003. Living A Lie

RAINA.

The car ride home was when I finally broke completely.

The moment the door shut and we pulled away from the venue, the tears began to fall. Not gentle tears, but huge, gasping sobs that shook my whole body.

"Mrs. Rowland?" the driver said softly. "Are you alright?"

I looked up and met his eyes in the rearview mirror. Samuel. He'd been driving Castor for years.

"You knew," I said between sobs. "You knew what he was."

Samuel's face was full of pity. "Mrs. Rowland..."

"Did everyone know except me? Did all the staff know that my husband preferred boys? That our marriage was fake?"

He pulled over to the side of the road and turned around to face me.

"We suspected," he said gently. "But we hoped... we hoped maybe you could change him."

I laughed bitterly. "Change him? He doesn't even want me. I'm just a prop. A decoration for his political career."

"I'm sorry," Samuel said. "You seem like a nice lady. You don't deserve this."

"My family needed help," I said, wiping my face with my hands. "I thought he was saving us out of kindness. But he bought me. Like you'd buy a painting to hang on your wall."

Samuel was quiet for a moment. Then he asked, "Where would you like me to take you? Home?"

Home. That massive, cold house full of lies.

"No," I said. "Take me to a bar. Any bar. I need a drink."

"Mrs. Rowland, I don't think..."

"Please, Samuel. Just one hour. I need one hour where I don't have to pretend."

He nodded slowly and drove to a small bar on the other side of town. Not the kind of place where political wives went. Perfect.

"Should I wait?" he asked.

"No. I'll call a taxi."

"Mrs. Rowland... be careful."

I nodded and went inside.

The bar was dark and smoky. Nobody looked at me twice despite my expensive dress. I found a corner booth and ordered whiskey. I didn't even like whiskey, but it seemed like what you drank when your life was falling apart.

The burn felt good going down. Better than the ache in my chest.

I was on my third glass when someone slid into the booth across from me.

"Rough night?"

I looked up, ready to snap, then I froze.

Sylvester Brian. 

Castor's biggest political rival. The man running against him for the assembly seat. 

The man he despised more than anyone.

I'd only seen him from afar before. On screens, across crowded rooms, in carefully staged debates.

Up close he was different.

He was handsome.

Devastatingly handsome. Taller than Castor, broader, with dark hair and grey eyes that seemed to strip away every pretense. Where Castor was polished and fake, Sylvester felt like raw masculinity. Dangerous. Real.

My pulse quickened despite myself.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, my words slightly slurred.

"I could ask you the same thing. Shouldn't you be at home, waiting for your loving husband?"

"Don't," I warned. "Just don't."

He studied me for a long moment, and something shifted in his expression. I saw a flicker of heat in those grey eyes. 

"You looked perfect tonight," he said quietly. "Smiling, calm, graceful. Nobody watching would guess the truth."

"What truth?" I tried to sound casual, but failed.

"The truth about your marriage. That you are secretly dying inside."

A shiver ran through me. "You don’t know anything about me."

"But I do." His voice stayed low, almost intimate. "I know your marriage is a performance. I know who your husband really desires. I know you’re trapped."

My eyes widened. "How do you..."

"I make it my business to know everything about my opponents." 

He raised a hand and signaled the bartender without looking away from me. 

"Water and coffee for the lady, please."

"I don't want coffee."

"You need it," he said. He did not look away, not even for a second. His gaze pinned me to the seat. 

There was a dark intensity there. Not the kind that made my skin crawl. A different kind that sent shivers down my spine.

"You have been crying," he noted.

"So?" I asked, defensive and tired.

Then the drinks arrived. 

He nudged the coffee toward me with one finger, then settled back, but his attention never left my face.

"So the question is," he continued, "what are you going to do about it?"

"Do?" I repeated, then laughed. But it sounded ugly. "There's nothing to do. I'm stuck for five years. If I leave, he destroys my family."

"Five years," Sylvester repeated, as if tasting the number. "Just long enough for him to win this election and the next one? Build his base for a governor run?"

I didn't answer, but my face must have given it away.

His jaw tightened and I saw his lips thin around the edges.

"You could fight back," he suggested.

"How? He has all the power. The money. The connections."

"He also has secrets." Sylvester leaned forward. My breath caught. 

This close, I could really smell him. A clean scent of Cedar wood and birch. Warm and rich. It filled the space between us, intoxicating me in a way I did not expect. My head felt lighter, my skin growing warm.

"He has secrets that could end his entire career," Syvelster said.

My eyes traveled over his face while he spoke. It was easier than meeting his gaze. He was immaculately dressed in a black suit. Clean-shaven. Strong square jaw. Wide, firm lips and eyes...eyes so grey they matched the whiskey in my glass.

My cheeks burned. I told myself it was the alcohol. 

Cos...why else was I finding him attractive?

He was my husband's rival. The man Castor cursed constantly over breakfast. The man I had been told to dislike on sight. I was not supposed to feel this strange pull toward him.

I tried to ignore the fluttering that had started to build in my belly.

"Nobody would believe me," I managed to say. "I'm just the bitter wife."

"They'd believe evidence," he said. "Documents. Recordings. Photographs."

I stared at him. "You're suggesting I spy on my own husband?"

"I'm suggesting you stop being his victim." He pushed the coffee closer to my hands, his voice firm. "Drink this."

I swallowed hard. His voice wasn’t just persuasive, it was grounding. Pulling me in, steadying me, and making me feel seen.

I wrapped my hands around the warm mug.

"Why do you care?" I asked. "What's in it for you?"

"Besides taking down my political rival?" He leaned back a little, but his gaze stayed on me. "Let's just say I don't like men who hurt innocent people. Who use their power to trap and abuse others."

"You don't even know me."

"I know enough," he said. "I know you were a kindergarten teacher before you married him."

My fingers tightened around the mug. He kept going.

"I know your family was drowning in debt after your father died. Medical bills. Loans. There was no way out."

Heat rose in my throat. Shame. Anger. The past I tried not to think about.

"I know Castor targeted you specifically because of that," Syvelster continued. "Because you were vulnerable, desperate. Easy to corner."

"You've been investigating me?"

"I've been investigating him. You were just part of the research." He paused, his eyes lingering over me for long moments. "But what I found made me angry. You don't deserve this."

The coffee was starting to clear my head. The room felt a little more stable. The ache in my chest was still there, but it was less blurry now.

"Even if I wanted to fight back," I said quietly, "I don't know how."

"I could teach you."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because Castor Rowland needs to be stopped," he said. "He's hurt too many people. And because..." 

He hesitated. His gaze dropped for a heartbeat, then came back to mine.

"Because when I saw you tonight," he said, "smiling for the cameras while you were dying inside, it reminded me of someone I used to know. Someone I couldn't save."

"Who?"

"My sister," he said. "Different situation, same kind of trap." 

His jaw tightened and a muscle jumped near his temple. "She didn't make it out."

Silence settled between us. Heavy and quiet.

I stared at the coffee. At the swirl of dark liquid in the cup. 

"I can't risk my family," I said at last. "Castor might hurt them if I do anything."

"What if I could protect them? Get them somewhere safe before we move against him?"

"We?" I looked at him sharply. "There is no we."

"There could be." He pulled out a business card and slid it across the table, his fingers brushed mine briefly and it tingled. 

"Think about it," his eyes held mine, "Call me when you're ready to stop being his prop and start fighting for your freedom."

He stood to leave.

"Sylvester," I called after him. He turned back. "That person you couldn't save. Your sister. What happened to her?"

His expression darkened, but his voice stayed soft. "She killed herself to escape her pain. I couldn’t save her." His gaze held mine. "Don't make the same choice, Raina. Fight back."

Then he was gone, his presence still lingering in the air as I stared down at the business card like it was a lifeline I was terrified to reach for.

But also… unable to look away from.