My Husband Let His Mistress Scar My Face

The van jerked to a halt, throwing me against Allison's shoulder. My damaged face screamed in protest as I bumped against the metal floor. Through the fog of pain and whatever drugs they'd given us, I registered the sudden stillness—we'd arrived somewhere.

"End of the line, princesses," Madelyn's voice cut through the darkness, gleeful and sharp as broken glass.

The van doors swung open with a metallic groan. Cold air rushed in, carrying the scent of concrete dust and damp earth. I blinked against the sudden brightness of industrial floodlights illuminating what looked like a construction site.

"Where are we?" Allison whispered, her voice tight with fear as she cradled her belly protectively.

"Rivera Tower," Madelyn announced proudly, as if unveiling her masterpiece. "Your husband's latest project. Well, it was supposed to be his masterpiece before you ruined everything."

Two men in dark clothing appeared at the van's opening. They didn't speak as they hauled us out—first Allison, then me. My legs buckled beneath me as soon as my feet hit the uneven ground. One of the men caught me roughly by the arm, his fingers digging into my flesh.

"Careful with her face," Madelyn said mockingly. "We wouldn't want to damage our precious heiress any more than necessary. Not yet, anyway."

I forced myself to look around. We were in what appeared to be the skeleton of a massive skyscraper—just concrete pillars and floors, with exposed rebar and unfinished walls. Wind whistled through the open framework, creating an eerie howling sound that seemed to mimic my own inner terror.

"This way," Madelyn commanded, gesturing toward what looked like a construction elevator—little more than a metal cage with an exposed motor.

The men shoved us inside. I stumbled, catching myself against the cold metal railing as the elevator lurched upward with a grinding noise. Allison pressed against my side, her breathing rapid and shallow.

"Priscilla," she whispered, her lips close to my ear. "When we get to the top, I'll create a distraction. You run."

"No," I hissed back. "She has a gun. We both stay calm and look for an opportunity."

The elevator climbed higher, each floor bringing us closer to whatever fate Madelyn had planned. Through the open sides, I could see the Brooklyn skyline growing smaller beneath us, lights twinkling like distant stars.

"Almost there," Madelyn sang, her voice eerily calm now. "Just a few more floors to our special place."

When the elevator finally stopped, we were at the very top—a flat, unfinished rooftop that stretched out like a concrete plain under the night sky. The wind hit us with full force, whipping my hair across my burned face and causing Allison to stumble.

"Walk," Madelyn ordered, poking me in the back with what felt like a gun barrel.

We moved across the open space, our footsteps echoing on the hollow concrete. The city spread out below us like a glittering tapestry, beautiful and distant. So far from help. So far from safety.

"Stop here," Madelyn commanded when we reached the edge.

I looked down and felt my stomach drop. Below us was a massive foundation pit, where workers had been pouring concrete for the building's base. The wet concrete gleamed gray and viscous in the floodlights, a thick liquid that would swallow anything dropped into it.

"Perfect spot, don't you think?" Madelyn circled around us, her torn wedding dress billowing in the wind. "No one will ever find you once you're buried in the foundation. Just another couple of construction accidents."

"Please," Allison begged, her hands still cradling her belly. "Not my baby. Take me if you want, but let my sister and my baby go."

Madelyn laughed, the sound almost lost in the howling wind. "So noble. That's what I love about you Rogers women—always so willing to sacrifice yourselves for each other."

She pulled something from her pocket—zip ties. With practiced efficiency, she bound our wrists behind our backs, the plastic cutting into my skin.

"Now," she said, pulling out her phone. "Time for the main event."

She held up the phone, tapping the screen to initiate a video call. The wind whipped around us as we stood at the edge, teetering on the precipice of death.

"Say hello to your husband," Madelyn said as the call connected.

Dominic's face appeared on the screen, his expression shifting from confusion to horror as he took in the scene—me with my scarred face, Allison with her pregnant belly, both of us dangling over certain death.

"Priscilla! Allison!" His voice was thin with panic. "What's going on?"

"Choose, darling," Madelyn purred into the phone. "Your real family—me—or these two. Come alone, or I drop them both into the concrete."

The phone trembled in her hand as she held it out over the edge, showing Dominic exactly how close we were to falling.

"Choose wisely," she whispered. "And choose quickly."