The Lies We Call Love

**Jayla's POV**

The steam from my coffee curled like a question mark, mocking me as I gripped the mug so tightly my knuckles blanched. I gulped it down in one scalding swallow, the bitterness mirroring the acid churning in my gut. 

My left hand clutched my tablet like a lifeline—or maybe a weapon. The screen glowed with betrayal.

There was Daniel, my Daniel, arm slung possessively around Kisha’s waist. Her head tilted into his shoulder, both of them beaming for the flashing cameras. 

The headline screamed: Senator Carmichael Shines at Charity Gala—With Stunning Companion by His Side. Companion? That word tasted like poison.

I shouldn’t have tapped the comments. But I did. And the internet, that merciless beast, devoured me whole.

@GossipQueen: “They look SO good together. Power couple goals! 💕”

@TruthTellerNG: “Where’s the wife? Probably crying into her designer pillow. Kisha’s giving main character energy.”

@SenatorFanClub: “Our man has taste. From first lady to THIS? Upgrade alert! 🔥”

Upgrade. The word sliced deeper than any knife. I’d been there when Daniel had nothing but a second-hand suit and dreams too big for our one-bedroom flat . I’d typed his campaign tweets at 2 a.m. Moderated his F******k lives, begged bloggers to feature him. I have been his campaign manager all this time, anchoring his career.

Where was Kisha then? Probably still in university, posting thirst traps.

I should’ve been the one in that emerald gown, my hand in his, smiling for the cameras. But no—his incompetent secretary had “accidentally” booked my flight for next weekend. 

The same secretary who’d “forgotten” to forward my congratulatory text to the event organizers. The same one who now had her manicured claws in my husband.

With a furious swipe, I exited the live stream. My iPad clattered onto the marble countertop. I yanked at my braids, the pain grounding me. He’s cheating. I knew it in my bones. Daniel treated me like royalty—breakfast in bed, spontaneous trips to Dubai, calling me “my heartbeat” in front of his colleagues. But at the office? Kisha got the lingering glances, the inside jokes, the “urgent late-night meetings.”

My phone buzzed. Video call: Daniel 💍. My heart stuttered. I smoothed my silk robe, forced my lips into a smile that didn’t reach my eyes, and answered.

“Hey, baby,” I chirped, voice honey-sweet.

Daniel’s face filled the screen, tie loosened, top button undone. Behind him, the hotel suite’s chandelier glittered like a taunt.

“Jayla. You okay?”

“Never better,” I lied. “Just missing you.”

His brow furrowed. “Then why weren’t you here? The gala was packed—governors, ministers.

You know how these things work. I needed my wife beside me.”

The word wife from his mouth felt like a slap.

“I tried, Daniel. But someone booked my flight for next Saturday. Ring any bells?”

He blinked. “What are you talking about?”

Before I could answer, Kisha’s face popped into frame, all doe eyes and glossy lips. “Mrs. Carmichael! I’m so sorry. It was a total mix-up with the travel agent. I only noticed after the senator’s speech.” Her voice dripped sympathy, but her eyes gleamed with triumph.

“Mix-up?” My laugh was sharp enough to cut glass. “You’ve been his secretary for two years, Kisha. You don’t mix up international flights. You don’t forget to CC me on invitations. And you definitely don’t—” I leaned closer to the camera, “—pose like a lovesick teenager with my husband in front of the entire country.”

Daniel’s jaw tightened. “Jayla.”

“No, let me finish.” My voice cracked like thunder. “I saw the photos. The way she’s clinging to you. The comments calling her your wife. Do you know how that feels? To be erased in real-time?”

Kisha gasped, hand fluttering to her chest. “Mrs. C, I’d never—”

“Save it.” I turned to Daniel. “Tell me you didn’t notice. Tell me you didn’t let her stand in my place.”

Silence stretched between us, thick as traffic. Then Daniel sighed, rubbing his temple. 

“Kisha was there when you weren’t. She stepped up. That’s it.”

“Stepped up?” I echoed. “Or stepped in?”

“Jayla, you’re being paranoid.”

“Paranoid?” My laugh was borderline hysterical. “Daniel, the internet thinks she’s your wife. They’re planning your wedding hashtag. And you’re defending her?”

Kisha’s voice piped up, small and wounded. “I was just doing my job.”

“Your job doesn’t include holding his hand like you’re on a date!” I snapped. “Doesn’t include laughing at his jokes like I don’t exist. Doesn’t include—” My voice broke. “Doesn’t include making me question if I’m enough.”

Daniel’s eyes softened, but only for a second. “Baby, you are enough. You’re everything. But tonight, you weren’t here. And I needed—”

“Needed her?” The words tasted like ash.

“No. Needed support.” His tone hardened. “Kisha apologized. Let it go.”

“Let it go?” I was shaking now. “She sabotaged me, Daniel. And you’re taking her side?”

“I’m taking the side of someone who showed up,” he shot back. “Unlike my wife, who’s throwing tantrums from 5,000 miles away.”

The room spun. “Tantrums? Daniel, I—”

“Apologize to Kisha. Now.”

I stared at him, this man I’d loved since we were broke and borrowing Wi-Fi from the neighbor. “Apologize? For what? For existing? For being replaced?”

“Jayla.” His voice was steel. “Don’t make this uglier than it is.”

“Uglier?” Tears burned my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “You want ugly? Fine. Ask Kisha why she’s wearing the diamond earrings I picked out for your mother’s birthday. The ones that went ‘missing’ last month.”

Kisha’s face paled. Daniel’s gaze flicked to her, then back to me. “What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything.” My voice was deadly calm. “I’m telling you. She’s playing you. And you’re letting her.”

“Enough.” Daniel’s finger hovered over the screen. “We’ll talk when you’re rational.”

“Rational?” I laughed, bitter and broken. “Prove me wrong, Daniel. Prove you’re not sleeping with her. Prove—”

Click.

The call ended. The screen went black.

I stared at my reflection in the blank iPad—eyes wild, lips trembling. For the first time in five years, my husband had hung up on me. Be

cause of her.

The coffee mug slipped from my hand, shattering into a thousand pieces . Just like my heart.