Chapter Eight — “Truth in the Quiet”

Days passed.

Outside, life went on, but inside, I felt trapped. The headline burned in my mind: Billionaire Kingsley’s Wife Linked to Scandal with Ex-Felon. The words played over and over, like a harsh echo I couldn’t stop.

The penthouse was quiet. Damian moved like a ghost, no words, just cold silence. The space between us felt icy. His last words stayed with me: “Don’t give them another reason to question me, Ava.”

I wanted to shout. To break the silence. To say I was more than a contract, more than a pawn.

—

Flashback

The hospital smelled sharp and clean. Hope and fear hung in the air.

“Where does the money come from, Ava?” Lily’s weak hand held mine. Her voice was soft but serious.

I forced a smile, hiding the pain. “From my job, Lil. I’m working hard for you.”

She smiled, relief in her eyes. “I’m proud of you.”

But the lie weighed on me like a stone. I couldn’t tell her about Damian, the contract, the trap.

—

Back in the present, my phone buzzed with a message from Lily. I stared at it, feeling heavy with silence. I dropped the phone, barely breathing.

I couldn’t pretend anymore. I had to see her.

—

I found Naomi in the kitchen, pouring tea quietly.

“I want to see Lily,” I said softly. “No lies. No excuses.”

She looked at me, unreadable. “You know Damian’s rules.”

“I’m not running away. Just a visit.”

She studied me, then nodded slowly. “I’ll talk to Mark. If anyone can make it happen, it’s him.”

Relief flooded me.

—

Hours later, a soft knock at the guest room door. “Naomi set it up. You’ll have a car in ten. No cameras,” Mark said quietly.

The drive blurred past lights and dark streets. My hands trembled as I gripped the door handle. My heart pounded hard.

The hospital smelled the same, sharp, clean, and filled with pain no medicine could fix.

The quiet halls echoed with distant beeps and soft voices.

—

Lily’s room was small and cold. She lay pale and fragile under thin sheets. Her hair was thinner. Her hands trembled.

Her tired eyes brightened when she saw me. “Ava,” she whispered.

I closed the door and sat beside her. I held her thin hand. The skin was almost see-through, veins like maps beneath.

“I have to tell you something,” I said, voice shaking.

She tilted her head like she already knew.

“I didn’t tell you the whole truth before,” I said, swallowing hard. “The money for your treatment isn’t from a job. I married Damian Kingsley. It’s a contract. Not love. A trap.”

She frowned, confused and worried.

“It’s complicated. He’s a billionaire. I married him to pay for your care. It’s not real. It’s a deal I can’t leave.”

I looked away.

Her fingers tightened. Her voice broke. “Ava… I’m sorry. If I wasn’t sick, you wouldn’t have done this. I hate that it’s my fault.”

Her words hit me deeply. The guilt lifted just enough to break me.

“No, Lily,” I whispered, wiping a tear from her cheek. “This isn’t your fault. I chose this, for you. You’re the strongest. I’ll carry this for both of us.”

She shook her head, tears falling. “But I feel like I broke us. Like I’m why you’re trapped.”

She sobbed. I pulled her close. My own tears fell.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “For lying. For making you feel alone.”

She sniffled, managing a small smile. “You’re brave, Ava. We have to be strong. Together.”

For a moment, all the contracts, control, and deals faded.

It was just us.

—

The hospital’s quiet stayed with me long after I left. The drive back was a blur of lights and heavy thoughts. Lily’s apology: If I hadn’t gotten sick, hurt like a wound reopening.

Days passed, heavy and slow. The world outside moved on, but inside, a storm raged. The headlines screamed my secret. Damian avoided me, colder than ever, retreating to his office fortress.

He said little, but his silence spoke loud. I caught him watching me once. His gaze was sharp but closed. When I reached out, he pulled away. The space between us grew.

Public appearances crushed me. I had to show a perfect marriage. Inside, I was breaking. Every smile was fake. Every handshake is a chain.

One night, standing in the penthouse with a glass of untouched wine, Damian appeared beside me. His eyes were unreadable, but the distance between us felt thinner, fragile.

“I see it,” he said quietly. “You’re breaking. Don’t make it worse.”

His words hit like a cold wind. I wanted to deny it and hide behind my mask, but I couldn’t.

“I’m trying,” I whispered. “But I don’t know how much longer.”

He studied me, softening a bit, concern? Sympathy? I wasn’t sure.

Then he said, “Remember, we leave for Italy this weekend. The gala won’t wait.”

The weight of those words settled on me like a stone. The moment was coming. No matter how fragile I felt, I had to get ready for the world watching.

I swallowed hard and nodded.

As he turned away, the last hint of warmth left his eyes, replaced by the cold steel of the man I married on paper - and nothing more.