The CEO's Five-Year Lie
Five years. Eighteen hundred days in a cage, counting sunbeams slicing through iron bars, enduring a kind of torment that strips you down to nothing.
When I finally walked out, my husband, Michael, and our son, Noah, were there.
He draped a coat over my shoulders with a careful, almost reverent touch. Noah, my sweet Noah, buried his face in my stomach, his small body trembling with sobs. In that moment, I let myself believe the nightmare was over. At least I still had them.
Then, I received the video.
It was filmed in Michael’s study. Noah, now ten years old, was looking up at his father, his expression earnest.
“Dad, I swapped Mom’s design for Aunt Isabelle’s. Did it make her happy?”
A pause. Noah’s voice became smaller. “But… Mom went to prison for five years. Everyone whispers about her. The kids at school make fun of me…”
Michael’s hand rested heavily on his son’s head. His voice was low, serious. “This stays between us, Noah. You can never speak of it again.”
He knelt down, his face level with our son’s. “It was your mother’s fault for being selfish. Your Aunt Isabelle grew up with nothing, bouncing from one foster home to another. This award meant everything to her. Your mom has everything, Ellie, and she still wouldn’t step aside for her. She earned what she got.”
My heart didn’t just break; it felt like it was physically ripped from my chest. The five years of living death I’d endured… a gift, handcrafted by the two people I loved most in this world.
1
“Don’t worry, Dad. I’ve gotten really good at pretending all these years. The stupid woman has no idea.”
The voice was Noah’s, but the words were monstrous.
Michael’s voice was laced with caution. “Just be careful. Don’t let anything slip before the party. We still need her at Isabelle’s birthday gala.”
“Why?”
“Because tonight, your grandfather is going to publicly introduce Isabelle as his adopted daughter, the new heiress to the family. Your mother has to be there. Her presence will absorb the gossip, shield Isabelle from the worst of it. With her standing in front, Isabelle will be protected.”
Noah scoffed, a sound of pure disdain. “Please. With you there, who would dare say anything?”
“Noah!” Michael’s voice was sharp.
“Fine, fine! I’ll go tell her. It’s not like she deserves an invitation anyway.” A bitter mutter followed. “If it weren’t for Isabelle, why would I even want a felon for a mom?”
I stared at the screen, at the boy who was once small enough to sleep in the crook of my arm, his face now a mask of contempt. Every word from their mouths was alien, poisoned.
Five years ago, I was arrested. For five years, I endured. When I was released, I learned my mother had died from a deep depression, and my father had taken out an ad in the paper publicly disowning me.
Everywhere I went, I was trailed by whispers and pointed fingers. Even the housekeeping staff at our own home treated me with sneering disrespect.
I remember standing on the edge of our rooftop terrace, the wind pulling at my clothes, thinking how easy it would be to just step off. It was Michael and Noah who talked me down, their voices soft with promises. They believed me, they said. They would get me justice, they swore. When strangers sneered at me in public, they stood in front of me, a human shield.
I saw them as the light that had found me in the darkness. I would have died for them.
And now I knew. My five years of agony were nothing more than a calculated sacrifice to pave the way for Isabelle, the scholarship student my family had sponsored since she was a teenager.
Tears flooded my vision, blurring the phone in my hands. I thought they were my saviors. They were just my executioners, tossing me scraps of affection to keep me quiet after they were done using me.
Scrambling, I hid the phone, curling into myself in the silent refuge of Michael’s study. And that’s when I saw them. Lined up perfectly on his desk was a collection of custom-made porcelain dolls. Each one exquisitely crafted. Each one with the same delicate beauty mark just below the eye, a perfect mirror of Isabelle.
Michael was a world-renowned luxury goods designer. His custom pieces were fought over by collectors, worth a fortune. After we were married, I had begged him to make one for me. He always said he was too busy, that he didn't have time.
I couldn’t get a single one, yet he had made a whole collection for her. It wasn’t about time. It was about worth. And I wasn’t worthy. In his eyes, Isabelle’s dolls were all smiling, their painted lips curved in gentle joy. My hands clenched around the one I’d picked up, the porcelain cold against my skin. I wanted to smash it to pieces.
Because my husband cherished her, she became the glittering new star of the jewelry world.
And I became the convict everyone despised.
That evening, they came home. Noah ran to me, calling out “Mom!” with his usual practiced affection. Michael handed me a small box from my favorite bakery. These small gestures used to warm my heart. Now, they chilled me to the bone.
The next morning, after they left, I walked out of the house and called a car. It took me to an old, out-of-the-way athletic club on the edge of town. I found the locker I had rented under a false name, a contingency I prayed I’d never need.
I typed in the code and placed a single, sealed envelope inside. On it were just three words.
“I was wrong.”
He had told me once, long ago, that if I ever regretted my choice, all I had to do was say the word, and he would come for me.
When I got home, Michael’s car was already in the driveway. He and Isabelle were standing near the front door, with Noah dancing around them animatedly. Isabelle was laughing, bent over at the waist, and Michael was watching her with a look of pure, undisguised adoration.
The sound of my car door closing made them all freeze, the happy tableau shattering.
My eyes locked on the tiara sparkling in Isabelle’s hair. It felt like a punch to the gut.
Michael’s face flushed, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “Ellie. Isabelle didn’t have anything appropriate for the gala tonight, so I told her she could borrow this. Just for the evening.”
Isabelle’s almond eyes crinkled. She covered her mouth with a delicate hand. “Michael is just so thoughtful. He saw I didn’t have a signature piece to wear and insisted I take this.” She gave me a saccharine smile. “I’ll give it right back after the party, I promise.”
Their intertwined hands were a pale, glaring knot in the afternoon sun. A thousand tiny needles pricked at my chest, making each breath a sharp pain. Since I’d been released, Michael had made excuses for me to miss every single party, every public event. He never appeared with me. He said it was to protect me from the gossip.
I was naive enough to believe him. Now I saw he just didn't want to be tainted by my prison sentence.
Seeing my silence, he pressed on. “It’s just collecting dust in the safe, Ellie. Why not let Isabelle get some use out of it? She needs things like this to build her image right now.”
“Do you hear yourself, Michael?” My own voice was a trembling stranger’s.
That tiara wasn’t just a piece of jewelry. It was a custom piece, designed by one of the greatest jewelers in the world for our wedding. Its creation was featured in Vogue. I had worn it only once, on that day. The rest of the time, it sat in a climate-controlled glass case, a sacred object. It was the symbol of the lady of the house, of his wife.
Giving it to Isabelle… what did that make me?
Sensing my anger, Michael quickly changed the subject. “It’s just a thing, Ellie. Don’t make a big deal out of it. It’s Isabelle’s big night. You should come with us.”
Noah grabbed my hand, his touch now feeling reptilian. “Yeah, Mom, please come! I feel like we haven’t gone out together in forever.”
The image from the video—his face full of contempt—flashed in my mind. A deep cold spread through me, but I kept my gaze level. “A felon at a black-tie gala? I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”
Isabelle linked her arm through mine, her touch cloying. “Don’t say that, Ellie. We’re family. Besides, you haven’t seen your father since you got out.”
At the mention of my father, a heavy silence fell over me. Finally, I nodded. Michael and Noah breathed a visible sigh of relief.
The driver pulled Michael’s custom Bentley around. Michael smoothly opened the passenger door for Isabelle. As I moved to get into the back, Isabelle turned, her voice dripping with faux concern. “Oh, Ellie. This gown is so voluminous, I’m taking up the whole back seat. Maybe it would be better if you took a separate car?”
From the front seat, Michael frowned. “She’s right. We have to be careful with the dress. I’ll call you an Uber.”
“Don’t bother.”
I turned and walked away before he could finish. I saw his momentary confusion before Isabelle’s voice, sharp and impatient, cut through the air. “Let’s go, Michael. We’re going to be late.”
His hesitation vanished. “Let’s go,” he told the driver. The car peeled away from the curb, leaving me in its wake.
Funny. Not a single one of the Landon family drivers was available. I, the lady of the house, couldn’t even get a ride. Our villa was in a gated community miles from anywhere, and I couldn’t get a car service. As dusk settled, I had no choice but to start walking.
Then the sky opened up. A cold, driving rain. By the time I arrived at the grand hotel, soaked to the skin and shivering, the gala was in full swing.
I saw them immediately. Michael and Isabelle, standing side-by-side, bathed in the warm glow of the ballroom. They were a portrait of perfection, smiling and laughing, accepting congratulations. My father stood nearby, beaming like a proud patriarch. The air was thick with murmurs of approval, guests whispering what a perfect couple they made.
And me? I was stopped at the door by security, a drowned rat with water dripping from the hem of my ruined dress.
The commotion drew my father’s attention. His face darkened into a thunderous scowl as he marched toward me.
“Who told you to come here?” he hissed, his voice low and vicious. “This is your sister’s night. Haven’t you caused enough shame?”
His next words were a hammer blow. “A convict. If I were you, I’d have the decency to kill myself. If you have any sense left, you’ll sign the divorce papers and let them be happy.” He gestured toward the couple. “I’ve already announced my intention to formally adopt Isabelle. What are you still clinging to Michael for?”
“Dad, I am Michael’s wife! She’s nothing but a charity case we took in. How can she be your daughter?”
Crack.
The sound of his hand striking my face echoed in the marble foyer. My ears rang. Suddenly, I was the center of the universe, the star of a horror show.
“You animal!” my father roared.
Isabelle flinched dramatically, scurrying into the protective circle of Michael’s arms like a frightened rabbit. And my son, the boy I had raised, the boy who used to cling to me, didn’t even spare me a glance. His small body was a rigid shield in front of Isabelle.
“You’re a felon,” my father spat. “What right do you have to question me? If you had a fraction of Isabelle’s grace, you would have died in that prison instead of showing your face here!”
Guests were gathering, their phones held up, recording my humiliation. I clutched my burning cheek, drowning in shame.
Michael looked uneasy. He started to speak. “Sir…”
“Michael, look, Mr. Davison is here. We should go say hello,” Isabelle purred, tugging on his arm.
“But…”
“Ellie will be fine. He’s her father, after all.”
Michael hesitated for a fraction of a second, then allowed himself to be led away. He wrapped an arm around Isabelle’s waist, steering her toward the crowd without a single look back.
I stood there, alone, trembling under the weight of a hundred mocking eyes. My son, my Noah, didn’t even break his stride. He just shot me a look of pure disgust before trotting after Isabelle.
Finally, I broke. I ran, fleeing the laughter and the stares, my father’s final curse chasing me down the hall. “You knew this would happen! A little late to feel ashamed now, isn’t it?”
I found an empty service corridor and collapsed, silent tears streaming down my face. A moment later, footsteps approached. It was Isabelle. Her face was alight with triumph, her eyes filled with scorn.
“How does it feel, Eleanor? To have everything you ever loved taken away by me?”
She leaned in, her voice a venomous whisper. “Did you enjoy the five years I gave you? It was so easy. All I had to do was cry a little, and your precious son was eating out of my hand, ready to swap out his own mother’s masterpiece.” She laughed, a giddy, cruel sound.
“You know, you could have gotten out sooner. The initial recommendation was two years. But your loving husband was so worried I might get dragged into it, so worried about my ‘trauma,’ that he had his lawyers push for more. Three years. Then five. He’s the one who told your father to disown you, to make sure you had nothing and no one to turn to when you got out. So you could never fight me.”
My family. My husband. My son. They watched me rot in that hell for five years, all for her. Five years of beatings, of humiliation, of being ground from a diamond into dust.
A primal rage, hot and blinding, surged through me. I lunged, my hand raised to slap that smug smile off her face.
Before my hand could connect, she crumpled to the floor with a theatrical cry.
“Ellie, I’m sorry! I’ll take the tiara off, I’ll give it back right now!”
The next thing I knew, Noah slammed into me, sending me staggering backward. My head hit the sharp corner of a metal service cart. Pain exploded behind my eyes, and I felt something warm and wet trickle down my temple.
Michael rushed in, scooping Isabelle up from the floor as if she were a fragile doll, as if she were the one who had been hurt.
She buried her face in his chest, her voice muffled and thick with fake tears. “Michael, Ellie’s angry with me. I should just give her the tiara back…”
Michael saw the blood on my face. The flicker of concern in his eyes was instantly extinguished by a wave of cold fury. “I gave it to you. It’s yours. What use does a convict have for fine jewelry?” His voice was ice. “Eleanor, are you so pathetic you’re fighting over a necklace now? If you so much as lay a finger on Isabelle again, I will make you understand what real consequences are.”
“Did you hear him?!” Noah shouted, his little face contorted with rage. “You’re a bad woman! You don’t deserve to be my mom!”
Michael lifted Isabelle into his arms and walked away without another word, ignoring the blood dripping onto my collar. Over his shoulder, Isabelle looked back at me. Her smile was pure, victorious venom.
As I watched them disappear, my heart turned to stone.
It was alright. The message had been sent. Help was on its way.
Soon, I would be gone.
When I finally made it home, I was running a high fever, the world swimming in and out of focus. As I stumbled through the front door, I saw the trash bins by the curb, overflowing.
My birthday gifts to Noah. Every single one.
Every year, even in prison, I had made him something by hand. A hand-stitched leather wallet embossed with his initials. A cashmere sweater I’d spent months knitting with contraband needles. A small, perfect tiger carved from a block of wood, its stripes painstakingly painted.
Now, all of it—the priceless and the precious—was crammed in with greasy takeout containers and crumpled cigarette packs.
Noah saw me and stormed off to his room, slamming the door so hard the walls shook.
I was too sick to care. All I wanted was my bed. But as I reached my bedroom, I saw the door was ajar.
Through the crack, I saw Isabelle, her arms wrapped around Michael’s neck as he kissed her with a desperate, hungry force. He tore at the constraints of her gala gown, and the tiara—my tiara—was ripped from her hair and tossed carelessly to the floor. It landed with a sickening crunch, a diamond skittering across the hardwood.
Beneath him, Isabelle’s eyes found mine through the crack in the door. A slow, mocking smile spread across her face. She bit down hard on his lower lip. A low groan of pain and pleasure escaped him. The dam of his long-suppressed desire finally broke.
In that instant, my heart stopped beating and died.
I slid down the wall, my legs giving out, and sat on the cold floor of the hallway. I listened to the sounds of their passion all night long, a witness to my own erasure.
The next morning, Michael emerged from the room, stretching languidly. He stopped short when he saw me huddled on the floor.
“Ellie? What are you doing out here?” He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly awkward. “Isabelle was… upset after last night. I was just comforting her.”
A laugh, brittle and sharp, escaped my lips. “Comforting her? All night? On my bed? It looked like you comforted every last inch of her.”
His face cycled through a series of emotions—shock, guilt, and then, finally, righteous anger. “Don’t be ridiculous!” he snapped. “You’re a convict, Eleanor! If it wasn’t for my pity, we’d have been divorced the day you were arrested! Do you have any idea what I’ve put up with for you?”
Tears, hot and useless, streamed down my face. He was right. He was the brilliant, powerful CEO, and I was the pariah, the stain on his reputation.
My silence seemed to be the answer he wanted. He took it as acquiescence. With a look of relief, he straightened his shirt and walked away.
After he was gone, I went to my desk and placed the divorce papers I’d had drawn up weeks ago on the polished surface.
Michael, you got your wish.
I walked out the front door, climbed into the black Maybach that was waiting for me at the curb, and never looked back.
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