THE LIE THAT WORE A RING - Chapter 1: Chapter 1
You are reading THE LIE THAT WORE A RING, Chapter 1: Chapter 1. Read more chapters of THE LIE THAT WORE A RING.
The hotel suite smelled of French perfume and secrets. Ivory sheets were tangled at the foot of the bed, and golden morning light spilled through the silk curtains. Alina’s phone buzzed on the marble nightstand—his name lighting up the screen like a curse she couldn’t shake.
“Can’t see you this weekend. Wife’s back.”
Alina stared at the message, her lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile. Her body was still warm from last night, but her heart was already cold. She had stopped pretending it hurt. The sting of being the “other woman” had dulled into something more manageable—like a paper cut that never quite healed.
She rose from the bed and slipped into her silk robe, the pale lavender fabric hugging her like a second skin. Her reflection in the gilded mirror showed a beautiful woman—full lips, dark eyes, and skin like polished bronze. But behind the glamour, there was an ache. Not for the man she slept with, but for the life he only ever gave her glimpses of.
Alina had learned early that love was not currency. Beauty was.
She’d grown up in a crumbling apartment with leaky ceilings and a mother who cried herself to sleep. Her father had disappeared when she was ten, leaving nothing but cigarette burns on furniture and memories that smelled of whiskey. Alina swore she would never live like that.
At twenty-five, she was living in designer dresses and taking trips to Milan and Dubai. Her bills were paid in diamonds, her time bought in whispers and lies. But there was always a limit, a boundary never crossed—wives, children, public shame. She was never introduced. Never loved.
That morning, after reading the message, she ordered black coffee and strawberries to the room. A silent breakfast. No phone calls, no one to talk to. Just her and the echo of last night’s moans bouncing off the walls.
She opened her laptop and stared at the empty inbox. No real job, no real plans. Just pending transactions and unread messages from people who either wanted to be her or use her.
She clicked on an old folder marked “Maybe Someday.” Inside were dozens of photos—mansions, luxury cars, family portraits of strangers in white summer dresses. Weddings she’d never attended. Smiles she’d never worn.
That’s when she remembered the charity gala that weekend. Her current lover was attending with his wife, but he had offered her a ticket through a “friend.” It would be dangerous. But she needed a reason to get out of bed.
Alina never believed in fate. But something in her gut—something quiet and low like thunder in the distance—told her that night would change everything.
She dressed slowly. A black fitted dress with a high slit and plunging neckline. Classy enough for the elite, sinful enough to remind them she didn’t belong—but still owned every room she entered.
As she checked her reflection one last time, she whispered to herself, “You’re not here to beg for love. You’re here to take what they never gave you.”
The elevator ride down was smooth and silent. Outside, a black car waited for her. The driver didn’t speak, just nodded.
As the city lights blurred past the window, Alina looked out at the glittering skyline. Somewhere out there, people were falling in love. Others were falling apart.
She wasn’t sure which side of the line she was on anymore.
But soon, she wouldn’t just be someone's secret.
She’d be their storm.
“Can’t see you this weekend. Wife’s back.”
Alina stared at the message, her lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile. Her body was still warm from last night, but her heart was already cold. She had stopped pretending it hurt. The sting of being the “other woman” had dulled into something more manageable—like a paper cut that never quite healed.
She rose from the bed and slipped into her silk robe, the pale lavender fabric hugging her like a second skin. Her reflection in the gilded mirror showed a beautiful woman—full lips, dark eyes, and skin like polished bronze. But behind the glamour, there was an ache. Not for the man she slept with, but for the life he only ever gave her glimpses of.
Alina had learned early that love was not currency. Beauty was.
She’d grown up in a crumbling apartment with leaky ceilings and a mother who cried herself to sleep. Her father had disappeared when she was ten, leaving nothing but cigarette burns on furniture and memories that smelled of whiskey. Alina swore she would never live like that.
At twenty-five, she was living in designer dresses and taking trips to Milan and Dubai. Her bills were paid in diamonds, her time bought in whispers and lies. But there was always a limit, a boundary never crossed—wives, children, public shame. She was never introduced. Never loved.
That morning, after reading the message, she ordered black coffee and strawberries to the room. A silent breakfast. No phone calls, no one to talk to. Just her and the echo of last night’s moans bouncing off the walls.
She opened her laptop and stared at the empty inbox. No real job, no real plans. Just pending transactions and unread messages from people who either wanted to be her or use her.
She clicked on an old folder marked “Maybe Someday.” Inside were dozens of photos—mansions, luxury cars, family portraits of strangers in white summer dresses. Weddings she’d never attended. Smiles she’d never worn.
That’s when she remembered the charity gala that weekend. Her current lover was attending with his wife, but he had offered her a ticket through a “friend.” It would be dangerous. But she needed a reason to get out of bed.
Alina never believed in fate. But something in her gut—something quiet and low like thunder in the distance—told her that night would change everything.
She dressed slowly. A black fitted dress with a high slit and plunging neckline. Classy enough for the elite, sinful enough to remind them she didn’t belong—but still owned every room she entered.
As she checked her reflection one last time, she whispered to herself, “You’re not here to beg for love. You’re here to take what they never gave you.”
The elevator ride down was smooth and silent. Outside, a black car waited for her. The driver didn’t speak, just nodded.
As the city lights blurred past the window, Alina looked out at the glittering skyline. Somewhere out there, people were falling in love. Others were falling apart.
She wasn’t sure which side of the line she was on anymore.
But soon, she wouldn’t just be someone's secret.
She’d be their storm.
End of THE LIE THAT WORE A RING Chapter 1. Continue reading Chapter 2 or return to THE LIE THAT WORE A RING book page.