CHAPTER 3- ALONE IN THE DARK

~ Liana ~

The moment I slammed the door of my hotel room, the tears started flowing. My legs gave way, and I found myself crumpled on the floor, my back pressed against the cold wall. The robe from the bed hung around me like a heavy blanket, offering no comfort from the storm brewing inside.

With trembling hands, I reached for the remote control. I hesitated, not wanting to face anything that might judge me further than I already felt—but there was this nagging need to see it. I had to grasp just how far my life had spiraled out of control.

As I turned on the television, my own face filled the screen.

"Breaking news," the anchor's voice sliced through the air, sharp and unyielding. "Heiress Liana caught in a cheating scandal with her fiancé, actor Ethan Cross. Exclusive photos have surfaced from this morning."

Images flashed before my eyes. There I was—disheveled, wrapped in a robe, tears streaming down my cheeks. My expression was one of disbelief and horror.

"Reports suggest the incident took place after a party at the Grand Royale Hotel last night," she continued. "Sources indicate that this scandal could not only affect her personal life but may also have serious repercussions for her career."

My stomach twisted in knots. The relentless pounding in my head had reached a point where it felt like a hammer was smashing against my skull. My vision blurred, the tears making it worse welling. I pressed my palms against my eyes, desperately wishing this nightmare wasn’t real. If only someone could hit 'pause' on life for a moment.

My phone buzzed on the bedside table, cutting through my panic. I reached for it, and the screen lit up with her name.

Stepmother.

I froze, a wave of dread washing over me.

"So, this is the choice you’ve made?" Her voice was icy, like a chill creeping over my skin. "You’ve chosen to disgrace yourself… and this family."

I tried to respond, to explain myself, but the words just wouldn’t come. My throat felt tight.

"You better fix this," she continued, her tone sharp and unforgiving. "Or you’ll be completely cut off. I never liked you, not once, and now you’ve sunk so low—cheating, of all things. Your mother must have raised you poorly before she passed."

The call ended abruptly. The silence was deafening.

I sank down onto the floor, trembling as if her words were physical blows. The betrayal, the hostility, the utter lack of support—it was all too much to bear.

Then, as if the universe wanted to ensure my humiliation was complete, my phone exploded with notifications. Social media alerts pinged non-stop, vibrating across the nightstand. I picked it up, my hands shaking.

#LianaTheCheater is all over social media right now.

"How could Ethan ever forgive her? This is just shameful!"

"She’s nothing but a liar and a fraud. No wonder her stepmother never liked her."

My thumbs trembled as I kept scrolling. Each comment felt like a dagger, slicing deeper into my heart. My name, my life, my choices—everything was being ripped apart in seconds by people who had no clue about the truth.

I kept trying to reach Ethan. Again and again. But it was always his voicemail that answered. With every attempt, my heart sank a little more.

"Ethan… please… just pick up." My voice was shaky, laced with desperation, cracking with every word. "I didn’t… I didn’t cheat on you… I really need to explain…"

No answer.

I threw my phone onto the bed, the screen lighting up with notifications I couldn’t bear to read. My eyes stung, blurred by tears. I struggled to take in my surroundings—the small hotel room with its bare furnishings, the cold walls closing in on me like they were mocking my pain.

I curled up on the floor, hugging my knees. The robe slipped away, and the faint scent of cologne lingered in the air, reminding me of… something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. The memory danced just out of reach, frustratingly elusive, but every thought of it sent waves of panic crashing over me.

My hands shook as I tugged at my hair and pressed my face into my palms, as if I could somehow erase the shame with sheer force of will. But it was inescapable. It was everywhere—on every screen, in every comment, in every whispered voice I imagined behind me.

Hours past, or maybe minutes. In this haze of shame, time had completely lost its meaning. My phone buzzed non-stop, vibrating with a flood of messages, notifications, and reminders of my supposed mistakes. I just couldn’t bring myself to respond. The thought of facing anyone felt unbearable.

Finally, exhausted and trembling, I collapsed onto the bed. The robe barely wrapped around me, but I felt indifferent to it all. My tears soaked the pillow, my body shaking with sobs that felt like they would never end.

I tried to find sleep, to shut the world out, but the images, the voices, the judgment—they were all around me, closing in from every side.

In that pitch-blackness, with only the faint, lingering scent of cologne in the air, I finally let myself give in.

I wept.

I wept until my chest felt tight. I wept until my tears blurred everything around me. I wept until the sound of my own cries was the only thing I could hear.

And in that never-ending, suffocating solitude, I drifted into a restless, fragmented sleep, knowing that when morning came, the world would wake up to my shame, and there would be no one to save me.