I Married Him With a Lie, Now I Leave With the Truth

“What’s gotten into you, Clara?”

Damien’s voice erupted the moment I stepped into the living room. He was already there—tie loosened, sleeves slightly rumpled, anger written all over his face in a way that made him look almost unfamiliar.

“You were off during your broadcast earlier,” he went on, flinging the remote onto the sofa. “You didn’t even acknowledge me or the company. I told you specifically to push the partnership segment. What was that supposed to mean?”

I stood there in my work attire, my makeup slightly smudged from hours on air. I blinked at him slowly. “I don’t know,” I answered in a low voice. “I guess… I just didn’t feel like talking about it anymore.”

His expression hardened immediately. “Excuse me? What did you just say?”

I swallowed, forcing myself to stay steady. “I said I’m exhausted, Damien. I’m tired of reporting about your company, your deals, pretending everything is objective when it’s not. I can’t keep doing this.”

The air between us turned sharp, suffocating. He stepped closer, disbelief quickly turning into anger.

“Do you even realize what you’re saying?” he snapped. “Who do you think gave you that program? That prime slot you’ve been dreaming about? Me, Clara. I built your career. I fund your show, your network contract—everything you have right now comes from me!”

His words hit harder than I expected. For a long time, I had mistaken that control for care. I thought his influence meant he believed in me. But hearing it now, I finally saw it clearly—it was never support. It was ownership dressed as love.

And maybe that was what he liked most.

Control.

I looked straight at him, my voice shaking. “I never asked you for any of it. You chose to give it. And now… I don’t want it anymore.”

I barely finished speaking when his hand struck my face.

The impact echoed through the room. My head turned with the force, and I staggered back, one hand flying to my cheek. The sting burned, but what hurt more was the fact that it came from him.

For a split second, even Damien looked stunned—like he didn’t expect himself to cross that line. His eyes widened, his mouth parted slightly, but no words followed.

A metallic taste filled my mouth. I exhaled shakily, then let out a quiet, broken laugh.

“Let’s get a divorce.”

He froze. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me.”

He gave a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “Over this? One argument, Clara? Are you serious right now?”

“I am.”

His tone sharpened again, rising. “And where exactly do you think you’ll go? You think your career survives without me? Without my name, my funding, my company backing your network?”

I didn’t respond. I just looked at him.

The man I once believed I’d spend forever with… felt like a stranger now.

Before he could say anything else, a small voice cut through the tension.

“Big brother? Sister-in-law?”

We both turned.

Ethan stood at the doorway clutching his toy car, eyes wide and uncertain. “Are you two… fighting?”

Something inside me tightened. He wasn’t truly my brother-in-law by blood, but in my heart, I had already grown attached to him.

Damien pressed a hand to his forehead, exhaling sharply. “No, Ethan. Go back to your room.”

But Ethan’s eyes welled up. “Please don’t fight… I don’t like it when you shout.”

I couldn’t just stand there.

I walked over, crouched in front of him, and gently wiped his tears. “Hey,” I said softly, forcing a calm tone. “It’s okay. We’re not fighting. Your brother’s just busy with work, that’s all. He got a little stressed.”

He sniffled. “Really?”

I nodded with a faint smile. “Really.”

I held out my hand. “How about we go out for a bit? Just you and me. Ice cream, maybe the park? Or even those go-karts you like?”

His expression brightened a little. “Okay…”

Damien looked like he was about to intervene, but before he could, the butler entered.

“Sir,” he said respectfully, “Miss Camille called. She mentioned her sister is acting up again and insists that you come immediately.”

Damien exhaled sharply. “Now?”

“Yes, sir.”

I didn’t wait for anything else.

“Come on, Ethan,” I said, taking his hand. “Let’s go.”

And I walked away without looking back.

The sun was warm when we reached the park. Ethan ran ahead almost instantly, laughing as he chased floating bubbles blown by another child. I stood watching him, my chest heavy with thoughts I couldn’t quiet.

He looked so much like Damien.

Same eyes. Same expression when he smiled.

And somehow, that resemblance made everything hurt more.

Still, I couldn’t bring myself to hate him. None of this was his fault. As I watched him play, my hand drifted unconsciously to my stomach.

A secret I had been carrying quietly for weeks.

I was pregnant.

I had planned to tell Damien on our anniversary. I imagined his reaction so clearly—shock, then joy, then him pulling me into his arms like nothing else mattered. I thought maybe it would fix everything between us.

But now…

What was the point?

He didn’t love me. Not really. Only what I brought into his life.

I was still lost in that thought when a sudden cry broke the air.

“Ethan!”

The small cart he was riding veered out of control, wobbling before flipping over completely. He fell hard onto the gravel, his knees scraping against the ground.

I didn’t think—I just ran.

“Ethan!” I called, dropping beside him as he cried in pain. Blood had started to form on his knee, dirt clinging to the wound.

“It’s okay, baby, I’ve got you,” I whispered, lifting him into my arms despite his resistance. “I’ve got you. Auntie’s here.”

We rushed straight to the hospital.

Hours passed.

Then the door burst open.

Damien stormed in, face tense, eyes blazing.

“What happened?” he demanded immediately. “How did this happen? You were supposed to watch him. You can’t even handle him for a few hours?”

“Damien, I—”

He didn’t let me finish.

His hand came down again.

Harder this time.

The slap rang through the room, sharper than before. My head snapped to the side, and I stood there stunned, one hand trembling against my cheek.

“You hurt my brother?” he shouted. “You had one job—just one—to take care of him!”

The room felt colder after that. My ears rang, my vision blurred, but what broke me wasn’t the pain.

It was the words.

I let out a shaky laugh, broken at the edges.

“Your… brother?” I whispered. Then louder, bitter now. “Or your son?”