Aliza's POV:

Dax's evasive answer hung in the air, a suffocating blanket woven from his indifference and my desperation. He didn' t deny the accusations, didn' t defend me. He never did. He just sat there, impassive, as if the pain tearing through me was an inconvenience, a minor bug in our carefully choreographed charade. The words "you knew what this marriage was" echoed in my head, each syllable a hammer blow against my fragile hope. My breath caught in my throat, a suffocating tightness.

"Do you even care, Dax?" I managed to whisper, my voice raw with anguish. My gaze, filled with unshed tears, pleaded with him. "About any of this? About losing our baby? About me?"

He finally looked at me, his eyes devoid of warmth, like chips of ice. "Of course, I care, Aliza," he said, his tone flat, a practiced response. "It's… unfortunate. But life moves on. We will try again. We have a legacy to continue." His gaze held no comfort, only a chilling pragmatism.

My heart felt like a hollowed-out shell, utterly devoid of feeling. Unfortunate. Legacy. Those were his words for the life that had flickered and died inside me. The stark contrast between his words and the deep, aching void in my soul was a chasm I couldn't bridge. I closed my eyes, a tear finally escaping, tracing a cold path down my cheek. The emptiness was absolute, crushing.

A sudden, insistent ring from the doorbell shattered the oppressive silence. Mrs. Evans, Dax' s assistant, bustled in, followed by a procession of interior designers, nannies-to-be, and child psychologists. They carried swatches, blueprints, and educational toys. My mother-in-law, Mrs. West Senior, swept in like a storm, her diamond-encrusted hand gesturing grandly.

"Dax, darling! Aliza, my dear!" she boomed, her voice echoing through the mansion. "We must finalize the nursery plans! Time is of the essence. And these experts are here to ensure our future grandchild has the very best of everything!"

Dax's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. A flicker of annoyance crossed his face, quickly masked. He clearly hated his mother's intrusions, but he wouldn't dare challenge her. Not openly. He merely nodded, a strained smile on his lips.

"I need some air," he muttered, standing abruptly. He walked past me without a glance, heading for his study, leaving me adrift in the sudden chaos. Mrs. West Senior, noticing my pale face, rushed to my side. "Aliza, dear, are you alright? You look a bit peaked. This is all very exciting, isn't it?" She patted my hand, her concern genuine, but her bustling energy only made my head ache more. I managed a weak smile, nodding mutely, feeling like a doll, posed and silent.

Later that evening, after the flurry of activity had died down, I found myself wandering towards the study. I needed to escape the suffocating silence of my own thoughts, the empty nursery, the hollow promises. As I passed Dax' s study, I heard voices. His, low and intense. And his mother' s, sharp and accusatory. Curiosity, again, a dangerous siren, pulled me closer. I paused, just outside the closed door.

"You dare, Dax?" Mrs. West Senior's voice was a furious hiss. "After all these years? Frida Brennan again? The tabloids are having a field day! Are you trying to destroy everything I've built?"

Dax' s voice was equally cold, cutting. "Everything you've built? Mother, don' t play the innocent. You were the one who orchestrated all of this. You tore us apart. You lied, you manipulated, all to ensure I married into a 'suitable' family. Well, congratulations. You got your suitable family. Now leave Frida out of it."

My blood ran cold. Lies? Manipulated? What was he talking about? A knot of dread tightened in my stomach.

"Frida Brennan is a leech, Dax!" his mother snarled. "She always was! And I will not have her dragging our family name through the mud again. Not when Aliza is finally providing the heir we need."

"You won't touch her, Mother," Dax growled, his voice laced with a raw protectiveness I had never heard before. "This is my life. And Aliza..." He trailed off, his voice softening, then hardening again. "Aliza is my wife, yes. But Frida... Frida is the past you stole from me. Don't you dare hurt her again."

The words hit me with the force of a tidal wave, dragging me under. The past you stole from me. He still loved her. Not just loved her, but saw her as the great lost love, a victim of his mother's machinations. And me? I was just the "suitable" wife, the bearer of an heir.

My wedding day flashed before my eyes: the vows, the grand reception, the polite smiles. I remembered holding his hand, a foolish hope blossoming in my chest, believing that in time, I could win his heart, mend the wounds of his past. The irony was a bitter, burning taste. He had been mourning his lost love to Frida all along, while I, his wife, stood beside him, a convenient facade.

All of it. The marriage, the promises, even the pinky swear – it was all a lie. A grand, elaborate lie orchestrated by his mother, and perpetuated by his own blind devotion to a phantom love. My love, my hope, my entire future with him, evaporated into thin air. I was just a pawn in a game I hadn't even known I was playing. And I had lost. Completely.

I stumbled back, my legs suddenly weak, the silence of the hallway a stark contrast to the storm raging within me. I needed to get out. I needed to breathe. I turned and fled, not caring if anyone heard me.

The next morning, the world seemed to have drained of all color. I went to the biotech campus, my movements stiff, robotic. Dr. Aris greeted me, her expression serious. "Aliza, we need to talk. The board received some... directives from West Enterprises. They're insisting on a 'collaborative' approach to Project Chimera. Meaning, they're bringing in outside talent." She paused, her eyes softening. "And you, as the lead research assistant, will be working directly with them."

My blood ran cold. "Them?" I whispered, though I already knew.

Just then, the lab door swung open, and Frida Brennan sashayed in, a gleaming, untouched microscope positioned beside her, clearly a prop. She wore a pristine white lab coat, her hair perfectly coiffed, a dazzling smile for the cameras that, unfathomably, were still trailing her. "Aliza, darling! Ready to revolutionize the world of biotech with your new partner?" she chirped, extending a perfectly manicured hand.

Her partner. My stomach churned. Dax hadn't just inserted her into my project, he had made her my direct supervisor, my shadow. My gaze met Frida's. Her eyes held a triumphant glint, a silent declaration of war.

I ignored her outstretched hand, my voice level. "Dr. Aris, what are my duties for the day?"

Dr. Aris, clearly uncomfortable, cleared her throat. "Well, Frida is here to 'observe' and 'contribute creative ideas' to the project. You'll be guiding her through the initial phases of cell culture and genetic sequencing."

"Right." I turned to Frida, my face a mask of professional detachment. "Frida, we'll start with basic sterilization protocols. It's crucial for maintaining aseptic conditions." I handed her a pair of gloves, then pointed to a complex diagram on the whiteboard. "This is the schematic for the bioreactor. Please familiarize yourself with it." I dumped a stack of dense scientific papers onto her pristine workstation. "And these are foundational texts. You'll need to review them."

Frida's radiant smile faltered. Her eyes, which had sparkled with manufactured enthusiasm, now narrowed. She looked at the papers, then at the intricate diagram, a flicker of genuine confusion crossing her face. "Oh, darling, isn't that a bit... much? I'm more of a 'big picture' person." She winked at the camera.

I ignored her, moving to the next workstation. "Let's begin with preparing the culture media." I demonstrated the precise measurements, the delicate handling of chemical reagents. Frida, clearly bored, tapped her fingers on the counter, then picked up a beaker, swirling it carelessly.

"Like this, Aliza?" she asked, her voice too loud, too close to a sensitive piece of equipment. She didn't wait for my answer, leaning in, her elbow knocking against a rack of delicate vials.

The vials clattered. A beaker of highly concentrated acid, used for pH adjustment, tipped precariously. "Frida, watch out!" I shouted, instinctively reaching for it. But it was too late. The beaker crashed to the floor, instantly corroding the tile. A loud shriek ripped through the air.

Frida stumbled back, clutching her arm. A small splash of the acid had landed on her sleeve, burning through the fabric and grazing her skin. She collapsed dramatically, screaming. "My arm! My beautiful arm! Aliza, you pushed me! You sabotaged me!"

The camera crew, ever present, rushed forward, capturing every angle of Frida's theatrical distress. Dr. Aris rushed over, her face pale with horror. The lab was in chaos.

Then, the doors burst open. Dax. He strode in, his eyes immediately locking onto Frida, who was now sobbing hysterically, cradling her arm. He didn't even glance at me, standing amidst the shattered glass and the corrosive fumes. He rushed to Frida, his face a mask of raw anguish.

"Frida! My God, what happened?" he exclaimed, his voice filled with a desperate concern that was so utterly foreign to me. He knelt beside her, gently examining her arm.

"Dax! She... she pushed me! She tried to hurt me! She's jealous!" Frida cried, burying her face in his chest, her voice muffled but theatrical enough for the hovering cameras.

Dax' s head snapped up. His eyes, fixed on me, were cold, hard, filled with a primal rage I had never witnessed. "Aliza," he snarled, his voice barely audible, yet vibrating with fury. "What have you done?"

My chest tightened. The injustice, the blatant favoritism, the utter disregard for my well-being, even as I was still reeling from my own loss – it was too much. I stood there, amidst the wreckage of the lab, and the wreckage of my life, utterly numb. The pain in my abdomen, a dull throb since the miscarriage, flared with a sudden, sharp intensity. I took a step back, my vision blurring again. He blamed me. Of course, he blamed me. For everything. For nothing. The realization was a bitter pill, a final, crushing blow.

Aliza's POV:

Dax's eyes, usually a cold, calculating grey, were now blazing with an inferno of rage directed solely at me. "What have you done?" His voice was a low snarl, each word a lash across my face. He didn't wait for an answer, didn't even consider it. He simply knew I was guilty.

My stomach churned, a wave of nausea washing over me, but it was the searing pain in my heart that truly buckled my knees. My nose burned, a familiar prelude to tears I refused to shed. Not here. Not now. I straightened my shoulders, clamping down on the raw emotion.

"Done?" I echoed, my voice surprisingly steady, though it felt like I was speaking through a sheet of ice. "I was trying to prevent a major accident, Dax. Your 'celebrity ambassador' carelessly knocked over a beaker of concentrated acid. I reached for it. She shrieked, stumbled, and then conveniently 'accused' me." My gaze flicked to Frida, who was still clinging to Dax, her sobs conveniently subsiding into whimpers. The camera crew was still filming, capturing every moment of her manufactured distress.

Dax ignored my explanation. He pulled Frida closer, his protective instincts on full display. "Frida has a delicate constitution, Aliza. She's not accustomed to the hazards of a lab." His voice was low, menacing. "And you, a trained biochemist, should have known better than to put her in harm's way."

"Put her in harm's way?" I scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "She's the one who created the hazard! She's a danger to herself and this entire project!"

"Enough!" Dax thundered, his voice echoing through the stunned lab. Dr. Aris stood by, wringing her hands, clearly terrified to intervene. "I will not tolerate this, Aliza. My company invests heavily in this research. Frida's safety is paramount. You will withdraw from Project Chimera immediately."

My jaw dropped. "Withdraw? Are you serious? This is my career, Dax! My life's work! You can't just-"

"I can," he cut me off, his eyes narrowing to slits. "And I will. Unless you want me to remind you of your family's dwindling finances? Your father's past indiscretion that nearly ruined his career? I assure you, Aliza, I have far more leverage than you can imagine."

The cruel words, laced with cold malice, were a direct hit. He didn't just want me out of the lab; he wanted to destroy me. He weaponized my vulnerabilities, turning them into instruments of control. It was a low blow, utterly devastating. My blood ran cold, fear mixing with a chilling realization. This man, my husband, was capable of such calculated cruelty.

I looked into his eyes, searching for any flicker of the man I thought I knew. But there was nothing. Only a deep, unsettling disgust. He hated me. The truth, stark and undeniable, hit me with brutal force. My heart, already a fragile thing, splintered into a million pieces.

I turned and walked away, the shattered glass crunching under my heels, the acrid smell of acid burning my nostrils. I didn't say another word. There was nothing left to say.

Dax watched me leave, then turned his full attention back to Frida. He scooped her into his arms, carrying her through the lab like a priceless artifact. "Don't worry, my love," he murmured, his voice soft, coaxing. "I won't let anyone hurt you."

Frida, sniffling delicately, buried her face in his shoulder. "Oh, Dax," she whimpered, "I was so scared. She looked so... angry. Like she wanted to push me." She peeked up at him, her eyes wide and tear-filled. "It's not fair. I was just trying to help, to make you proud."

He stroked her hair, his gaze unwavering. "I know, Frida. I know. You're brave. You're always trying to help." He carried her out of the lab, past the hushed Dr. Aris and the still-filming camera crew.

Later, in her private hospital room, Frida lay dramatically against a pristine white pillow. Dax sat by her bedside, holding her hand. "Are you comfortable, my love?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Frida sniffled, pulling her hand away. "How can I be, Dax? After what she did? After everything you promised me?" Her voice was low, trembling.

Dax' s jaw clenched. "I told you, I'll handle Aliza. She won't bother you again. And as for my promises…" He paused, his gaze distant. "My promises are etched in stone, Frida. Always." He squeezed her hand, his eyes filled with a familiar, misplaced loyalty. "I'll never forget what happened that day. I'll always protect you."

Frida's eyes, downcast for a moment, flickered with a brief, calculating gleam. "I just... I'm so tired of being the villain, Dax. The one who broke up your perfect life. Maybe I should just disappear. Go back to where I belong." She sighed dramatically.

"Don't be ridiculous," Dax said, his voice firm. "You belong here. With me. We'll make sure everyone understands the truth. You don't have to do anything."

Frida smiled, a tiny, almost imperceptible curl of her lips. "Thank you, Dax. You're the only one who truly understands." She laid her head back, a smug satisfaction in her eyes. He's mine, she thought. Always has been.

Meanwhile, I stumbled back to my empty mansion, the silence echoing my inner turmoil. My phone buzzed. It was a text from one of my few remaining colleagues at the lab, a kind research assistant named Beth. Heard what happened. So sorry, Aliza. We know it wasn't your fault. A small, fragile warmth bloomed in my chest. Not everyone was blind.

The warmth was short-lived. An hour later, Dr. Aris called. Her voice was strained, apologetic. "Aliza, I'm so sorry to tell you this, but... West Enterprises has pulled all funding for Project Chimera until you are permanently removed from the team. They' re threatening to pull out entirely if we don' t comply." She paused, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. "I argued, Aliza, I truly did. But the board... they sided with the investors. You're off the project. For good."

The phone slipped from my numb fingers. For good. It was over. My career, my last shred of self-worth, systematically dismantled by the man who was supposed to be my husband. The cold, hard truth settled deep in my bones. Dax hadn't just sabotaged me; he had extinguished every spark of hope, every dream I had dared to nurture.

A bitter, hysterical laugh bubbled up from my throat. "For good," I whispered, the words echoing in the vast, empty house. He wanted me broken, dependent, a voiceless shadow in his gilded cage.

My phone rang again. It was Dax. I stared at the caller ID, then slowly answered. "What do you want?" My voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

"Aliza," his voice was surprisingly calm, almost persuasive. "I've made arrangements. There's a charity gala tonight. Elegant. High-profile. You need to be there. It's crucial for our image, especially after the latest... incident."

"Incident?" I choked out, a fresh wave of sick fury washing over me. "You mean after you deliberately destroyed my career and humiliated me publicly?"

"Exactly," he said, ignoring my sarcasm. "We need to show a united front. The West family is above such petty squabbles. And besides"-his voice hardened-"it's for the baby, Aliza. Everything we do now is for the baby. For our future."

The irony was not lost on me. He had just ensured I could no longer provide for myself, and now he was dangling the "baby" as a leash. He was doing to me what his mother had done to him, tying me to him with the promise of a future I no longer wanted, a future with him. I was trapped.

"Fine," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I'll be there."

I hung up, a hollow laugh escaping my lips. A puppet. That's what I was. A puppet in his grand design, dancing to his tune, while he pulled the strings of my shattered dreams. The gala. Another performance. Another lie.

That evening, I stood beside Dax at the glittering gala, a radiant smile plastered on my face. My hand, once again, rested lightly on my stomach as if to protect a precious secret. He was charming, attentive, a perfect husband. We posed for cameras, his arm possessively around my waist, his smile dazzling.

A reporter, brave enough to approach, asked, "Mr. West, your marriage seems stronger than ever despite recent rumors. What's your secret?"

Dax squeezed my hand, a silent warning. "My wife and I are a team," he declared, his voice smooth and confident. "We face everything together. Our bond is unbreakable."

My smile, though still in place, felt like a rictus of pain. Unbreakable? The word was a cruel mockery. Breaking me was precisely what he was doing. I looked at him, then at the assembled reporters, and a cold, defiant thought took root in my mind. He could break my heart, my career, even my spirit for a time. But he would never break my will. Not entirely.

"Indeed," I said, my voice clear and steady, cutting through Dax's polished statement. I pulled my hand, gently but firmly, from his grasp. "Our bond," I continued, meeting the reporter's gaze directly, "is a testament to... resilience. And the ability to adapt. To change, when necessary." I offered a small, enigmatic smile to the cameras, then turned, walking away from the blinding flashes, leaving Dax standing alone on the red carpet, a flicker of surprise and unread emotion in his eyes.

Aliza's POV:

A shocked silence fell over the red carpet as I walked away, leaving Dax standing alone. I felt his gaze on my back, a prickling sensation that made my skin crawl. He probably thought I had lost my mind, that I was having a public meltdown. He would attempt to smooth things over, spin a narrative, but for once, I didn't care. The performance was over.

I hailed a taxi, escaping the suffocating glamour of the gala and the suffocating presence of my husband. I didn't go home. Not to his home. I went to my parents' small, cozy house, a place that, despite its own quiet tensions, felt like a sanctuary compared to the gilded cage of the West mansion.

My mother met me at the door, her eyes immediately sensing my distress. "Aliza, darling, what's wrong?" she asked, pulling me into a hug. My father, emerging from his study, looked at me with concern.

"It's Dax," I choked out, the dam finally breaking. Tears streamed down my face. "He's... he's gone too far. He's still obsessed with Frida. He put her on my project, then blamed me for her 'accident,' and then fired me from my dream job! He uses her trauma as an excuse for everything." The words tumbled out, raw and painful. "He even used our baby, my baby, as a bargaining chip for public image."

My parents listened, their faces hardening with every word. My mother stroked my hair. "That man," she murmured, "he's never been good enough for you, Aliza." My father, usually reserved, pounded his fist lightly on the table. "He can't treat you like this! West Enterprises might be powerful, but they can't simply walk all over you!"

"He's still in love with her, Mom," I whispered, the confession tearing through me. "He always has been. He sees me as a convenient distraction, a tool for his family's legacy. He doesn't even know me."

My mother sighed, a deep, weary sound. She held my hand tightly. "Oh, Aliza. That poor boy. Carrying such a heavy burden, living in his mother's shadow." She shook her head. "But you... you deserve more than half a heart, my dear. You deserve complete love."

"But what about the baby, Aliza?" my father asked, his voice softening. "You're carrying his child. That changes everything. You can't just throw away your marriage." He looked at my stomach, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "A child can heal so many wounds." My mother nodded in agreement, wrapping her arm around my shoulders. The weight of their expectations, their hopes for a grandchild, pressed down on me.

Just then, a car pulled up outside. I looked out the window. It was Dax's black sedan. He had followed me. My heart sank.

My mother gave me a stern look. "Aliza, you need to talk to him. Face him. Don't let him walk all over you." She moved to open the door.

Dax stood on our porch, looking surprisingly disheveled for him, though still impeccably dressed. My mother, ever the gracious hostess, offered him a tight, polite smile. "Mr. West," she said, her voice cool. "What a surprise."

Dax offered a practiced smile back. "Mrs. Hayes. Aliza and I had a slight disagreement. I apologize for the abrupt departure." He glanced past her, his eyes searching for me.

My father stepped forward, his expression grim. "Dax, you need to understand, you cannot treat our daughter this way. She's not some toy to be discarded when it suits you. She has a heart. And a brilliant mind."

Dax's smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of annoyance. "With all due respect, sir, this is a private matter between my wife and me. May I speak with her?"

My mother, sensing the tension, gave me a look. "Go on, Aliza," she urged softly. "Face him." She led my father away, leaving Dax and me alone in the living room.

He walked over to me, his shoulders slumped, a rare vulnerability in his posture. "Aliza," he said, his voice quiet, almost contrite. "I'm sorry. About the gala. About pushing you too hard. I know you've been through a lot." He looked at me, a strange uncertainty in his eyes. "I just... I don't want us to fall apart. Not now. Not with the baby." He reached out, his hand hovering near my arm. "Let's take a trip. Away from all this. Just us. A second honeymoon, of sorts. To reconnect."

A trip. An escape. The idea was tempting, a brief reprieve from the suffocating reality of our marriage. Maybe, just maybe, if we were away from the pressures, away from Frida's shadow, we could find a way back. A foolish hope, I knew, but a desperate one. "Okay," I whispered, surprising even myself. "Okay, Dax. A trip."

We flew to a secluded resort island, a place of pristine beaches and lush, tropical forests. For a few days, it almost felt real. He was attentive, almost kind. We walked on the beach, our hands sometimes brushing, a tentative connection forming in the salty air. We shared quiet dinners, talking about inconsequential things, avoiding the elephant in the room.

One evening, after a particularly pleasant dinner, we returned to our villa. The moonlight streamed through the open balcony doors, casting a soft glow on the bed. He pulled me close, his touch surprisingly gentle. His lips found mine, hesitant at first, then more urgent. I responded, a flicker of the old longing stirring within me. For a moment, just a moment, I allowed myself to forget the pain, the betrayal, the lies. I closed my eyes, letting myself be swept away by the intoxicating promise of his touch. When it was over, he held me close, his breath soft against my hair.

"That was... nice," he murmured, a rare contentment in his voice. He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling, his hand still resting on my hip. For a fleeting second, I thought, maybe. Maybe there was a chance.

The next morning, we were having breakfast by the pool when I saw her. Frida. She emerged from the main lobby, looking radiant in a wide-brimmed hat and oversized sunglasses, flanked by a small entourage. Her eyes, even behind the dark lenses, seemed to lock onto Dax. A pang of dread shot through me.

Dax saw her too. His body stiffened. His fork clattered against his plate. "Frida," he breathed, a mixture of shock and concern in his voice.

Frida gave a small, sad smile, a picture of fragile vulnerability, and walked past our table, her gaze lingering on Dax for a moment, then dropping. She didn't acknowledge me. She just walked away, her shoulders slumped, a silent plea for his attention.

Dax started to rise. "What is she doing here?" he muttered, a worried frown creasing his brow.

"Dax, no," I pleaded, my hand gripping his arm. "Don't. Not again."

He hesitated, his gaze torn between me and the retreating figure of Frida. For a heart-stopping moment, I thought he might choose me. He sat back down, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "You're right," he said, though his eyes still followed her. "You're right."

Just then, his phone buzzed. It was Mrs. Evans. He answered, his voice low. I couldn't hear the words, but I saw his face change. A resigned sigh. He hung up.

"Frida's agent found out she was here alone," Dax explained, his voice flat. "They're worried about her mental state after the accident. They sent her here for 'rest and recuperation.' Apparently, she specifically requested this resort, thinking it would be quiet and private." He didn't meet my eyes. He didn't have to. The implication was clear. Frida was here because she knew he was here.

My heart plummeted. It wasn't a coincidence. It was another calculated move, another disruption. My brief reprieve, our "second honeymoon," was shattered. He had chosen me, for a moment, but fate, or rather, Frida, had intervened.

"I need to go," I said, my voice cold, devoid of emotion. I stood up. "I can't do this anymore, Dax."

He looked at me, a flicker of alarm in his eyes. "Aliza, where are you going? Don't be ridiculous. We just had a moment. We were finally-"

"There is no 'us,' Dax," I cut him off, my voice sharp. "There's only you, and her, and the ghost of your past. I can't live like this." I walked away, not looking back, the tropical sun suddenly feeling cold and unforgiving.

I found a quiet spot on the beach, under a swaying palm tree, trying to breathe. Just as I thought I could compose myself, a shadow fell over me. I looked up. Frida. She stood there, sans sunglasses, her eyes red-rimmed, a picture of wronged innocence.

"Aliza," she began, her voice quivering. "I know you hate me. I know you think I'm trying to steal Dax. But you don't understand. Dax and I... we have a connection. A bond forged in trauma. He saved me, Aliza. He promised me."

My blood ran cold. "He promised you what, Frida?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. The childhood memory, the boy who had comforted me, had made me a promise, flashed in my mind. The one I had always attributed to Dax.

"He promised to always protect me," Frida whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "After the accident, he was there. He saved me from those dreadful men. He swore he'd never let anything bad happen to me again." She looked at me, her gaze challenging. "You can't compete with that, Aliza. He'll always come back to me."

My mind reeled. Dax saved her? No. It was me. That day, in the abandoned warehouse… the boy with the kind eyes, the gentle touch, the whispered promise… That was me. My memory was clear. He had seen me, a terrified little girl, hiding from men with harsh voices, had shielded me, said he'd always protect me. I had always believed it was Dax. A decade of misguided love, built on a foundation of a lie.

"You're lying," I whispered, the words catching in my throat.

Frida' s smile was triumphant, twisted. "Am I? Ask him, Aliza. Ask him who he truly saved that day. Ask him who he made his promise to." She leaned closer, her voice a venomous hiss. "Go ahead. Ask him. He'll choose me. He always does."

A sudden, sharp pain lanced through my abdomen, worse than anything before. My vision blurred. I clutched my stomach, a gasp escaping my lips. Was it the stress? The shock? The absolute, gut-wrenching betrayal? The world spun.

I felt a surge of cold fury, pure and unadulterated. This woman, this manipulative, calculating actress, had built her entire future on a lie, had stolen my past, and in doing so, had destroyed my present. And Dax, blinded by his own misremembered trauma, had let her. He had believed her. He had chosen her, again and again, over me.

"You won't get away with this, Frida," I spat, my voice shaking. "I'm going to tell him the truth. I'm going to expose you."

Frida merely laughed, a cold, brittle sound. "Go ahead, darling. Tell him. He won't believe you. He never believes you." She turned, walking away, leaving me crumpled on the sand, the pain in my body intensifying, the world spinning out of control.

I managed to drag myself back to the villa, the pain now a constant, agonizing throb. Dax was gone. Of course. Just his note on the bedside table: Gone to check on Frida. Be back soon.

My phone rang. It was my lawyer. "Mrs. West," he began, his voice grim. "We have a problem. Frida Brennan has just filed a restraining order against you, claiming you assaulted her in the lab, causing her injury, and now harassed her at the resort." He paused. "And she's claiming you're deliberately trying to disrupt her career and her personal life. She's alleging emotional distress, and she's using the 'miscarriage' as proof of your instability."

I dropped the phone. The room swam. My head pounded. Everything was crashing down. Dax, Frida, the baby, my job, my reputation, my very sanity. It was all gone. All because of a lie, a misremembered past, and a man who refused to see the truth.

Suddenly, the world went black. I felt a sharp, indescribable pain, a tearing sensation, and then, nothing. I collapsed onto the cold tile floor, the phone still clutched in my hand, my last conscious thought a desperate, silent plea for it all to end.