The Cost of a Lie

Anderson’s POV

“How could you do this?”

My mother’s voice cracked through the silence like a whip. sharp and furious. I flinched, not from guilt, but from shock. I didn’t see this coming. I had covered my tracks. I’d erased the footage. I’d wiped it all clean. No one, not even my P.A., who happened to be my closest friend, knew I was the one who pushed Gabriella.

So how the hell did my father get that video?

“You see that?” my father’s voice followed, calm but poisonous. “He can’t even defend himself.”

His stare was like ice, piercing through me as if I were nothing more than a stain he couldn’t scrub off his legacy.

“You nearly killed that girl, Anderson.”

The word killed echoed in my head, dark and heavy. I wanted to speak, wanted to explain, to lie, to twist the story into something less… monstrous, but the words refused to form. The pressure in the room was suffocating.

“What made you do that?” my mother asked. Her voice was quieter now, laced with confusion, concern, and just a hint of disappointment. She wasn’t just angry, she was hurt. She stared at me like I was a stranger.

I remained silent. Because the truth? I wasn’t even sure why I did it. But I knew I don’t love her at all, she wasn’t supposed to be called my wife.

Maybe it was rage. Maybe it was jealousy. Maybe it was that twisted satisfaction of watching someone fall, literally from grace. But even I didn’t expect her to survive. And now, the consequences were unraveling faster than I could grab hold.

My thoughts spiraled. How did this video surface? How? My father couldn’t have found it on his own. Someone must have leaked it, someone with access. Someone close.

Walls have ears. That old saying rang in my head like a curse.

My sister, Amara, had been unusually quiet this whole time. She was seated on the white couch, legs crossed, dressed in her usual designer ensemble, scrolling through her phone as if she didn’t have a brother about to cause a national scandal.

Finally, she looked up.

“Anderson, seriously? What the hell is wrong with you?” she said, flicking her hair over her shoulder like she was in some perfume commercial.

Then she turned to our father. “Dad, please, whatever you have to do, just make sure this doesn’t get out. If this ruins my monthly allowance or messes with my Milan trip, I swear…”

“No!” she snapped dramatically. “Fix this!”

“Shut up, Amara!” my mother barked. “You’re an idiot. Is that seriously what you’re thinking about right now?”

Amara huffed but didn’t argue. My mother turned back to me, her eyes now gleaming with both rage and helplessness.

“I didn’t raise you to be like this,” she said bitterly.

My father had said nothing for a while. He had walked to his liquor cabinet, poured himself a glass of something expensive, and sipped it slowly, all while watching me like I was a puzzle he had yet to solve.

Then he finally spoke. “Anderson.”

I straightened reflexively.

“If I delete this video,” he said slowly, “you will do exactly what I say. No attitude. No resistance. Do you understand me?”

I swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”

He walked toward me, glass in hand, and stared into my eyes. His presence was like a mountain, immovable, dominating. “From now on, you’ll treat that girl like royalty. The press, the public, your mother,everyone will think you’ve had a change of heart.”

“Treat her like an egg,” he said coldly. “Handle her gently. Make her smile. If she wants a castle, build her one. If she wants your name on her forehead, tattoo it. I don’t care what it takes. You will fix this.”

His tone was final. It wasn’t a request. It was an order.

I clenched my fists behind my back. Every fiber in me wanted to rebel. Gabriella didn’t deserve sympathy. She deserved everything she got. But I couldn’t afford to argue now. Not with the second term campaign weeks from launch. My father wasn’t protecting me, he was protecting himself.

“Yes, sir,” I murmured again, swallowing my pride with the words.

“Good,” he replied with a nod, finally turning his back to me.

“And one more thing,” he added, pausing at the door. “I find out you’re behind another stunt like this… and you’ll wish you were never born.”

The door slammed behind him.

For a long time, the room was silent. Just the sound of the air conditioner and the pounding of my own heart. My mother sat down across from me, massaging her temples. Her anger had melted into quiet disappointment.

“Why, Anderson?” she finally asked.

I stared at the floor. “I didn’t mean for it to go that far,” I lied. “I just… lost control.”

She looked at me, eyes rimmed with disbelief. “That’s not good enough.”

I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. The image of Gabriella falling played on repeat in my head like a cursed loop. Her scream. Her body hitting the ground. The blood. And then… the silence. I didn’t feel guilt. Not really. What I felt was dread. Because she was alive.

And she might remember.

My sister stood up, brushed invisible lint off her dress, and walked over to me.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” she said, shaking her head. “That you almost killed her, or that you were dumb enough to get caught.”

“Thanks,” I muttered.

“I’m not done,” she added. “You’re going to act your way through this. And you better be good at it, or I’m cutting you off. Don’t ruin my image because you lost your temper.”

Amara was self-centered, but she wasn’t dumb. She saw the bigger picture, our name, our status, the political power of the family. We all knew what was at stake.

I stood alone in the living room long after they left. The silence felt loud. Crushing.

I wasn’t sorry for what I did to Gabriella. But I was sorry for getting caught.

I took out my phone and opened my hidden gallery. The now-deleted video had been securely removed. My father must’ve hacked into the cloud, or hired someone who could. I’d underestimated him. Again.

She’s awake now. That news rattled me more than anything.

And from what I’d heard, she had no memory. Good. That bought me time.

But if she ever remembered…

I shook my head. No. I’d make sure she stayed confused, manipulated, comfortable. I’d play the doting husband. The concerned partner. The hero.

She wouldn’t even see it coming.

But deep down, I knew I was dancing on the edge of a knife.Because secrets have a way of bleeding through the cracks.

And Gabriella?

She might just become my biggest threat.