To Hell with Their Wedding Vows

My husband's public girlfriend thought I was his dirty little secret.

"I'm sending you and your bastard child to hell!" she screamed, and shoved me against the stone balustrade.

She left me bleeding and broken on the ground. My face was ruined, and my baby was gone.

As I lay there in agony, I heard my husband on the phone.

He was comforting her.

"My poor baby, are you okay? Did you chip your new manicure?"

But when he realized the "fan" his girlfriend had brutalized was me, he fell apart.

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1

At a penthouse charity gala in New York, I was cornered on the terrace by a group of women.

The one leading them had a face I knew all too well: Sloane Vaughn, my husband Jasper Sterling's new public girlfriend.

"Look who it is," Sloane’s voice sliced through the soft strains of the string quartet. "Let's go say hello."

Before I could react, a sharp slap cracked across my face, my cheek stinging.

Sloane crossed her arms, looking down at me with a disdainful smirk.

"You're Blair Westwood, right?" she sneered. "You know Jasper is my man, so why are you always buzzing around him?"

"Why waste your breath on her, Sloane?" one of her friends sneered.

"We need to show her she doesn't belong here. Everyone hates a homewrecker."

I instinctively cradled my belly, my heart hammering in my chest.

"Wait—I'm pregnant," I pleaded, my voice trembling. "You can't do this—"

But Sloane's face was as cold as ice, her eyes glinting with malice.

"Pregnant? With his child? Is it because of you and this little bastard that Jasper wants to leave me?"

I shook my head desperately, trying to explain.

"No, you're the other woman! I'm his—"

My words were cut off by a violent shove that slammed me against a nearby stone planter.

A searing pain tore through my abdomen, stealing my breath.

Her friends closed in, shoving me again.

Dizzy and unsteady, all I could do was cradle my stomach as a cold terror for my unborn child washed over me.

Sloane grabbed my hair and slammed my head against the rough edge of the stone planter.

I felt a warm, sticky liquid trickle down my face. It was blood, mixed with cold sweat and tears.

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

Her triumphant smirk made my stomach churn as she put the call on speaker.

"Hey, what's up?" Jasper's warm, unsuspecting voice came through the speaker.

Sloane giggled, her voice sickeningly sweet.

"Would you be mad if I taught that crazy fan who's been stalking you a lesson?"

He chuckled, his tone dripping with indulgence.

"If you're going to rough someone up, let security handle it," he replied.

"Did you chip your new manicure?"