Beneath His Lies

Cherry’s POV “You poor thing.” The words slice through my mind like glass. Ma’am Victoria’s voice—cold, dripping with disgust—won’t leave me. Did you really think using my son’s money to feed your poor family would work? I squeeze my eyes shut, but her words keep echoing, digging deeper until I feel them in my bones. I sit curled in the corner of the dark storage room, my knees pulled tightly against my chest, tears wailing down my cheeks as I press both palms over my ears. The thunder outside rages louder than my heartbeat, booming so close it shakes the walls. How can she accuse me of theft? How can she throw me here, into this dusty room, to rot in the dark without food for days? My stomach cramps, my body weak, but what breaks me most is knowing my own husband stands there and lets it happen. Anthony. The man who once promised me forever, who carried me into our home with a smile so wide, now sits and watches in silence while his mother crushes me piece by piece. A broken sob escapes my throat, raw and heavy. Just then, the door slams open, the sound slicing through the darkness. A rush of cold light spills in, catching the clouds of dust that swirl up like smoke around the figure stepping inside. For a moment, I squint, trying to make out who it is, my eyes burning from the dimness—until I see her. Ma’am Victoria. The bossy and authoritative chairwoman of the Roduigaz’s empire. Fear claws at me instantly. I scramble to my feet, my body trembling, my lips fumbling for words. “M–Mother…” I whisper, voice shaking. The word is barely out before pain explodes across my face. A sharp, ruthless slap knocks me sideways, and I crash to the ground, the taste of blood sharp on my tongue. My head spins as her voice cuts through me, colder than the storm outside. “How many times have I told you never to call me your mother, you poor thing?” she spits, her eyes glinting with disgust as she raises her hand again. I flinch, my breath caught in my throat—then a hand catches hers midair. My heart stutters. Slowly, painfully, I lift my face from the floor, my vision swimming until I see him. Anthony. He’s here. My chest pounds—had he finally come to his senses? Has he come to shield me at last? But before hope can root itself, his voice shatters it. “Mom,” he says flatly, his gaze cold, “you aren’t about to get yourself worked up again, are you? You can go ahead and hit her all you want… but let’s have dinner first. I’m hungry.” The words slice through me, crueler than any slap. My heart sinks, crashing to pieces in my chest. I stare at him, the man I thought I knew, and wonder—who is he now? Is this truly the Anthony who once swore to protect me, who vowed to be my peace? Or has he become a monster I can no longer recognize? I bow my head, not just from the sting of pain on my skin, but from the deeper wound—the betrayal of a husband who once loved me, now standing by while his mother destroys me. **** I find myself in the dining room. It should be Granny Mae, the house butler, doing this. She always sets the table, humming under her breath while her hands move with practiced grace. But I swear—she must have been sent home intentionally. That’s the only reason I’m standing here, limping as I move around the dining room, setting plates and laying spoons, my body aching from exhaustion after cooking. “Mo—” I catch myself, pressing my lips together. Ma’am Victoria, I correct silently, because I’ve been trained like a dog to address her that way. Never mother. Never anything close. She hates me too much for that. She hates that her son married a “poor thing” like me, as she always calls it. From the very first day Anthony accepted her request to return back to the family house, peace has fled my life. I’m lost in the thought, my hand trembling on the tray, when my foot catches the edge of the carpet. My body jerks forward, and for a terrifying second, I’m about to crash to the ground. But then—strong arms catch me. Anthony. His grip circles my waist, holding me steady before I can fall. I look up, startled—expecting that same cold, distant look he always wears. But what I see instead steals the air from my lungs. His eyes flicker with something I can’t name—guilt… pity… maybe both. My throat tightens, a lump forming I can’t swallow down. I glare at him—confusion clawing at me, anger chasing close behind. How can the same man who stood by while his mother hurt me now look at me this way? Like he wants to reach for me… but can’t. Just then, his phone rings, the shrill sound snapping us back to reality. He steps away, murmuring an excuse before turning to answer. The warmth of his grip vanishes, leaving me exposed. When I turn, my chest still rattling with confusion, my eyes lock with hers. Ma’am Victoria. She stands in the doorway, arms folded, her eyes sharp as knives. “Why not watch where you’re going?” she snaps, her tone laced with venom. “Trying to make him fall for your charms again?” Fear grips me at first, tightening my spine. But her words sink deep, and something inside me twists. My charms? “My charms…” I whisper, as though testing the cruelty of it aloud. The love we once shared, now reduced to this? I tilt my head slightly, my lips parting in disbelief, the tray trembling in my hand. But before I can process the sting, I feel it. Heat. Steam brushes against my face, singeing the air, but it doesn’t touch me—yet. My eyes widen, and my heart plunges into my stomach as I realize what’s about to happen. The bowl tips, and hot liquid splashes across my arm and side, searing my skin in an instant. Pain rips through me, my grip on the tray faltering as the burn sinks deep. And in that breathless moment, through the sting, through the ache, one thought pierces sharper than the heat itself—this wasn’t the life I had hoped for.