Chapter 4

I woke up in a guest room. It was stark, undecorated, with bare white walls and cheap furniture. It wasn't one of the suites we had designed; it was a room for a servant I didn't know we had.

The door opened and Andrew walked in. He looked tired, annoyed. He placed a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers on the bedside table.

"The doctor said it was a ruptured ovarian cyst," he said, his voice flat. "You're lucky. It could have been worse. Why didn't you tell me you were in pain? You have to be so dramatic about everything."

Dramatic. I had passed out from blood loss in his pool after his guards threw me in, and I was being dramatic.

I looked at the pills. Then I looked at him.

With a surge of strength, I swept my arm across the table. The glass and the bottle smashed against the far wall.

"Get out," I said. My voice was quiet, but it was harder than steel.

"Jennifer, don't be..."

"Get out of my house."

He stared at me for a long moment, a flicker of something-surprise? confusion?-in his eyes. Then he turned and left, closing the door behind him.

Later that afternoon, I felt strong enough to walk. I made my way down to the garden. Or what was left of it.

The classic, fragrant roses we had planted together, the ones my mother had cultivated from her own prized collection, were gone. In their place were rows of sterile, odorless tulips.

Molly was sitting on a bench, sipping lemonade. She smiled when she saw me.

"Oh, hi, Jenny. I had them take out the roses. My pollen allergies have been just awful with the pregnancy." She patted her perfectly flat stomach.

She stood up and walked towards me, her smile widening. "Andrew is so worried about me. He told me he's only marrying you to give the baby a proper name without a scandal. Once it's born and the talk dies down, he's going to divorce you and we can finally be a real family. He said my happiness is his bottom line."

Her bottom line.

"He loves me," she said, her voice a triumphant purr. "Not you."

I just looked at her. I felt nothing. The ice inside me was a solid, protective shell.

Then, her eyes went wide with fake panic. She let out a piercing scream.

"She's trying to push me! Help! She's trying to hurt the baby!"

She threw herself backward, not towards the soft grass, but directly into the swimming pool, landing with a huge splash.

Andrew burst out of the house, his face a thundercloud. He didn't even hesitate. He saw her in the water, saw me standing at the edge, and his reason snapped.

He stormed over and his hand cracked across my face. The force of the slap sent me stumbling back.

"Apologize," he roared, his face inches from mine. "Get on your knees and apologize to her. Now."

His hands grabbed my shoulders, ready to shove me into the water again. I saw the madness in his eyes, the complete and utter devotion to her lie.

He stopped himself at the last second, his breath hitching. He let me go, his expression a storm of fury and confusion. He turned, dove into the pool, and pulled a sobbing, clinging Molly from the water.

He wrapped her in a towel, murmuring to her, and carried her back into the house without a single backward glance.

I stood there, my cheek stinging, the taste of blood in my mouth.

And I started to laugh. It was a quiet, cold, empty sound.

He had made his choice.

Now I would make mine.