The Billionaire Greatest Lie: Nyla's Revenge

Chapter Four

Clark hit the floor with a sickening thud. For a second, nobody moved.

Nobody breathed.

Nobody spoke.

Nyla stared.

Her mind struggling to process what had just happened. One moment, Clark had been standing.The next, he was unconscious on the floor.

"Clark!"

Isabella rushed toward him. Fear flashed across her face. Real fear. Not the fake confidence she'd been wearing all night. The sight should have concerned Nyla. It should have made her panic.

Instead, she felt strangely numb. Maybe because she'd already suffered the worst pain possible tonight. Maybe because her heart was too broken to care. Or maybe because she was simply exhausted. Emotionally exhausted.

Eight years.

Eight years of love.

Eight years of trust.

Gone in a single night.

"Clark!"

Isabella shook his shoulder. There was no response. The woman looked genuinely frightened now.

"Wake up!"

Nothing. Nyla remained near the doorway. Watching. Detached. Almost like she was watching a movie instead of her own life falling apart. Isabella looked up.

"Help me!"

Nyla didn't move. The words surprised even her.

"I can't." The woman stared. "What?" Nyla swallowed. Her throat burned. "I can't do this right now." And it was true.

She couldn't.

She couldn't be the loving wife.

Couldn't be the concerned partner.

Couldn't pretend everything was normal.

Not after what she'd seen. Not after what she'd felt. Not after watching another woman wrapped around her husband. A wave of nausea hit her. She turned away briefly. Trying to steady herself.

Behind her, Isabella continued calling Clark's name. The desperation in her voice grew stronger. Something wasn't right. Even Nyla could see that.

Clark wasn't waking up. His breathing sounded strange.

Heavy.

Uneven.

Almost painful.

The sight stirred a tiny spark of concern. Despite everything. Despite the betrayal. Despite the heartbreak. Part of her still cared. Because love didn't disappear instantly. It wasn't a light switch. It was more complicated than that. Much more painful. Nyla hated herself for still caring.

"H-help me call an ambulance."

Isabella's voice shook. Nyla looked back. Clark's face appeared pale. Far paler than before. A knot formed in her stomach. Something was wrong. Seriously wrong.

For a brief moment, fear pierced through her anger. The memory of countless moments flashed through her mind.

Clark teaching her to drive.

Clark bringing soup when she had the flu.

Clark carrying her after she twisted her ankle. Clark kissing her forehead every morning before work.

The memories hurt. God, they hurt. Because she still loved him. And that was the cruelest part. Even now. Even here. Even after everything. She still loved him. Nyla pulled out her phone. Her fingers trembled as she dialed emergency services.

As she spoke to the operator, her eyes remained fixed on Clark. He looked... wrong. Not drunk. Not asleep. Wrong. His skin appeared unnaturally pale. His breathing was shallow. Sweat glistened on his forehead.

The operator promised help was on the way. The call ended. Silence filled the room once again. A tense silence. An uncomfortable silence. A silence shared between two women connected by one man.

One husband.

One betrayal.

One disaster.

Isabella sat beside Clark. Looking shaken. Nyla stood near the doorway. Keeping her distance. Neither woman spoke. Until finally—

"He's never done this before." The words came from Isabella. Nyla looked at her. The woman swallowed nervously. "I've never seen him like this." The statement hit Nyla strangely. She frowned. "What do you mean?"

Isabella hesitated. As if realizing she'd said too much. Then she quickly looked away. "Nothing." But it wasn't nothing.

Nyla knew that. Something about tonight felt off. Not enough to erase the betrayal. Not enough to change what she'd seen. But enough to create questions.

Questions she didn't want to ask. Questions she didn't want answers to. Because answers required hope. And hope was dangerous.

Hope could make people stay in broken relationships.

Hope could make people forgive the unforgivable. Hope could make fools out of people.

Nyla was done being a fool. A few minutes later, sirens sounded outside. Paramedics rushed into the apartment. Everything happened quickly. Questions. Equipment. Medical assessments.

Orders shouted back and forth. The room became chaos. One paramedic checked Clark's pulse. Another examined his pupils. A third prepared a stretcher. Nyla watched silently. Then she heard something.

A conversation.

Quiet.

Almost whispered.

But loud enough to reach her. "Possible drug interaction." The words made her freeze. "What?" another paramedic asked. The first shook his head. "Not sure yet." Drug interaction?

Nyla frowned. Clark barely drank. He hated drugs.Even prescription medication made him uncomfortable. So what were they talking about? A strange feeling settled in her stomach. Confusion. Suspicion. Doubt.

Before she could think further, the paramedics began moving Clark. His unconscious body was lifted onto the stretcher. For a brief second, his hand slipped over the side. The sight punched the air from her lungs. That hand had held hers for years.

That hand had placed a wedding ring on her finger. That hand had promised forever. A promise that now meant nothing. The stretcher rolled toward the door. Then suddenly—Clark moved.

A weak movement. Barely noticeable. His eyes fluttered. The paramedics immediately stopped. "Sir?" No response. Then, very faintly— A whisper.

Nyla almost didn't hear it. But she did. Because despite everything, she knew his voice better than anyone.

"Nyla..." Her heart stopped.

The room seemed to freeze.

The whisper had been weak.

Broken. Barely audible. But unmistakable.

"Nyla..." Her name. Even unconscious. Even barely aware. He was calling for her. The sound tore through her chest. The paramedics continued their work. Unaware of the damage a single word had caused.

Nyla quickly looked away. Tears threatened once again. No. She wouldn't cry.

Not here.

Not for him.

Not anymore.

The stretcher disappeared into the hallway. The apartment suddenly felt empty. Too empty. Only Isabella remained. And Nyla. The wife. And the other woman.

An awkward silence settled between them. Then Isabella spoke. "You're leaving?" Nyla laughed bitterly. The question was ridiculous.

"What exactly do you expect me to do?" The woman lowered her eyes. Nyla grabbed her purse. Her keys. What remained of her dignity. And headed for the door. She was done.

Done with the apartment.

Done with tonight.

Done with Clark Harrison.

At least that's what she told herself. "Nyla." She stopped.

Not because she wanted to. But because something in Isabella's voice sounded strange. Different. The woman looked nervous. Almost guilty. As though she wanted to say something. Several long seconds passed.

Then she shook her head. "Never mind." Nyla stared. A strange feeling washed over her.

What had Isabella almost said?

Why did she suddenly look afraid?

Why did tonight feel increasingly confusing?

The questions followed her all the way to the elevator. But she refused to think about them. Because none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was what she'd seen.

Clark.

Another woman.

Another bed.

Another life.

The elevator doors opened. Nyla stepped inside. The doors closed. And for the first time since entering the apartment, she was completely alone. The silence broke her.

A sob escaped.

Then another.

Then another.

Soon tears were streaming down her face. Uncontrollably. Painfully. Humiliatingly. She slid down against the elevator wall. Crying so hard she could barely breathe. This wasn't supposed to happen.

Not to them.

Not to her.

She had done everything right.

Loved him. Supported him. Believed in him. Stayed loyal. So why wasn't that enough? Why wasn't love enough? The elevator reached the lobby. The doors opened.

Nyla quickly wiped her tears. She stood. Straightened her shoulders. And walked outside. The rain was still falling.

Cold.

Relentless.

Merciless.

Just like life. She reached her car. Opened the door. And froze.

Because there was something tucked beneath her windshield wiper. A white envelope. Her heart skipped a beat. Slowly, she pulled it free. No name. No address. Nothing. Just a plain envelope.

Rain dripped from her hair as she stared at it. Then she opened it. Inside was a single photograph. The moment she saw it, her blood turned to ice. Because the photo showed Clark. But it wasn't taken tonight. It had been taken weeks ago.

And standing beside him was the same woman from the apartment. Isabella. The two of them appeared close. Far too close. But what truly made Nyla's hands begin to shake… Was the message written on the back. In black ink. Five simple words. This is only the beginning.