When Love Was A Lie

Emmah’s POV

I heard his voice echo louder than the ticking clock on the wall.

“Once I get her to sign the papers, I can finally be with you. I don’t care about the baby.”

I froze.

I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. I wasn’t even snooping, or spying. I had just come to bring him lunch, some homemade pasta, the kind he once said reminded him of childhood dinners with his mom. Stupid, I know, but I was trying to be a good wife. I was trying to do my part.

But now I stood just outside his office door, the lunch bag still clutched in my hand, my heart crashing in my chest like a drum someone that couldn’t stop beating.

And then I heard her voice, light, flirtatious, and cold enough to make my skin crawl.

“You’re finally getting rid of that poor girl. What took you so long?”

“I never wanted her to begin with,” he said. “It was Grandpa’s idea, not mine.”

My breath caught and the hallway suddenly felt smaller, like the walls were closing in on me. I backed away slowly, pressing my palm against my chest as if I could quiet the storm building inside me. But it didn’t help, nothing would.

I turned and walked down the hallway, barely seeing where I was going. My vision blurred, not with tears yet, just pure shock. I felt like someone had turned my world inside out while I wasn’t looking.

Just twenty minutes ago, I was smiling in the kitchen, humming while I packed his lunch. Just two nights ago, I was thinking maybe just maybe he was softening. He hadn’t brought her home in a week. He even asked how I was feeling earlier that morning.

I thought things were changing but clearly, I was just too desperate for crumbs.

I got back to our bedroom, no, his bedroom, because now I couldn’t even claim it anymore. I closed the door softly behind me and dropped the lunch bag on the dresser like it was something dead. Then I sat down at the edge of the bed, one hand instinctively resting over my lower stomach.

I was just over a month pregnant.

The doctor had confirmed it a week ago, and for days, I’d gone back and forth on how to tell him. I finally did last week during dinner. I’d watched his face, waiting for... something. Surprise, maybe or warmth or even fear.

But all I got was a nod.

A nod.

And this morning, he kissed my cheek and left early for work. Now I knew why.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

I know, I know it was an arranged marriage. It wasn’t built on love or fairy tales. But I still hoped he’d see me. That maybe over time, he’d find something in me worth holding onto.

He was never kind but he wasn’t always cruel, either. There were moments very tiny ones when I thought I saw a crack in his walls. Moments when I convinced myself he was simply guarded, not heartless.

I was wrong.

I hadn’t just married a man with walls, I’d married someone who built his whole life behind them.

I rose to my feet slowly and walked over to the dresser. I pulled open the top drawer and reached for my clothes, a few folded t-shirts, two pairs of jeans, underwear that still had the store tags attached. I hadn’t moved in like a real wife. Just a guest with a wedding ring.

I knew every part of this marriage felt temporary. I guess I just hadn’t wanted to admit it.

As I packed, I kept hearing his voice. Not the words just the tone. Cold and with no emotion. Like I was a transaction that was no longer useful.

“I don’t care about the baby.”

Not even our baby, the baby.

That told me everything I needed to know.

I didn’t cry right away. Shock has a way of numbing things. At first your body takes over, telling you to move, get your things, figure out where you’re going. It’s later, much later when it hits you. When the heartbreak catches up and swallows you whole.

I tossed the last of my clothes into the suitcase and zipped it shut. I didn’t bother taking much. Just enough to get me out of here.

I glanced around the room one last time. The place I’d spent sleepless nights in. The bed I laid in, curled to one side, pretending not to hear him come in smelling like perfume and guilt. The same bed where I once imagined raising a child with him.

I laughed under my breath bitter and sharp.

“What was I really thinking?”

I picked up my phone and dialled the only person I trusted enough with the truth.

My dad.

“Emmah?” His voice came through on the second ring, full of concern. “Everything okay?”

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I didn’t know how to explain it. How to admit what I allowed myself to believe. How foolish I’d been.

“Baby girl?” he asked again, more gently this time.

“I need you,” I whispered. “Please... come get me.”

That was all it took.

“I’m on my way,” he said without hesitation. “Where are you?”

I gave him the address, even though I knew he already had it. He’d been keeping tabs, quietly respecting my choice to go off the grid but never truly letting me be alone.

“I’ll bring your brothers,” he added.

“No,” I started, but he cut me off.

“We’re coming.”

And that was that.

I sat on the bed again, numb. The kind of numb that scares you because you don’t know when or how it will break.

Somewhere in this giant house, Damian was still in his office. Still with her, laughing and planning a future I had no place in.

Let him have it, let them have each other.

I wasn’t the girl I’d pretended to be anymore and he was never the man I hoped he could become.

Two hours later, I heard the soft growl of engines outside. Not one, but three black Escalades pulled into the driveway. The same ones my father used for business trips and quiet exits. The kind of arrival that made heads turn even in rich neighbourhoods like this.

I stood by the window and watched them park, my fingers tightening around the curtain. My brothers stepped out first, Liam, Miles, and Jake, tall dressed in sharp suits and furious. Their presence alone sent a message. “She’s not alone. Not anymore.”

Then my father emerged. Calm and controlled. But the way he looked up at the house said everything. He wasn’t just here to get his daughter. He was here to make sure this never happened again.

I pulled open the front door before they could knock.

My dad looked at me for a long moment, just looked. Then, without a word, he pulled me into his arms and held me like he used to when I scraped my knee as a kid.

“I’m sorry,” I said against his chest, the tears finally slipping out.

“Don’t be,” he whispered. “You gave him a chance. That’s more than he ever deserved.”

I stepped into the SUV without looking back, but through the tinted glass, I saw him.

Damian.

Staring down at the car from the window upstairs. His expression twisted in confusion.

Maybe even panic.

And in that moment, I knew what he was thinking.

He didn’t know who I really was. He thought I was just the receptionist in his grandfather’s hotel. A middle-class nobody who just got lucky. He thought I was less.

He was about to find out how wrong he was.