After the Forsaken Wife Escapes, Dunn Faces His Downfall

The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed three times as I arranged fresh lilies in the crystal vase, my fingers lingering on the delicate petals. Six years of marriage had taught me to find small comforts in these quiet moments before the storm of another day in the Dunn mansion.

The sound of tires on gravel made me pause. Damien was home early.

I smoothed my dress and moved toward the door, the practiced smile of a dutiful wife already forming on my lips. But the smile froze when I saw him step out of the car—and the woman who followed.

Taylor Roberts. Even after six years, I recognized her immediately from the photographs Damien had hidden in his study. Her golden hair caught the afternoon light as she pressed her hand protectively over her swollen belly.

"Evangeline." Damien's voice cut through the silence, cold and formal. "This is Taylor."

I felt something inside me crumble, but I held my chin high. "Welcome to our home."

Taylor's eyes flickered over me, assessing, calculating. "You're even prettier than Damien described."

"Taylor will be staying with us," Damien announced, his hand possessively curving around her waist. "She's carrying my child."

The lilies slipped from my grasp, scattering across the marble floor. I knelt to gather them, using the moment to compose myself. When I rose, my voice remained steady. "I see."

"It's your duty as the fortune bearer to bless her child," Damien continued, as if discussing business arrangements rather than destroying our marriage. "Your blessing has brought prosperity to the Dunn family. Now you'll do the same for Taylor's baby."

I met his gaze directly. "And what of our marriage vows?"

Damien's laugh was sharp enough to cut glass. "We both know what this marriage was arranged for."

Taylor pressed closer to him, her voice soft with false concern. "I hope we can all be happy together."

From the shadowed doorway of his study, Elder Dunn watched silently, his weathered face darkening with disapproval.

---

Days blurred into a nightmare of forced smiles and aching silence. Taylor moved into the guest suite adjacent to our master bedroom—my bedroom now, since Damien hadn't shared it with me since her arrival.

At dinner that evening, I served the family as if I were staff rather than the lady of the house. Taylor performed elaborate displays of pregnancy discomfort, gasping dramatically when her back ached, clutching her stomach when the baby kicked.

"Could you pass the salt?" she asked sweetly, then grimaced. "Oh, I'm sorry—should I not be eating this? The doctor said..."

"Of course you should," Damien soothed, taking her hand. "Evangeline, be more attentive to Taylor's needs."

I placed the salt beside her plate, my movements measured. "Is there anything else you require?"

Taylor's eyes gleamed with triumph poorly disguised as gratitude. "You're so kind to serve us like this."

The next evening, she "accidentally" tipped her wine glass, sending red liquid cascading across my cream silk dress.

"Oh!" Taylor gasped, hands flying to her mouth. "I'm so clumsy! Are you alright, Evangeline? Perhaps you shouldn't be serving in your... delicate condition."

I looked down at my flat stomach, understanding the barb. Six years and no children—the failure Damien had never forgiven.

"Change and return," Damien ordered coldly. "We're not finished eating."

Later that night, Helena Dunn found me in the kitchen, silently pressing a handkerchief into my trembling hands. Her eyes held a compassion I hadn't seen in years.

"He'll regret this," she whispered. "What goes around comes around."

---

The scream tore through the mansion at midnight.

I rushed from my room to find Taylor collapsed in the hallway, blood staining her nightgown, her face contorted in pain.

"Help me!" she wailed, clutching at her stomach. "The baby! Something's wrong!"

Damien appeared behind me, his face ashen. "What have you done?"

"Nothing," I whispered, stepping back.

He didn't listen. Bundling Taylor into his arms, he ran for the car.

Hours later in the hospital corridor, doctors delivered their verdict: Taylor had lost the baby. A miscarriage.

"She was under tremendous stress," the doctor explained gently. "The environment wasn't conducive to—"

"I felt it," Taylor sobbed into Damien's chest. "Such hostile energy in that house. I was afraid... afraid she would hurt my baby."

Damien's eyes found mine across the corridor, burning with grief and rage. Before I could speak, he crossed the distance between us, his hand closing around my throat as he slammed me against the wall.

"You did this," he snarled, his breath hot against my face. "Your jealousy killed my child."

Security guards pulled him away, but not before I saw something in his eyes I'd never seen before—murderous contempt.

"You'll pay for this," he promised, his voice low and deadly. "One way or another."