CHAPTER 40

The air in the house felt dense and suffocating. Alexander paced back and forth in their spacious living room, the weight of the files in his hands growing heavier with every step. He had spent the last few hours poring over the details, the pictures, the screenshots of texts Isabella had sent. There it was, the truth about Angelina. The truth that, for all these years, he had turned a blind eye to, choosing instead to create a perfect image of his life—an image that now threatened to unravel.

It was a slow burn inside him, the frustration, the anger. He had never imagined that the woman he married—his picture-perfect wife—was hiding a dark past that, if known, could destroy everything. And now, he had the proof. The fire she set, the death of her parents, the changed name. All of it.

But the real kicker? The fact that she had lied to him for so long, knowing what he stood to lose. His legacy. His image. His future. It was all a carefully constructed lie, built on deceit.

He stormed into the study where Angelina was sitting at her desk, casually flipping through some documents, seemingly unaware of the storm that was about to hit. Her calmness only fueled his rage.

"Angelina," he began, his voice low and dangerous.

She didn't look up, but she could feel the change in his tone. The air grew still, heavy with the tension of a man about to explode. "What is it, Alexander?" she asked, her voice unnervingly steady.

He slammed the files down onto the desk in front of her, and she jumped, the sound of the paper against wood echoing in the quiet room. She looked at him, her eyes flickering down to the files, then back up at him with a flicker of guilt, but she remained silent.

"I've got everything right here," he snapped, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. "Everything, Angelina. Your past, your lies, your deception. You thought you could keep this from me, from everyone, but I've got the proof."

Angelina's face shifted ever so slightly, but she kept her composure. She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest as if trying to shield herself from what was coming.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, her voice tight.

"Oh, don't play dumb," he snapped, his voice rising now. "I know everything. The fire. The name change. The lies. The way you manipulated your entire past just to fit into my perfect little world. You knew exactly what you were doing, didn't you?"

Angelina took a deep breath, her gaze shifting to the papers on the desk, as if debating whether or not to say anything. But Alexander wasn't giving her that luxury anymore. He was past pretending to be naive, past giving her chances.

"Did you think you could hide this from me forever? Did you think I wouldn't find out?" he spat, his chest heaving with frustration. "I've been a fool, and you've been playing me the whole time."

For a long moment, there was only silence, a deafening silence that felt like it was stretching across years of lies. Then Angelina sighed, her eyes falling to the desk in defeat.

"Okay," she said softly, almost a whisper. "You've got me. Yes, it's true."

Alexander's heart clenched as he took a step forward, his voice rising in anger once more. "Why, Angelina? Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you trust me enough to be honest with me from the beginning?"

Angelina's eyes locked with his, and for the first time in this conversation, she didn't seem scared or apologetic. Instead, she looked almost resolute.

"I did it for you, Alexander," she said, her voice steady, despite the gravity of her confession. "I knew that if you knew about my past, you wouldn't want me. You wouldn't have married me. You wouldn't have been able to build the perfect life you wanted. And I knew how important that was to you—your legacy, your image. You couldn't afford to have a wife with baggage."

The words hit him like a slap, and for a moment, all he could do was stand there, stunned by the raw truth.

"You think I married you because of my image?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. The disbelief in his tone was palpable. "You think I care about that more than I care about who you are as a person?"

Angelina gave a small, bitter laugh. "Please. That's all you care about, Alexander. Your career, your reputation. You didn't marry me for love, and we both know that."

Alexander's chest tightened, and the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Everything—everything he had believed about their marriage, their relationship—had been a lie.

"No," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're wrong. I married you because I thought you were the one. The one who could give me what I needed. A perfect family. A perfect wife. A woman with dignity, with purity. Someone I could respect."

Angelina's face twisted into something between a sneer and a smirk. "You wanted a trophy wife. That's all I ever was to you. Someone who looked good on your arm, someone who could fit into your little world."

A pang of guilt stabbed at him, but he refused to let it consume him. He couldn't let her turn this back on him.

"You lied to me," he said, his voice shaking with fury. "I thought you were the one person in my life who would never betray me. And now I find out that everything about you was a lie. Your past, your name, your—"

"You weren't perfect either, Alexander," she interrupted, her voice rising now. "You think I didn't know about your secrets? About the women you've been with? The ones you forced to get abortions?"

His blood ran cold at her words. He felt like the ground had been ripped out from under him. She knew. She knew everything.

"You're a liar, too," Angelina continued, her voice now tinged with bitterness. "You think you can call me out for lying? You think you're any better? You've been lying to me for years, pretending to be a perfect husband and father when you were anything but."

Her words hung in the air between them, and for a moment, he was paralyzed by the weight of them. She was right. He had lied. He had cheated. He had done everything he could to protect his own image while pretending to be the perfect family man. But hearing her throw it back at him, hearing the truth in her accusations, made him sick to his stomach.

"I'm not the one who started a fire and killed my own parents," he shot back, his voice trembling with a mixture of disgust and anger. "I'm not the one who lied about everything to protect myself."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don't forget, Alexander, you wouldn't have had your perfect life without me. I gave you the perfect wife, the perfect image, the perfect family. And now you want to throw it all away just because you've been caught in a lie?"

"You know what?" Alexander said, his voice now laced with finality. "I can't do this anymore. I'm done. I'm filing for a divorce."

Angelina's eyes widened, and for the first time, she looked truly panicked. She jumped to her feet, her hands shaking with rage.

"You can't do this!" she screamed. "You'll regret this, Alexander! You can't walk away from me! Not after everything I've done for you!"

He shook his head, his jaw clenched. "I've had enough. You're not the woman I thought you were. You're not the woman I married."

Angelina's voice cracked as she shouted at him, her eyes wild with desperation. "You think you can walk away from me? You think you can just toss me aside after everything we've built? Do you know what I know about you, Alexander? I know everything—about your affairs, your lies, your secrets. If you leave me, I'll destroy you. I'll expose everything, every single thing you've done, and I'll make sure everyone knows the truth."

Alexander stood there for a moment, his chest rising and falling with every breath. He wanted to say something, to argue back, but all he could feel was the weight of his own shame pressing down on him.

With a final, resolute look at Angelina, he turned and walked toward the door.

"Goodbye, Angelina," he said quietly. "I'm done."

She screamed after him, her voice filled with fury. "You'll regret this, Alexander! You'll regret it! I'll ruin you! You won't be able to escape me!"

But he didn't care. Not anymore. He was done.

The door slammed behind him, and as he walked away, a part of him felt lighter, as if he had just taken the first step toward freedom. But another part of him—the part that had been deeply hurt by his own betrayal—felt empty.

In the end, he knew the truth. This was what betrayal felt like. This was how it felt to be fooled, to be lied to. And now, he had to face the consequences.

But he wasn't going to let it define him. Not anymore.