Perhaps in a Past Life

My husband's mistress, Sloane, thought I was the other woman.

"I'm going to send you and that bastard to hell!" Her hands tore at me mercilessly, her screams raw with a vow to destroy everything.

I fell in a pool of my own blood, my face ruined, my baby gone.

Through the excruciating pain, I heard my husband, Quincy, on the phone.

He was comforting the very monster who had just brutalized me.

"My poor baby, are you hurt? Did you break your new nails?"

But when he realized the woman his mistress had destroyed was me...

He broke down.

————————

————————

1

I was at a charity gala at a top private club in the Hamptons when a group of women cornered me at the entrance to the restroom.

The leader was a familiar face: Sloane Monroe, my husband Quincy Blackwood's new, very public girlfriend.

"There's the gold digger," Sloane's voice sliced through the background music. "Let's go pay her a visit."

Before I could react, a fiery slap cracked across my face.

Sloane crossed her arms, gazing down at me with a contemptuous smirk.

"You're Audrina Vaughn, right?" she sneered. "You know Quincy's mine. Why are you still clinging to him?"

"Don't waste your breath on her, Sloane," one of her companions scoffed.

"Social climbers need to be put in their place. We're just teaching her a lesson."

I instinctively shielded my lower abdomen, my heart hammering in my chest.

"Wait, I'm pregnant," I stammered. "You can't—"

But Sloane's face was a mask of ice, her eyes flashing with scorn.

"Pregnant? You're having his baby? Is that why he's trying to dump me? Because of you and this... this bastard child?"

I shook my head desperately, trying to explain.

"No, you don't understand! I'm his wife—"

A vicious kick to my stomach cut my words short.

A searing pain ripped through me, stealing my breath as a cold sweat broke out across my skin.

Her friends joined in, landing more kicks.

I swayed, dizzy with pain, my arms wrapped tightly around my belly, terrified they would harm my baby.

Sloane grabbed my hair and slammed my head against a mirrored art installation nearby.

I felt something warm and sticky trickle down my face—blood, mixed with sweat and tears.

Through the haze of pain, I saw Sloane make a phone call.

She put it on speaker, a triumphant, saccharine smile on her face that made my stomach churn.

"Hey, what's up?" Quincy's warm, unguarded voice came through the speaker.

Sloane giggled, her voice sickeningly sweet.

"Babe, would you be mad if I taught that little psycho who's been stalking you a lesson?"

He chuckled softly, indulging her.

"If someone needs a lesson, let security handle it," he replied.

"Did you break your nails?"