the truth

Chapter 2: The Truth

I stood in the laundry room, my back pressed against the washing machine, trying to breathe. Trying to think. Trying to understand what I had just witnessed.

Who was she?

Why was Keal so sweet to her?

Why did the entire family light up around her like she was the sun and I was just a shadow they stepped over?

Three years. She had been gone for three years. And the moment she walked back in, it was like I had never existed.

The door opened.

My body went rigid.

Desmond stepped inside, closing the door behind him. That smirk was still plastered on his face, his eyes moving over me in that way that made me want to scrub my skin raw.

"Poor thing," he said, his voice dripping with fake sympathy. He took a step closer. "I really do feel pity for you, Amira."

I pressed harder against the washing machine, my hands gripping the edge. "Get out."

He ignored me, taking another step. "You know, if you had just given yourself to me, I would never let anyone hurt you. I'd treat you right. Better than my brother ever has."

My stomach turned. "In your dreams. I love Keal, and I will never cheat on him."

Desmond threw his head back and laughed. It was loud and manic, his hand clutching his stomach like I had told him the funniest joke in the world.

"Oh my dear Amira!" He wiped his eyes, still laughing. "So foolish. So innocent. Or maybe just blind."

"What are you talking about?" My voice came out shakier than I wanted.

He stopped laughing, but the grin stayed on his face. "You're acting like you aren't seeing what's going on right in front of your face."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Let me enlighten you then." He moved closer, and I shifted to the side, keeping distance between us. "You see that woman who just walked in? Her name is Emma. She's Keal's first love. Way back from high school. They were inseparable. Everyone thought they'd get married."

No. No, he was lying.

"She left for New York three years ago for business," Desmond continued, watching my face. "And you see, the whole family loves her. Do you know why?"

I shook my head, my throat tight.

"Because she's rich. Filthy rich. Her family owns half the commercial real estate in New York. If Keal makes her his wife, our company would become one of the most well-known companies here. We'd be untouchable."

My hands started trembling.

"And you think—" He laughed again, shorter this time. "You actually think he would choose you over that?"

"Stop it." My voice barely came out.

He kept walking toward me. I kept moving back until my shoulders hit the wall. "Keal married you because he needed a wife on paper. That's it. Emma wasn't here, and the media was starting to talk. Starting to ask questions. Starting to say he might be gay because he never dated anyone after Emma left."

"You're lying." But my voice cracked.

"Am I?" He was right in front of me now, his hand reaching for my face.

I saw it coming. I saw his fingers about to touch my cheek, about to slide down to my neck.

I kicked him. Hard. Right between the legs.

He doubled over with a choked gasp, his hands clutching himself.

I didn't wait. I ran.

Out of the laundry room. Down the hallway. Up the stairs. My feet pounded against the marble as I heard him cursing behind me, but I didn't stop. I didn't look back.

I burst into my room and slammed the door, locking it. My chest heaved as I pressed my back against it, sliding down to the floor.

No. No, Desmond was wrong. He had to be wrong.

Keal loved me. He married me. We had a wedding. We said vows.

Didn't we?

I tried to remember our wedding day. Tried to remember if he had smiled at me. If he had looked happy. If he had said he loved me.

The memories were blurry. Rushed. His face had been blank the entire time. Catherine had organized everything. I hadn't been allowed to invite anyone. It had been small. Quick. Over in less than an hour.

And our wedding night—

I shook my head. No. I wasn't going to think about that.

I pushed myself up from the floor. I needed to talk to Keal. I needed him to tell me that Desmond was lying. That Emma was just an old friend. That I was his wife and that meant something.

I wiped my face and left my room, walking down the hall toward Keal's bedroom. Our bedroom. Except I hadn't slept there in months. He had told me he needed space. That he worked late. That I snored.

I had believed him.

I reached his door and raised my hand to knock. But I heard something.

A sound.

I pressed my ear closer.

It was a moan. A woman's moan.

My hand shook as I reached for the doorknob. It turned. It wasn't locked.

I pushed the door open.

And I froze.

Emma was on his bed. Keal was on top of her. Her legs were wrapped around his waist. His hands were tangled in her hair. They were moving together, their bodies pressed so close I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

The breath left my lungs.

Emma's eyes opened. She saw me standing there. And she smirked.

She smirked at me while my husband was inside her.

Keal turned his head, following her gaze. He saw me. And he didn't stop. He didn't pull away. He didn't look surprised or guilty or ashamed.

He looked annoyed.

"Don't be delusional, Amira," he said, his voice flat and cold. "You know this marriage wasn't real. I only married you to avoid the media saying I was gay. Nothing more."

Emma giggled beneath him, running her fingers through his hair. "Keal, she's still here."

"She'll leave," he said, turning back to her. Back to her.

My hands were trembling so badly I thought they might shake right off my wrists.

I stepped back. One step. Then another. Then I turned and ran.

Back to my room. I grabbed my suitcase from the closet and threw it on the bed. I started pulling clothes out of drawers, shoving them inside. I didn't fold anything. I didn't care. I just needed to pack. I needed to leave.

Three years. I had spent three years in this house. Three years being screamed at. Slapped. Insulted. Worked like a servant. And for what?

For a man who never loved me.

For a family that never wanted me.

I zipped up the suitcase and dragged it off the bed. It hit the floor with a heavy thud. I grabbed my purse, checked for my wallet and phone, and pulled the suitcase toward the door.

I walked down the stairs. The whole family was in the living room now. Catherine. Veriana. Desmond, still looking pale and angry. Keal and Emma sat on the couch together, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her waist.

They all turned to look at me.

I reached into my purse and pulled out the papers. The ones I had gotten two months ago. The ones I had been too scared to use.

Divorce papers.

I walked over to Keal and dropped them on the coffee table in front of him.

"Sign them," I said.

Catherine stood up, her face twisted in disgust. "What is this?"

"Divorce papers." I looked at Keal. His expression hadn't changed. "Sign them, and I'll leave. You'll never have to see me again."

Veriana burst out laughing. "Oh my God, this is hilarious. You should be grateful, Amira. Grateful we let you stay here as long as we did. Where are you even going to go?"

"I don't care."

"You'll be on the streets," Catherine said, stepping closer. "You have no money. No family. No job. No skills. You're nothing without us."

"Don't worry, Mom," Veriana said, still laughing. "She's going to end up begging on the streets. Give it a week and she'll come crawling back."

They all laughed. All of them except Keal. He just stared at the papers on the table.

"Sign them," I said again.

He picked up the pen sitting next to the papers. And without a word, he signed his name on every page.

He didn't ask me to stay. He didn't apologize. He didn't even look at me.

He just signed.

I took the papers, folded them, and put them back in my purse.

Then I turned and walked toward the door. I heard Emma's voice behind me.

"Bye, Amira. Good luck."

More laughter.

I opened the door. Rain was pouring down, heavy and cold. The sky was dark even though it was still afternoon. I hadn't even noticed the storm.

I pulled my suitcase outside and started walking. The wheels dragged through puddles, splashing water up onto my legs. My clothes were soaked within seconds. My hair stuck to my face. I couldn't see clearly through the rain, but I kept walking.

I didn't know where I was going.

I didn't care.

Anywhere was better than here.

I reached the end of the long driveway and turned onto the main road. My suitcase felt heavier with every step. My shoes squelched with water. My hands were numb from gripping the handle.

I kept walking.

Then I heard the engines.

Four black cars. Expensive ones. The kind that cost more than most people made in a year. They came from both directions, boxing me in on the empty road.

They stopped.

All of them. At the same time.

I froze, the rain pounding down on me, my suitcase handle slipping in my wet grip.

The doors didn't open.

I just stood there. Staring at the dark windows. Waiting.