His Gentle Cruelty

Now, Wesley Cirrus, her husband of five years—a secret they had guarded from the world—sat across from her. His voice was deceptively gentle, like a knife wrapped in silk. "Zoe, the doctors say your father can last three minutes without oxygen." He glanced at his phone, then back at her. "Three minutes. So decide. Will you post the video and take the blame for the DUI?" On the screen, her father, Henry Shaw, lay in a hospital bed. He was wasting away from ALS, his face a pale, sickly gray. A masked nurse stood beside him, her hand resting on the oxygen mask, waiting for Wesley's signal. "Wesley, that is my father," Zoe said, her voice trembling violently. Her nails dug into her palms, drawing blood. Tears blurred her vision, but she stubbornly refused to let them fall. 'He is the man who has loved me more than anyone in this world.' Wesley sighed and reached out to wipe her tears away. She flinched and jerked back from his touch. His hand hovered in the air for a moment before he retreated, his usual polished and composed expression firmly back in place. "I know," he said calmly. "So you have to choose. Your father's life, or the lead in Nightingale?" Her voice turned razor-sharp. "This isn't about some stupid role. Lyra Raine was drunk when she hit that person. They might still die. Even if I confess, do you really think the police will just drop the entire investigation?" Wesley stood up slowly, towering over her. The sheer force of his presence made her stumble back a step. "Leave that to me," he said. "I'll spin the story." He picked up a tablet from the coffee table and turned the screen toward her. It showed a grainy, zoomed-in photo of a woman's profile in a car. "Someone caught her profile in a photo," he explained. "You look enough like her. We just say it was you." He set the tablet down and stepped closer. "Zoe, this won't touch you. You're already an award-winning actress. You have an Oscar. You have a legacy." His voice dropped to a lover's whisper. "Why not let me take care of you here at home? Let me pamper you. Lyra is different. Her career is just starting, and she's desperate for Nightingale. She sobbed all night, terrified that her dream is over before it even began." "So you'll destroy me to pave her way?" Zoe shouted. She shoved him hard in the chest, her voice splintering like glass. The memory hit her suddenly, a sharp and unwelcome flashback. It was that glittering night five years ago, the night she had won her first Best Actress award. After the celebration, Wesley had proposed to her on the hotel rooftop, the city lights sprawling beneath them. He had vowed then to always support her dreams. His eyes had held entire galaxies of adoration as he called her his muse, his inspiration, his everything. For years, he had been the perfect husband. He mastered complicated nutrition plans for her roles. When she filmed on location overseas, he would hop on a red-eye flight every few nights just to hold her for a few hours before flying back. After every award ceremony, he would post photos of her on his social media, crowing that she was his pride and joy. But now, staring at the cold, hard lines of his face, she saw no trace of that man. His gaze turned to ice. He picked up his phone and flashed a quick signal to the person on the other end of the video call. On the screen, the nurse reached down and yanked the oxygen mask away from Henry's face. Henry's pale features twisted into a sickening shade of purple. His chest heaved violently, his body convulsing on the bed as he fought for air, like a drowning man. "Wesley, no, don't do this!" Zoe lunged for the phone, but he sidestepped her with an infuriating grace, holding it just out of reach. "Try saying no," he whispered, his voice barely audible. His eyes were glacial. "I dare you. Let's see if your father can last three minutes without oxygen." The heart monitor on the video feed began to screech an urgent, high-pitched alarm. Zoe's voice dropped to a broken whisper. "Why... why are you doing this to me?" For a fraction of a second, his polished mask seemed to slip. Something dark and unreadable flickered in his eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by an expression colder than before. "Don't overcomplicate this, Zoe," he said flatly. "It's really nothing. Barely a blip for someone like you. Lyra... she's someone I need to protect." The word 'protect' drove into her ribs like a shard of glass. The tears she had been holding back finally broke free and streamed down her cheeks. On the phone screen, she watched her father gasp like a fish thrown onto dry land. His body seized and twitched, and she felt utterly and completely powerless. On screen, she was a chameleon. She could become anyone. But in this moment, she could not even save the man who had given her life. Her voice cracked and splintered. "Fine."