Beneath the Secret, Behind the Tears - Chapter 5

The night of the dinner arrived. The night of my departure. My mother, Eleanor, fussed over my dress, her smile painted on.

“You look beautiful, darling. So elegant.”

My father, Richard, stood by, looking proud. “Ready for our special night?”

They were actors giving the performance of their lives. I was the audience of one, and I knew the whole script.

We sat in the private room at The Oak Room. The air was thick with unspoken words. My mother placed a small bowl of soup in front of me. “The chef made his specialty just for you. A creamy mushroom bisque.”

I could smell it. The faint, almost undetectable almond scent of the benzodiazepine mixed in. They didn’t even try to be creative. They were arrogant.

“Thank you, Mother,” I said, picking up my spoon. I looked at her, then at my father. “It means so much that you’re all here. That we can finally put the past behind us.”

Their faces softened with relief. I was playing my part perfectly. I took a spoonful of the soup. Then another. I ate half the bowl, my stomach clenching with each swallow, not from the d**g, but from the betrayal.

After a few minutes, I pressed a hand to my forehead. “I’m feeling a little… dizzy. I think the shift at the hospital finally caught up with me.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Eleanor said, her concern a masterpiece of fiction. “Of course. You should rest.”

“Would you mind if I just… went to the powder room for a moment?” I asked, my voice intentionally weak.

“Go, go,” Richard urged. “We’ll be right here.”

I gave them one last look. My parents. The people who were supposed to love me unconditionally.

“Were you ever sorry?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it. “For what happened to me? For all the years I was gone?”

They stared at me, their smiles faltering. There was a flicker of something in their eyes-guilt, maybe-but it was quickly extinguished.

“Of course, we were, Aliana,” my father said, his voice a little too firm. “Every single day.”

A lie. Another one. I didn’t press. I just nodded. “I’m glad.”

I walked toward the back of the restaurant, my steps steady. Once inside the empty, opulent bathroom, I locked the door, knelt before the toilet, and forced myself to throw up, my body convulsing until the soup and the poison were gone. I rinsed my mouth, my face pale but my eyes clear in the mirror.

The dizziness was an act, but the nausea was real.

When I returned to the apartment I had once shared with Ivan, he was waiting. He was dressed for the party, Kiera’s party, his face glowing with anticipation. He held out a glass of champagne.

“A toast,” he said, smiling. “To us. To our future.”

I saw the fine powder lingering at the bottom of my glass. A second dose. They were making sure.

I played the part of the smitten fiancée one last time. “To us,” I echoed, my voice light and airy. I let him think I was dizzy from the dinner, leaning on him slightly.

“I have to go to the hospital for a bit,” he said, the lie rolling off his tongue with practiced ease. “An emergency consult. I’ll be back as late as I can.”

“Don’t worry about me,” I said. I took the glass of champagne and, looking him directly in the eye, drank it all down in one go. His smile widened. He thought he had won.

“I’ll see you later,” he said, giving me a quick k**s. He walked out the door without a second glance. He never looked back.

The moment he was gone, I ran to the bathroom and purged the champagne, my body shaking with the effort. When I was done, I felt strangely calm. Cleansed.

I changed into simple, dark clothing. I walked into the living room, where a single, elegantly wrapped gift box sat on the coffee table. I had prepared it that afternoon.

I called the butler from the Donovan estate, a man who had shown me small kindnesses over the years. “James,” I said. “I have a package that needs to be delivered to the party at 10 p.m. precisely. Not before, not after. Can you do that for me?”

“Of course, Dr. Donovan,” he said, his voice steady.

Inside the box was the flash drive, a small portable speaker, and a single, handwritten card.

My final stop was a quiet street overlooking the secret mansion. The party was in full swing. I could see them all through the windows-Ivan, Kiera, Leo, my parents-laughing, celebrating a life built on my pain. They looked so happy.

My phone buzzed. A message from Debi. “Wheels up in 30. You’re free.”

I looked at the scene one last time, a tableau of their perfect, fake happiness. I felt nothing. No anger, no sadness. Just a profound, empty peace.

I dropped my phone into a storm drain, the screen shattering on the concrete below. I had already canceled the number, wiped the data.

Aliana Donovan was gone. I turned my back on the glittering mansion and walked toward the airport, toward my new life, without looking back.