Secret Love One Cruel Lie for Revenge novel Chapter 3

Even when I was on my period, I was still expected to take care of Dominic's needs. Pain was never an excuse in our relationship; discomfort was something I was meant to endure quietly. Looking back, it makes sense that he couldn't tolerate my resistance that night. He had grown too used to my compliance.

"I'm on my period," I told him softly. "My stomach really hurts."

His expression shifted instantly, the concern on his face so convincing it almost fooled me again. He pulled me into his arms and pressed a kiss to my hair, his voice gentler than usual. "Okay," he murmured. "If you're not feeling well, I'll get you some tea."

He returned with a cup filled to the brim, so hot that steam curling into the air. The porcelain was scalding, but I held it with both hands anyway, letting the heat burn against my skin. I didn't flinch, didn't complain, as if the sting might distract me from the ache inside my chest. For a moment, I almost believed this was care.

Then his phone rang.

The name Brooke flashed across the screen.

"Dominic, my stomach hurts so much," she said sweetly through the speaker. "Can you come keep me company?"

His entire demeanor sharpened with worry. "Okay. I'll be right there." He was already on his feet before the call ended, urgency replacing the softness he had shown me only seconds before.

At the door, he paused as if remembering something important. "You know how it is," he added lightly. "It's just for show." He didn't wait for my response, because there wasn't one.

I kept holding the cup long after he left.

The water had cooled by the time I finally set it down, but my palms were flushed red from the heat. The dull throb in my abdomen deepened as I made my way home alone, each step heavier than the last. Somewhere along the way, a friend request notification lit up my phone.

It was Brooke.

The moment I accepted, her messages poured in without restraint. "Do you really think acting weak in front of Dominic will make him care about you?" she wrote. "Even though you've been in his bed for five years, trying every trick to please him?"

"The one he loves, the one he's going to marry—isn't that me?" she continued. "Make sure you come to our engagement party. I've prepared a little surprise for you, as thanks for 'taking care of him' all these years."

A photo followed.

It was a cup of ginger tea.

"Does he make this for you when you're on your period?" she asked mockingly. "Or does he just expect you to satisfy him anyway?"

"You're just a body. A tool. What exactly are you competing with me for?"

I read her messages over and over, each word carving deeper than the last. An hour passed, and I couldn't think of a single response. Not because I didn't want to fight back, but because every sentence she wrote carried a grain of truth.

So he had told her everything.

What I thought was a secret had never been one at all. I wasn't a hidden lover; I was a joke everyone knew about. I turned off my phone and lay in bed, staring into the dark as sleep refused to come.

Sometime after midnight, a sharp drop in my lower abdomen jolted me upright. The pain was different—heavier, urgent, wrong. When I saw the blood, I knew something wasn't right. I called a cab and went to the hospital alone.

The diagnosis came quickly.

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