Chapter 2 - The Soft Blade Turns
The penthouse smelled of lavender and expensive floor wax, but to me, it felt like a stage set whose lights were about to be turned off. When I entered, Jessica was sitting on the velvet sofa, nursing the newborn while Liam, the three-year-old, played with a silver rattle on the rug. She looked up, her expression shifting instantly from domestic comfort to that smug, victorious smirk she had worn since she graduated from my husband's desk to his bed.
"Oh, Lauren," Jessica said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "You're back early. Richard said the medical checkup would take all morning. Where is he? He promised he’d take Liam to the toy store after he finished with the doctors."
"Richard is delayed," I said, removing my pearls and placing them systematically on the console table. "He had some unexpected results to discuss with Dr. Vance. Business, you know how he is."
Jessica’s smile widened, a tiny glint of malice in her eyes. "Yes, I do know. He cares so much about his health now. He keeps saying he has to stay young and strong for the babies. A true patriarch needs to ensure his empire passes into the right hands. It must be so hard for you, watching it all happen from the sidelines."
I walked over to the armchair opposite her, sitting down gracefullly. I looked at Liam. The boy had sandy hair and light eyes. Richard had convinced himself the boy looked like his late grandfather. In reality, if you looked closely at the executive roster of Hawthorne Meridian, the boy looked exactly like Thomas Miller—the head of logistics, a man who frequently traveled with Richard and Jessica on "corporate retreats."
"It isn't hard at all, Jessica," I said, my tone conversational, almost light. "In fact, I find the entire situation fascinating. The human capacity for self-delusion is truly limitless."
Jessica’s smirk faltered slightly. She repositioned the baby against her chest, her posture hardening. "What is that supposed to mean? If you’re trying to be bitter, Lauren, save your breath. Richard is going to file for the dissolution of your marriage by the end of the month. The lawyers are already drafting the paperwork. The prenup gives you a townhouse and a small stipend, but the Hawthorne fortune stays with the bloodline. With my children."
"Ah, the prenup," I murmured. "The one written nine years ago by the firm of Sterling & Associates? Back when I was a senior partner there, before Richard begged me to leave my practice to manage his social image?"
Jessica frowned, a sudden chill entering her eyes. She hadn't been around long enough to remember who I was before I became the "delicate, barren wife." She only knew the quiet woman who didn't fight back.
"It doesn't matter who wrote it," Jessica said, her voice rising defensively. "It's signed. It's legally binding. You get nothing from the company shares. Richard made sure of that."
Before I could answer, the front door slammed open with a violence that made the crystal chandelier rattle overhead. Richard stumbled into the foyer, his tie loosened, his hair disheveled, his face a terrifying shade of purple-red. He looked like a man who had spent the last two hours running through a nightmare.
"Richard!" Jessica gasped, her face instantly melting into her practiced, doting expression. "What's wrong? You look terrible. Did the doctors find something?"
Richard didn't look at her. His eyes were locked onto the two children. He stared at Liam, then down at the baby girl in Jessica’s arms. The adoration that usually filled his face was entirely gone, replaced by a deep, visceral revulsion.
"Get them out," Richard whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of rage and terror.
"What?" Jessica blinked, confused. "Richard, honey, what are you saying? It's Liam and Chloe. Your babies."
"I said get them out of my sight!" he roared, striding forward and snatching the silver rattle from Liam’s hand, throwing it across the room where it shattered against a glass cabinet. The toddler began to scream in terror, burying his face in the sofa cushions.
"Richard, you're scaring them! What happened at the hospital?" Jessica yelled, standing up, her protective motherly instincts kicking in, though her voice was laced with a sudden, sharp panic.
Richard stopped three feet from her. He looked at her face—the face he had traded his wife's dignity for—and then he looked at me, sitting calmly in the corner, watching the show.
"Tell me who the father is," Richard said, his voice dropping into a deathly, low hiss. "Tell me right now, Jessica, or I swear to God I will have the security team throw you out onto the street in your slippers."
Jessica paled, the blood draining from her lips so fast she looked like a ghost. "What... what are you talking about? You're the father. We took the tests when I got pregnant... we..."
May you like
"We never took a DNA test, Jessica. You showed me a lab report from a clinic your cousin owns!" Richard grabbed her arm, his grip vicious. "I am sterile. I have been sterile since I was twelve years old. The doctor confirmed it today. My wife has the records from five years ago. I can't have kids. So whose babies are these, Jessica? Who have you been letting into my bed while I was paying for your luxury apartment?"
Jessica looked at Richard, then slowly, her terrified gaze drifted over to me. I raised my teacup, taking a slow, deliberate sip. The trap had sprung, and the walls were closing in fast.
