Faking My Death to Ruin His Fake Wedding

The year Preston cheated on me, he was diagnosed with leukemia. His mistress bolted. I stayed behind, silently donating my stem cells and cleaning up his filth.

The day he was discharged from the hospital, I slapped the divorce papers on his lap. He dropped to his knees right there in the ward.

He begged for another chance, swearing he would never betray me again. I caved. Months later, we were trying for a baby.

We checked into a boutique hotel for a romantic weekend, but I woke up in the middle of the night to cold sheets. I finally found him in the room next door.

He was wearing a hotel bathrobe, his arms wrapped tightly around Avery.

Preston calmly let her go. "I went down to grab our takeout." He smoothed the lapels of his robe. "I walked into the wrong room on my way back.

Nothing happened between me and Avery, so don't jump to conclusions." I didn't buy a word of it, demanding they hand over physical evidence for a DNA test.

The muscles in Preston's jaw feathered. He scooped me over his shoulder, carried me back to our suite, and tossed me onto the mattress.

He pinned me down, blocking every escape route, and took me three times in a row.

His breath was hot against my ear, his teeth scraping the shell of it. "Blair, you have to trust me.

All I want right now is to have a baby with you, to build our perfect little family.

Stop making things difficult for Avery." I swallowed the ash in my throat and gave him one last chance. Three months later, Preston accompanied me to my prenatal checkup.

That was the day the hospital caught fire. The alarms blared while the cold ultrasound gel was still on my stomach.

He bolted for the door, leaving me behind to rush into the exam room next door—where Avery was having her own checkup. "Avery's pregnant too!" he yelled over his shoulder. "She's fragile, I have to get her out first!" Panic erupted in the smokefilled hallway.

A surging crowd shoved me to the hard linoleum floor, boots and sneakers trampling over my limbs.

Through the haze, I saw Preston sprinting toward the exit with Avery tucked securely in his arms. He didn't even glance down.

His heavy leather shoe slammed directly into my lower abdomen. A sharp, tearing agony ripped through my pelvis. Warm blood pooled rapidly between my thighs, soaking into my clothes.

My baby was gone. And my marriage to Preston was dead. Chapter 1 By the time a Good Samaritan helped me to the hospital entrance, Preston was nowhere to be found.

My lower abdomen throbbed with a blinding agony. Warm, sticky blood soaked continuously through my clothes. Muscle memory had me dialing Preston's number for help.

Before I could even force a word through my chattering teeth, his voice came through the speaker. "Blair, why are you being so unreasonable?" A heavy sigh crackled over the line. "Just call an Uber and go home.

Do you really need to bother me right now? Avery is terrified.

I have to get her to a doctor." A second later, Avery's fragile voice filtered through the background. "Preston, don't worry about me. Go find Blair.

Just leave me here to fend for myself." "Be good, don't say things like that. I'm not going anywhere today. I'm staying right here with you." The line went dead.

He cared so much about a pregnant Avery that he didn't hesitate to abandon me inside a burning hospital. The math wasn't hard to do.

I couldn't help but suspect the child growing in Avery's belly belonged to my husband. But none of that mattered anymore. The man named Preston didn't even matter anymore.

I called an ambulance and was transferred to a different hospital across town. The medical team examined me and prepped me for an emergency D&C.

Just as the procedure was about to begin, the operating room doors crashed open. Preston stood in the doorway. "Dr.

Rosalind!" He pointed a finger at the attending physician. "Avery's complaining of stomach cramps.

You need to examine her right now!" Only then did his gaze drop to the surgical table. The color drained from his face, leaving behind a mottled, tightjawed mask.

He took a step forward. "You did this on purpose, didn't you, Blair?

You refused to go home just so you could follow us here and steal Avery's doctor?" A hollow laugh scraped its way up my throat. So this was the kind of person I was in his eyes.

He was the one who cheated. Avery was the one who packed her bags and vanished the second he got his leukemia diagnosis.

I was the idiot who stayed, donating my stem cells and nursing him back to health.

I even shuttered my own startup just to manage his care, burning myself out until there was nothing left but fumes. And this was my grand payoff.

I stared up at the ceiling lights, my voice trembling as it squeezed past the lump in my throat. "Do you remember what you promised me? You swore you'd never betray me again.

You swore it was completely over with Avery." I tilted my head to look at him. "What exactly are you doing right now?" His gaze flickered away before his jaw set in stubborn defiance. "Avery is pregnant.

Did you expect me to just leave her to die?" "How can you be so coldblooded, Blair? She's in no condition to wait. I need Dr.

Rosalind over there, so stop making a scene and embarrassing yourself." He reached out, grabbing Dr. Rosalind by the forearm to haul her toward the exit.

His eyes never once drifted downward. He didn't even notice the crimson stains soaking through the surgical drapes beneath my waist. Dr. Rosalind yanked her arm free. "No.

We are in the middle of a D&C." "I cannot stop this procedure. The patient is at severe risk of infection and heavy hemorrhaging—" Preston didn't bat an eye.

A cold, dismissive smirk touched his lips. "Blair is just playing games because she's jealous of Avery. This has nothing to do with you.

You are coming with me right now." Ignoring her protests, he locked his grip around the doctor's wrist and physically dragged her out of the room.

I watched his broad shoulders retreat toward the hallway. A chilling numbness washed over me, freezing the last drop of hope in my veins. "Preston.

I want a divorce." His dress shoes halted on the linoleum. Then, without a backward glance, he kept walking.

A few seconds later, Avery's voice drifted through the thin drywall from the observation room next door. "Preston, won't the other patient be mad that you took their doctor away?" Preston's reply was gentle, a stark contrast to the venom he'd just spit at me. "Let her be mad.

As long as you're safe, nothing else matters." A soft, triumphant laugh echoed through the wall. "I knew it.

I knew you cared about me the most." Chapter 2 The pain hit me like a serrated blade twisting in my gut. "Ms.

Blair, you're hemorrhaging." The nurse's voice shook as she pressed down on my abdomen. "I'm getting Dr. Rosalind!" A freezing, nauseating wave crashed over me. My vision tunneled.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Through the thin drywall, Preston’s voice was a low, furious rumble. "What hemorrhage? It's a pathetic stunt! Dr.

Rosalind isn't stepping foot out of this room today, or I’ll have the hospital board strip her license!" My breath hitched. The edges of the room bled into black.

By the time the panicked nurse sprinted to another ward and dragged a different surgeon into the room, my body had already surrendered to hypovolemic shock.

They barely pulled me back from the edge. When my eyes fluttered open the next morning, the harsh fluorescent lights blinded me. Preston sat in the visitor's chair by my bed.

I thought he was actually there for me. Then his brow knitted into a hard line. "You're actually checking yourself into a room now? What is your endgame here?

Why do you insist on tormenting a pregnant woman?" A fresh spike of agony shot through my sutures.

I dug my nails into the thin hospital mattress. "Preston, did you suffer amnesia?" I rasped. "Why do you think I was at the hospital in the first place?

Avery is pregnant, but I wasn't?" His eyes narrowed. "I was two months along." I stared dead into his eyes. "But the baby is gone.

You killed it yesterday." The blood drained from his face.

Then, his hand cracked across my cheek. "You are out of your mind, Blair!" he spat. "The absolute garbage you'll invent just to ruin things between me and Avery!" The sheer force of the slap sent me tumbling off the narrow mattress.

My shoulder slammed into the cold tile floor. A sickening rip echoed from my lower abdomen. The fresh sutures were tearing open. Preston flinched at my suppressed groan.

He reached down. "Are you alright?

Did you hit your head?" I slapped his hand away. "Get out." My voice was raw, devoid of any warmth. "Don't touch me." He froze, his hand suspended in midair, stripped of words.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, shattering the silence. He didn't pull it out.

He just straightened his suit jacket. "If you want to lie there and play the victim, be my guest." He turned toward the door. "Avery is upset.

At the end of the day, she's carrying a child. I'm taking her out to clear her head." I didn't blink. Preston walked out without a second glance.

The quiet of the room settled over me. I lay on the cold tiles, tracing the timeline of my own stupidity. Preston and I were childhood sweethearts.

We started dating at eighteen and put rings on each other's fingers at twentythree, right out of college.

By our third anniversary, I caught him funding Avery's luxury lifestyle behind my back. She was his pretty little kept woman. I had the divorce papers drawn up.

Then came his leukemia diagnosis. The very night the lab results came back, Avery emptied tens of millions from his accounts and hopped on a oneway flight out of the country.

I stayed. I let two decades of shared history chain me to his bedside.

I became a match, donated my stem cells, and spent two grueling years scrubbing bedpans and watching him waste away until the cancer finally went into remission.

The day he was discharged, he swore his life belonged to me. Then came the boutique hotel. The cold sheets.

The pathetic lie about grabbing takeout while he was sweating in Avery's room. I was naive enough to let him gaslight me into believing nothing happened that night.

Now, staring at the sterile wall, the puzzle pieces locked into place. They had been sleeping together this entire time.

There was no other way a golddigger who abandoned him at his absolute worst would suddenly be pregnant with his child, or why he would defend her like a rabid dog.

Chapter 3 I dragged my battered body back onto the hospital mattress. The torn sutures screamed with every microscopic movement, dragging me under into a feverish blackout.

A sharp ping from my cell phone jolted me awake. It was a video file from Avery. I tapped the screen. The footage showed her lounging in the freestanding marble bathtub—my bathtub.

Preston sat on the edge, patiently feeding her a forkful of fruit salad before leaning in to massage her bare shoulders. [Blair, your husband was so worried about me getting prenatal depression, so he invited me over to stay at your place.

You aren't mad, right?] I didn't type a single letter. I just hit save. Two minutes later, another message popped up. An image this time.

It was a closeup of the heirloom roses my late mother had planted.

I kept those terracotta pots on the balcony, a quiet sanctuary where I could sit and pretend she was still breathing. [These flowers are so ugly.

I did you a favor and ripped them out.] My throat tightened. My fingers flew across the keyboard, trembling so hard I kept hitting the wrong keys. [Don't touch them!

Back off!] I ripped the IV from the back of my hand and shoved my way out of the hospital, ignoring the wet heat pooling in my underwear again.

I dialed Preston's number fourteen times from the back of the Uber. It went straight to voicemail every single time. I shoved my front door open.

Avery stood in the middle of the foyer, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face.

Between her perfectly manicured fingers, she twirled a severed, pale pink rose stem. "Who gave you the right to touch my things?" I lunged forward, my palm connecting with her cheek in a deafening crack.

I raised my hand to strike again, but a vice grip clamped around my wrist. Preston shoved me backward with his entire body weight.

My heels slipped on the hardwood, and the back of my skull slammed against the drywall with a hollow thud.

Avery wiped the smirk off her face, instantly replacing it with wide, tearfilled eyes. "Blair, I was just trying to help you prune your plants!

Why are you acting like a psycho?" She shrank back, her voice trembling. "Preston and I are just friends now. There's nothing going on between us.

Can you please stop being so jealous and toxic?" Preston wrapped an arm around her shoulders, shielding her.

He stared down at me, his gaze entirely hollow. "Could you stop acting like a bitter shrew for one minute, Blair? It’s repulsive." A highpitched ringing echoed in my ears.

I braced my palms against the floorboards and dragged myself up, stumbling past them toward the balcony doors. I slid the glass open. Soil painted the expensive tiles.

Shredded petals and splintered stems were piled into a black garbage bag. Not a single rose bush was left standing. A metallic glint caught my eye.

I snatched up the heavy iron gardening shears from the windowsill and spun around.

Preston stepped directly into my path, a solid wall of muscle blocking the doorway. "Move." I gripped the cold iron handles. "She destroyed the only thing I had left of my mother.

I'm going to kill her." Peeking out from behind Preston's broad back, Avery dabbed at fake tears.

The second his eyes were off her, the corners of mouth curled into a taunting sneer. I swung the heavy shears, aiming straight for that arrogant smile.

Before the blades could even connect, Preston's fingers tangled in my hair.

He yanked my head down, slamming the side of my face flat against the cold glass of the coffee table. "They're just stupid plants." His voice was absolute zero, stripping away a decade of marriage in a single breath. "If you lay one finger on Avery, I will personally throw you in a prison cell." I kept my cheek pressed against the freezing glass, looking up at him through my own tangled hair.

He was a complete stranger. He knew those roses anchored me to this earth. He was the one who used to kneel in the dirt beside me, helping me water them every Sunday morning.

Now, another woman had ripped them up by the roots, and he was pinning me down to protect her. His jaw flexed.

Maybe the sight of my bloodless face registered somewhere in his thick skull. He abruptly released his grip, taking a halfstep back.

Right on cue, Avery let out a breathless gasp and crumpled to the hardwood floor. Preston's pupils blew wide. He dropped to his knees, scooping her limp body up into his arms.

He shot me one last, venomous glare over his shoulder. "If anything happens to Avery or the baby, you'll pay for it with your life." The heavy oak door slammed shut, vibrating the walls.

I laid on the floorboards, tracing the grain of the wood with a numb fingertip.

Chapter 4 I didn't waste another second wondering if Preston cared about the lifeless fetus scraped out of my womb. The answer was already written in the blood he left me lying in.

I pulled myself up from the floorboards and walked into the master bedroom. I needed two things. The first was the postnuptial agreement Preston signed the day he beat cancer.

A legally binding, notarized contract stating that if he ever betrayed me again, I could walk away with every single penny of our shared assets.

The second was his latest medical report from this month. These two sheets of paper were going to be the hollowpoint bullets I fired straight through his chest.

I couldn't wait to see if Avery still wanted to play house with him once he had nothing left to his name.

He transferred the deed to this house into my name the day he was discharged.

I pulled out my phone, texted a local realtor to list the property at rockbottom pricing for a sameday cash sale, and booked a oneway flight out of the city.

I systematically packed my passport, the documents, and a few essentials into a carryon. The zipper teeth bit together. The lock clicked.

I swung the front door open and practically collided with Preston. His eyes dropped to the rolling luggage.

A dark, ugly shadow crossed his face. "You triggered Avery's depression, and now you're packing for a vacation to dodge the fallout?

Are you really this selfish?" He actually thought I was going on a holiday. "Selfish?" I gripped the plastic handle of my suitcase. "You trampled me.

You killed my baby." "I nearly bled out on an operating table, and your mistress shredded the only thing I had left of my mother.

And you think I'm the one out of line?" I stared directly into his eyes. "If we're keeping score on selfishness, Preston, look in the mirror. I gave you my stem cells.

I torched my career to keep you breathing. And this is my payout." Not a single flicker of guilt crossed his features. Instead, he let out a heavy, exasperated sigh. "A miscarriage?

Bleeding out?

Are you actually starting to believe your own delusions?" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "And can you stop holding the past over my head like some kind of martyr?" I stared at the raw annoyance swimming in his pupils.

The urge to argue evaporated, leaving behind a cold, clinical emptiness. I gave a single, slow nod. "You're right. It is in the past.

We're done, Preston." A smug, patronizing smile touched his lips. "Done?

This is just another one of your pathetic games to drive a wedge between me and Avery." He took a step closer, invading my space. "Your mother is dead. I'm all you have left.

You could never walk away from me." Ice flooded my veins. That was his anchor. That was why he paraded his infidelity in my face without a shred of fear.

He thought I was permanently trapped. I didn't waste breath correcting him. I sidestepped his broad frame and headed for the driveway.

His fingers clamped around my bicep like a steel vise. He yanked me backward. "Avery is having a breakdown because of you. You are going to march over there and apologize.

Once she's calmed down, I'll drive you to the airport myself." "And if I say no?" I asked, my voice flat. His jaw clenched.

The smugness vanished, replaced by a freezing ruthlessness. "If you don't go, I will drive to the cemetery, dig up your mother's urn, and dump her ashes into the ocean." My lungs stopped expanding.

The sheer, sociopathic weight of his threat shattered whatever illusion of the man I once loved still remained.

I dragged a slow, jagged breath past my teeth and dropped my gaze to the toe of his expensive leather shoes. "Fine. I'll go." Chapter 5 Preston drove me to a beachfront property.

That was when I realized he'd been keeping Avery stashed away in a luxury oceanfront villa right under my nose.

Avery lounged on the plush leather sofa, a gloating smirk playing on her lips. "You're here to apologize, Blair? I'll forgive you." "But you have to do three things for me first.

Number one.

You're going to post an explicit photo of yourself online." She crossed her legs. "When you were making things difficult for Preston and me, you shoved a camera in my face.

That was the worst nightmare of my life." "Now, it's your turn. I want you to show the whole world what a cheap slut you are." I snapped my head toward Preston.

Was he really going to let her do this? His jaw clenched. Then, his expression hardened into absolute ice. "Blair, you owe Avery this much." He stepped into my space.

His large hands gripped the collar of my shirt and yanked downward, tearing the fabric. Cool air hit my exposed skin. He held up his phone.

The camera shutter clicked, capturing my degradation. Without a second of hesitation, he uploaded the image directly to my public social media accounts.

Seconds later, the comment section devolved into a cesspool. [Oh my god, is this Blair? Did she lose her mind?

She looks no different than a streetwalker.] [For trash like this, I just want to know her hourly rate.] [Wait, isn't she Preston's wife?

Posting this kind of garbage online… Preston is so unlucky to be married to a whore.] "Number two," Avery said, blowing on her freshly painted fingernails. "You slapped me today.

So, you're going to slap yourself. Ninetynine times." A violent tremor wracked my spine. "On what grounds?

You destroyed my mother's roses—" Preston's palm cracked against my cheek, instantly cutting off my words. "If you want to walk out of this house today, Blair," he warned, his voice devoid of a single ounce of humanity. "If you want your mother's urn to stay safely in that cemetery, you will do exactly as Avery says." I stared at the man standing in front of me.

I carved his cold, apathetic features into my retinas. I raised my shaking hand. I brought it down hard across my own face.

Avery frowned. "Too light." I bit down on my lower lip until I tasted copper. I swung harder. One slap. Two. Three.

By the time I hit ninety, the skin on my cheeks was split and raw. Warm blood trickled down my chin, dripping onto my ruined collar.

A deafening, highpitched ringing consumed my eardrums. Through the ringing, I saw Preston just standing there. His arms were crossed.

He watched the blood well up on my face without lifting a single finger to stop me. "What's the third thing?" I rasped, my vocal cords shredded.

Avery shifted her gaze to Preston, her voice dripping with fake innocence. "Preston, am I being too harsh?

Why don't you pick the third one?" Preston reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "No. You aren't being harsh at all." "Blair brought this entirely on herself.

Since you're offering, let's have Blair cook dinner for us. How does that sound, Avery?" They leaned into each other, exchanging sickeningly sweet whispers.

I turned on my heel and walked numbly toward the kitchen. I had thought about making a run for it. But Preston had posted two of his heavyset buddies right outside the front doors.

There was no way out. Inside the marblecountered kitchen, I mechanically washed the rice and chopped vegetables. My bruised face throbbed with a blinding, rhythmic agony.

Halfway through boiling the porridge, a heavy, suffocating odor hit the back of my throat. Gas. A massive natural gas leak.

I spun around and grabbed the stainless steel door handle. I yanked. It wouldn't budge. The mechanism was jammed tight. Panic spiked my heart rate.

I lunged back toward the stove to kill the burner. But the moment I moved, the air ignited. A blinding, catastrophic wall of heat slammed directly into me. … Boom!

The deafening blast shattered the kitchen walls. Searing agony swallowed me whole as the shockwave threw my body against the cabinets.

Through the roaring sea of fire and splintered wood, my blurred vision caught a glimpse of the hallway. Preston’s casual laughter had abruptly died.

He sprinted toward the shattered doorway, his chest heaving, the color drained from his face. He stopped dead at the edge of the inferno.

His pupils blew wide, his posture locked up, frozen like a stone statue. Chapter 6 What just happened? It was supposed to be a simple dinner. Why did the kitchen explode? And me?

Where was I? Was my body still trapped inside that inferno? I drifted in the thick, black smoke, entirely untethered, watching the chaos unfold.

The flames roared, reflecting in Preston's blownwide pupils. He lunged toward the shattered doorway, the tendons in his neck straining to the point of snapping.

But Avery was faster. She wrapped her arms around his waist like a vice, burying her face into his spine. "Preston!

You can't risk it!" she shrieked over the crackling fire. "If you die, I'll die too! Think about our baby!" Preston skidded to a dead halt.

His chest heaved as he stared down at her flat stomach. He swallowed hard.

He stayed rooted to the spot, physically shielding Avery from the blistering heat, yet his bloodshot eyes never left the wall of fire.

He stared into the blaze, his jaw clamped so tight the muscles twitched, waiting for me to walk out of the flames.

His buddy, Pierce, burst through the front doors a minute later. "What the hell happened?" Pierce coughed, waving away the smoke. "Preston, back up! I already called 911.

The trucks are on their way!" Preston didn't move. He clawed at the collar of his expensive dress shirt like he was suffocating. His knuckles were bonewhite.

The sheer panic vibrating off his rigid frame was something I hadn't seen since the day of his cancer diagnosis. The sirens wailed.

Firefighters breached the villa, blasting the kitchen with highpressure hoses. Half an hour later, the inferno was reduced to a smoking, blackened ruin.

They sifted through the wet ash. They found no body.

Preston grabbed a sootstained fire captain by the heavy turnout gear. "There's no body," he rasped, his voice cracking down the middle. "Does that mean Blair made it out?" The captain wiped his brow. "It's highly likely." An hour later, the arson investigator stepped out of the wreckage. "It was a massive natural gas explosion.

But the point of origin is highly suspicious. That ruptured gas line was deliberately sawed open." Preston's brow furrowed into a deep, harsh V.

He stared at the charred doorframe, running a trembling hand through his hair. I watched him try to compute the math.

If I was trapped inside the kitchen, why would I saw the gas line open? It was a literal suicide mission.

Avery crept up beside him, clutching his sleeve. "Preston," she whispered, her voice dripping with calculated hesitation. "Do you think Blair triggered the explosion on purpose?

She could have used the chaos to escape, and as a bonus, she got to destroy the house you bought for me." "I don't want to think the worst of her, but it's just too much of a coincidence." Preston grasped at her excuse like a lifeline.

The raw terror drained from his face, instantly replaced by a dark, defensive fury. "You're right.

That has to be it." He pulled his phone from his pocket, his thumb jabbing the glass screen with brutal force. "She is out of her fucking mind.

I'm going to end this right now." He dialed my number and held it to his ear. [The number you have dialed is currently unavailable.] He hit redial. Once. Five times. A dozen times.

The automated operator mocked him relentlessly through the speaker. He stared at the screen, the realization hardening his features. I had blocked him.

His fingers flew across the keyboard. [Blair, why the hell did you block me?] [Are you insane? Why did you blow up the kitchen?

You know Avery is pregnant, and you pulled this stunt just to terrify her? How can you be so vicious?] [Where are you? Get back here and apologize to Avery!

Right now!] For the past decade, I had never let his texts sit on read. I always replied within seconds.

Now, I watched his ghostpale face as he stared at the chat log for thirty grueling minutes. Not a single typing bubble appeared. A cold bead of sweat rolled down his temple.

His thumb hovered uselessly over the screen. For the first time in his life, the silence was suffocating him.

Right on cue, Avery let out a pathetic gasp and collapsed onto the sootcovered tiles. It took Preston three full seconds to even rip his eyes away from his phone.

He finally blinked, shoving the device into his pocket before scooping her up and sprinting for the driveway, rushing her back to the hospital.

Chapter 7 The private investigator I hired tossed a sleek silver recorder onto the glass coffee table of my hotel room. I hit play.

The audio was crystal clear, captured straight from a bug planted in Avery’s VIP hospital suite. "Preston, it hurts so much," Avery whimpered through the speaker, her voice dripping with calculated fragility. "I don't think the baby and I can take this anymore." "I just wanted Blair to apologize.

Who knew she would blow up the kitchen? I was planning to cook our baby's meals in there." The leather of the hospital sofa creaked as Preston pulled her into his arms.

When he spoke, his voice was pure, unadulterated venom. "That bitch.

When I find her, I’ll drag her back here and make her kneel at your feet." "No," Avery sniffled, her breathing hitching perfectly on cue. "I don't want to punish her anymore.

I just have one wish…" I hit stop. The sharp click echoed in the quiet hotel room. I was, of course, very much alive.

The second the heatwave crested, I threw my weight against the kitchen window, shattering the glass and vaulting into the overgrown hedges outside.

I had deliberately pulled the heavy frame shut behind me, leaving the gas to ignite and consume the room. I wasn't stupid. A sawedoff gas line wasn't a tragic accident.

It was a targeted hit. They wanted me reduced to ash.

My original plan was simple: board my flight, finalize the divorce papers from a safe distance, and leave Preston with absolutely nothing.

But after being forced to humiliate myself online, after leaving my own face bruised and bleeding from ninetynine slaps, and after nearly being incinerated in a rigged explosion?

Plans change. I canceled my flight. I was staying right here in the city to bury them both.

I bypassed the divorce attorneys for now and wired a massive retainer to a toptier private investigation firm. I wanted Preston and Avery tracked twentyfour hours a day.

They delivered two massive bombshells within fortyeight hours. First: Preston and Avery were hosting a lavish wedding ceremony at the South City Grand Hotel in exactly three days.

It was a sham wedding, legally void since Preston was still married to me, designed purely to placate Avery's ego. Second: The background check on Avery's time abroad.

When she slinked back into the country six months ago, she hadn't come alone. She returned with a man named Deandre. The PI slid a stack of glossy photographs across the table.

They showed Avery and Deandre locked in passionate, undeniable embraces outside a seedy motel. "Based on the timeline," the PI stated flatly, tapping the ultrasound date on the table. "I highly suspect the child she's carrying belongs to Deandre." I stared at the grainy photographs.

A slow, genuine smile curved my lips