.