love is a lie:lewis must pay

YEAR 2000

MARGARET POV

It had been five years since I left this country, a place that held painful memories. Standing before the full-length mirror, I clutched a glass of wine, wondering if I still resembled the woman I once was.

The wine tasted bitter, much like the unresolved feelings that lingered within me. I gazed at my reflection, my eyes tracing the lines etched by time. My music career had blossomed once more since my return, but Lewis—oh, Lewis—he should have remembered who I was before he married me. He treated me like trash, oblivious to the fire that still burned in my heart.

My fingers brushed my shoulder, recalling the long black hair I'd once possessed. Now it rested at shoulder length, a deliberate choice after the pain he caused. I wore red leather skinny trousers and a black crop top—the same outfit I'd performed in earlier.

Suddenly, a knock interrupted my thoughts. "Do come in," I called without turning.

The door swung open, revealing Aaron Liam, the man whose mansion I now inhabited. His eyes bore into mine. His presence was magnetic, and I knew his reputation well. Love was forbidden between us, but desire? That flowed freely.

"Mr. Liam," I murmured, approaching him. My fingers grazed his cheek, and I leaned in. "What brings you here?"

His grip tightened on my wrist, his gaze intense. "I'm not in the mood, Margaret," he said, his voice gravelly. "I've come with news you might find interesting."

His black and short hair framed a face that held both allure and danger. Taller and fit, he moved with a wiry grace that made women weak in the knees. Aaron didn't need much effort to make a woman open her legs or fall in love with him.

But a lady like me doesn't need love any more; it is a lie and therefore not meaningful.

The room was charged with tension, our breaths mingling in the air. His shirt hung open, revealing a glimpse of his chest, and my other fingers traced from his chest where his two shirt buttons were unbuttoning, then continued as I traced it down to his crotch and rubbed there softly.

I felt it become hard as I continued, Mr. Liam, are you sure you are not in the mood?.

It's a cold night, and some are getting hot as we speak.

Shouldn't we... get hot too?."

He let go of my wrist and carried me up immediately, then laid me on the bed as he was slightly over my body.

His touch ignited a fire within me, and I reveled in the heat of the moment. The room seemed to shrink, the air thick with anticipation. 

"Margaret," he murmured, his voice a low, smoky timbre. "You're a dangerous woman."

I chuckled, my fingers tracing the contours of his chest. "Dangerous? Perhaps. But I prefer the term 'adventurous.'"

I closed my eyes as I drowned in the sensation.

His lips brushed against my ear to my neck, and he laid kisses there.

Then he stopped, and I opened my eyes to find out why he stopped.

As he pulled away, his dark eyes bore into mine. "Don't you want to hear the news?" he asked, his voice a low murmur. His gaze held secrets, and I wondered what storm brewed behind those eyes.

I exhaled, my heart still racing from our shared intimacy, and sat on the edge of the bed as I crossed my legs. "What could be so important?" I inquired; my curiosity piqued. The mention of Lewis—the ghost of my past—had stirred something within me.

"Lewis. Lewis is here," Aaron said, his tone measured. "Waiting in the parking lot."

My laughter bubbled forth, a mix of disbelief and irony. "Lewis? My ex-husband?" I scoffed. "No wonder my favorite wine tasted bitter today."

I stood, uncrossing my legs, and met Liam's gaze. "I'll be back," I declared, striding toward the door. 

************************************

The cold night air clung to my skin as I stepped into the parking lot of Aaron's residence, my heels clanking. Lewis stood there beside his Toyota Camry, restless, his gaze following my approach. His black hair was short, and his wiry frame hinted at a strength that had once drawn me in.

"You want to see me?" I asked, my voice devoid of emotion.

"Margaret, he murmured, soft and almost apologetic. But I raised my hand, a barrier between us. No more closeness, no more vulnerability.

"I was surprised when I saw you perform two months ago," Lewis began. "I wanted to talk to you, but I wasn't able to. It's been five years. I thought you'd vanished, perhaps even taken your own life."

His words hung heavy in the air. Memories of our past—the love, the music—swirled around me. But I was no longer that Margaret. The one who believed in fairy tales and happily ever afters.

"You still sing well," he continued, "and you look so beautiful. Maybe that's why your music career is growing again."

"But I heard a rumor," he pressed on, his voice rising. "You're getting married to my best friend, Aaron Liam. But you don't love him. Why, Margaret? Your family is rich, and you have reconciled with them—why Aaron?"

His ignorance infuriated me.

I scoffed. "Lewis, Lewis," I shook my head. "Are you even listening to yourself? Why do you care about my choices?"

"Why should I give you an answer? Do I owe you an explanation, Lewis?" I retorted, my calm facade cracking.

"I don't know why I came down; maybe I expected more."

"You still love me, he declared, confidence in his eyes.

"In your wildest dreams," I spat back. The past was a graveyard of broken promises, and I had no intention of revisiting it.

"From now on, Lewis," I said, my anger flaring, "apart from business matters, never come to me." I turned, ready to leave this futile encounter behind.

But his final words pierced through me like an arrow. "Do you even visit Jessie's grave? he yelled.

Lewis's accusation had struck me like an arrow, piercing through the armor I'd built around my heart. Jessie—the daughter we'd lost, the pain we'd shared—loomed large in my mind.

I turned sharply, my fingers curling into fists. "Don't you dare!" I yelled, my voice raw with emotion. But Lewis stood his ground, his anger mirroring my own.

"Is it not the truth, Margaret?" he retorted. "You're getting married to another man while our daughter lies six feet under. You shameless woman!"

My chest tightened, and I felt the anger and pain. Lewis's words were like salt on an open wound.

"Shameless?" I spat back, my tears blurring my vision. "How dare you call her your daughter! How many times have you been there for her?"

"She was mine, my daughter!" My voice cracked as I beat my chest.

"You were never there," I whispered, my voice trembling. "Even till the day she died, you were never there."

I laughed bitterly, my anger boiling over. "But Lewis, do you think Jessie is dead? Also, my marriage with Aaron should be the least thing you worry about. A storm is coming, and I hope you are prepared."