The Unfortunate Card of Lies

For ten years, I waited for my childhood sweetheart, Adonis, to marry me. But every year, our future was delayed by a ridiculous family ritual where he had to draw a "Fortunate" tarot card. For three years, he drew the "Unfortunate" card, enduring brutal penance that left him scarred and broken. I believed it was fate.

Then, on the fourth year, I saw him draw the Fortunate card. My heart soared. We were finally free. But in a swift, practiced move, he swapped it for an Unfortunate one, choosing more suffering. I was frozen in shock.

Later, I overheard him confess to his cousin. He' d been swapping the cards for four years. He couldn't marry me yet because of his assistant, Ariel. She' d threatened to do something drastic if he left her. He said he owed her.

My world shattered. Every lash he took, every moment of pain I shared, was a lie. A charade performed for another woman. He had chosen his guilt for her over his love for me.

He even accused me of monstrous cruelty based on her lies, shouting, "I can't believe I wasted ten years on someone so vindictive. Apologize to Ariel. Now."

That was the moment I knew the man I loved was gone. So, I left. I flew to Hong Kong and married another man.

But just as I found my new beginning, Adonis burst in, his eyes wild with regret, begging me to come back. And right behind him was Ariel, her face twisted with madness, a gleaming knife in her hand.

Chapter 1

My stomach dropped, a cold, hard stone sinking through me as I watched Adonis' s hand move, quick and practiced, swapping the fortunate card for one of ill omen. The ancient, worn deck, blessed for generations by the Livingston matriarch, held our fate, or so I thought. For three years, it had held Adonis captive, forcing him into grueling penance, delaying our future. And now, in front of my very eyes, he was orchestrating our doom.

It was the fourth year of this ridiculous ritual, a sacred family tradition that dictated Adonis, the heir to the Livingston dynasty, could only marry his childhood sweetheart – me – after drawing a "Fortunate" tarot card. He' d failed three times. Each failure came with a price.

The first year, Adonis drew the "Unfortunate" card. He was subjected to a week of solitary meditation and fasting in the family's desolate mountain retreat. He came back skeletal, his eyes hollow, and collapsed the moment he saw me, landing him in the hospital for days. I hated that ritual. It was barbaric.

The second year, he drew it again. This time, the penance was physical. His back was lashed, not with a whip, but with ancient, knotted ropes, leaving grotesque welts that took months to heal. He didn't cry out once, but I heard his muffled grunts from behind the closed doors of the family chapel. I felt every strike deep in my own flesh. I begged his mother to stop it, but she was unyielding, her face a mask of stone.

The third year, the card, again, was "Unfortunate." The punishment then was a week-long trial by ice, where he was submerged in near-freezing mountain streams, stripped of warmth and comfort. He almost died from hypothermia. I remember the doctors shaking their heads, whispering about irreversible organ damage. I sat by his bedside, clutching his hand, tears streaming down my face, listening to his faint, ragged breaths. He looked at me, his lips blue, and managed a weak smile. "Just one more year, Ivory," he rasped, "then we're finally free."

I believed him. I always did. Each time, he emerged weaker, but his resolve, he claimed, burned brighter. He loved me. He had to. We were fated.

This year, I couldn't bear to watch him suffer alone. I had arrived, determined to share his penance, to prove my unwavering love and convince his rigid family that our bond was stronger than any superstition. I slipped into the shadows of the family chapel, my heart pounding, just as the matriarch placed the card deck before him.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and drew.

My heart leaped. The card, even from a distance, shimmered with a golden light. The matriarch's stern face softened, a faint smile touching her lips. It was fortunate. We were finally free. A wave of relief washed over me, so potent it almost buckled my knees.

Then, Adonis' s hand, so familiar, so beloved, moved with a subtle, practiced flick. The golden card vanished, replaced by a dull, somber one. The "Unfortunate" card. My breath caught in my throat. I couldn't make a sound. My entire body froze, every muscle locked in place, my mind a blank, terrified canvas.

He nodded gravely to the matriarch, a picture of solemn resignation. "It seems my fate remains unchanged, Grandmother," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "The stars still conspire against me."

The matriarch sighed, her smile immediately fading. She nodded to Adonis's cousin, Brittain, who stood nearby. "Prepare the usual," she instructed, her voice laced with disappointment.

Brittain nodded, his gaze distant, already accepting the inevitable. He didn't question it. No one ever questioned it. It was the Livingston way. But I had seen it. I had seen everything.

My mind raced, trying to find an explanation, a reason. Why? Why would he do this? Why would he choose more pain, more delay, when freedom was literally in his hand? The betrayal hit me harder than any physical blow. It was a searing fire in my chest, turning everything I knew into ash. Was it for attention? Was it a sick game? No, Adonis wasn't cruel. He couldn't be. This had to be a mistake.

Then, I heard voices from just around the corner, near the old stone archway. Adonis and Brittain.

"Are you insane, Adonis?" Brittain's voice was low, laced with exasperation. "Another year? You actually drew the Fortunate card this time! We all saw it!"

Adonis' s voice was weary, almost defeated. "I couldn't, Brittain. Not yet."

"Not yet?" Brittain scoffed. "Ivory came all this way, ready to jump into the fire with you! She' s been through hell because of this stupid ritual, because of you! How much more can she take?"

Adonis sighed, a deep, shuddering sound that pierced my heart. "I know. I see it every time she looks at me. But what about Ariel? She's been my shadow for eight years. Eight years, Brittain. She gave up everything to follow me, to work for me. She loves me. She told me last night she can't bear the thought of me marrying someone else. She said she'd leave, disappear, do something drastic if I went through with it."

My blood ran cold. Ariel. Ariel Vaughn. His assistant. The quiet, mousy girl who always seemed to be lurking in the periphery. Eight years. He' d known her for eight years. The same eight years we' d been engaged.

"And you believe her?" Brittain's voice was sharp. "You think she'd actually do something? Or is she just manipulating you? Because it sounds a lot like manipulation to me, Adonis. You're sacrificing Ivory, your future, for a manipulative assistant. And what about Ivory? You have no idea what she' s been through-what we' ve been through, because of your… guilt. Your obligation."

"It's not just manipulation," Adonis countered, his voice sounding genuinely pained. "Her family, her background… she's got nothing, Brittain. I'm all she has. She's sacrificed so much for me. I owe her."

"You owe her?" Brittain repeated, disbelief heavy in his tone. "You owe Ivory your loyalty, your honesty, your entire future! Not Ariel, who clings to you like a siren to a shipwreck. This isn't charity, Adonis. This is your life. And Ivory's."

"I just need one more year," Adonis pleaded, his voice cracking. "One more year to figure it out. To make sure she's settled, safe. Then I' ll marry Ivory, I swear."

"One more year?" Brittain laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. "You've been saying that for four years, Adonis. Four years you' ve drawn the 'Fortunate' card and swapped it for the 'Unfortunate' one. Four years you've subjected yourself to this torture, and Ivory to hers. And for what? For Ariel? Do you even hear yourself?"

My world shattered. Four years. He' d done this for four years. Every lashing, every hypothermic fever, every agonizing moment of pain I' d watched him endure, had been a charade. A lie. He had chosen it. He had chosen Ariel over me, over our future, over our love. The golden light of the fortunate card, the hope it represented, had been a cruel trick, a mirage he himself had conjured and then destroyed.

I clenched my fists so tight my nails dug into my palms. The physical pain was a dull throb compared to the gaping wound in my chest. My head spun, a nauseating vortex of betrayal and disbelief. Ariel. It was always Ariel. The quiet assistant I' d barely registered, who had subtly, insidiously, woven herself into the fabric of Adonis' s life, becoming the silent, destructive force between us.

Every loving glance he' d given me, every tender touch, every promise of forever whispered during those endless hospital nights-they were all tainted now. A web of lies, carefully spun, designed to keep me tethered while he played a dangerous game of obligation and guilt with another woman. My breath hitched, a silent sob tearing through my throat. Adonis Livingston, the man I loved, my childhood sweetheart, was a liar. And he had chosen her.