When My Husband Protected His Pregnant Mistress

Two days after Cole left me on the cliff road, my palms were still raw. I wore thin leather gloves to hide the bandages.

The annual children’s hospital charity luncheon was held in the Crystal Ballroom at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Sunlight streamed through the tall arched windows. Fifty women from high society sat around round tables decorated with pink peonies and crystal glasses.

I sat at a side table near the terrace doors. I wanted to see how far Cole would go in public.

At noon, the double doors opened.

Cole walked in. He wore a tailored charcoal suit and his usual calm, untouchable expression. But he wasn't alone. Jaycee was tucked firmly under his arm.

A quiet murmur rippled across the room. Several women glanced between Cole and me.

My eyes dropped to Jaycee’s dress.

It was a pleated ivory silk midi dress with pearl buttons down the front. It was identical to the custom piece Cole bought me in Paris last spring. The exact same cut. The exact same shade.

Jaycee caught my eye. She gave a sweet, fragile smile and whispered something to Cole. Cole nodded once and let her go.

She picked up a glass of red wine from a passing waiter's tray and walked straight toward my table. The heels of her pumps clicked lightly on the polished marble.

"Leia," Jaycee said, stopping right beside my chair. Her voice was soft and musical. "I was hoping I'd see you today. Are you feeling better?"

I didn't answer. I just looked at her.

"I know things have been tense between us," she continued, tilting her head. "I really want us to be friends. Cole cares about you so much, and—"

She stumbled.

It was a clean, practiced motion. Her heel hitched on the carpet. Her hand jerked forward.

The heavy crystal glass tipped. A dark red wave of cabernet poured straight out, splashing across my lap. The wine soaked through my skirt, soaking into my thighs and dripping onto the carpet.

Several women at nearby tables gasped.

"Oh! Oh my goodness!" Jaycee cried out.

She dropped to her knees right in front of me. She grabbed three linen napkins from the table and began dabbing frantically at my skirt. Her face was pale with apparent shock. Big, shiny tears welled up in her eyes.

"I am so sorry!" she stammered loudly enough for five tables to hear. "I lost my footing. I'm so clumsy. Please let me pay for the dry cleaning! Leia, I'm so sorry!"

She looked like a sweet, repentant angel trying to help a victim.

Then she leaned in closer. Her hand pressed the wet napkin against my knee.

Jaycee lifted her chin slightly. Her lips were just inches from my ear. Her trembling voice vanished, replaced by a cold, venomous whisper.

"Cole told me how much you've sacrificed for him," she murmured. Her eyes were completely steady, dark and cruel. "It's so selfless, really. Giving up your racing. Giving up your life. I don't know how you do it. But don't worry. I'll take good care of him now."

She pulled back just as quickly. Her eyes widened with fake panic again. "Did any get on your blouse? Let me help—"

"Don't touch me," I said quietly.

I stood up. The wet silk clung to my legs, cold and heavy.

Six feet away, Cole stood by the champagne tower. His hands were tucked casually into his trouser pockets. He had watched the entire thing. He hadn't moved an inch. His face was a blank mask.

I stepped around Jaycee, walked past the staring socialites, and headed for the quiet corridor near the private restrooms.

Footsteps followed me.

Cole caught up just outside the lounge. He grabbed my arm. His grip was firm, familiar, and suffocating.

"Leia," he said.

I yanked my arm free and turned to face him. "She did that on purpose, Cole."

Cole let out a long, weary breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "She tripped, Leia. You saw her heels. She almost hit the floor."

"She wore my dress," I said. My voice was steady, but my chest burned. "She spilled red wine directly onto my lap. And then she knelt down and mocked me for giving up my life for you."

Cole shook his head. He looked at me with that practiced, condescending patience he used whenever I dared to challenge him.

"Jaycee is just trying to be friendly," he said softly. "You're imagining hostility where there isn't any."

"I heard her voice, Cole. She said—"

"You've been so stressed lately," Cole cut in smoothly. His tone sounded caring, but his eyes were completely cold. "First you run off to a hotel, then you hire an escort to provoke me, and now this. Maybe you should talk to someone, Leia. A therapist. You're losing your grip on reality."

I stared at him. The sheer cruelty of his words didn't even hurt anymore. It just made everything very, very clear.

He didn't care about the truth. He only cared about control.

Cole reached out and took my right hand. He peeled off my leather glove without asking. When his bare skin touched my palm, he let out a low, shuddering breath. His shoulders dropped an inch. His tactile allergy—his burning, prickling skin—calmed down instantly.

He was like an addict getting a dose of his medicine. He took what he needed from my skin, completely ignoring the bandage wrapped around my palm.

"Go home and change," he murmured. He leaned forward and pressed a dry, dismissive kiss to my forehead. "We'll have dinner tonight. Just the two of us."

He let go of my hand and turned around. He walked back into the ballroom, straight toward Jaycee's table.

I stood alone in the empty hallway.

The wine stain felt freezing against my skin. The smell of fermented grapes hung thick in the air.

I pulled my phone out of my purse.

I opened a new, password-protected folder in my cloud drive. My fingers didn't shake.

I typed out the date and the time. I wrote down the names of the five women who had watched Jaycee spill the wine. I noted the dress. I wrote down every single word Jaycee had whispered in my ear.

Then I took a photo of the blood-red stain soaking my ivory skirt.

I locked the screen.

Cole thought I was losing my mind.

I was just building my case.