Seven years of marriage, and my husband had slept his way through half of Hollywood. I was thirty-nine weeks pregnant when his latest pet, a starlet he was bankrolling, offended a major client at a gala. To save the deal, Chris demanded that I kneel and apologize on her behalf. I stared at him in disbelief. "I'm pregnant, Chris. How can I kneel? What if I hurt the baby—" He cut me off, his voice laced with ice. "It's just kneeling. Since when did you become so fragile?" He dragged me in front of the client and forced my head down. The sudden, violent motion sent a sharp pain through my abdomen, and my water broke. Beside me, the starlet, Evelyn, pinched her nose with a sneer. "Oh, dear. Did she just piss herself from fright?" That same day, I hemorrhaged during labor and nearly went into shock. Meanwhile, photos of Chris and Evelyn tangled in bed together were trending online. When his sister, Isabella, rushed to the hospital, my voice was unnaturally calm. "You promised me," I said, my gaze fixed on the sterile white ceiling. "You promised that once I had the baby, you'd let me go. Can I leave now?" 1 A flicker of hesitation crossed Isabella's eyes. "Heidi, are you really sure about this? Chris… he's just lost right now. He doesn't understand how good you are for him. Maybe if you just—" Just then, a push notification lit up my phone screen. It was a video of Chris celebrating Evelyn’s birthday. He stood behind her, his hands covering hers as they sliced into a towering cake. Evelyn wore a high-necked dress, a futile attempt to hide the faint bruises of love bites on her exposed skin. "They say Mr. Astor can't stand his wife," someone cooed off-camera, "but look how he dotes on her. Mrs. Astor is such a lucky woman." The speaker, a sycophantic industry type, slid a business card toward Evelyn. Hearing the words "Mrs. Astor," Evelyn beamed and accepted the card. Someone else, clearly in on the joke, chimed in. "Come on, Chris! Give your 'wife' a proper French kiss!" Chris didn’t bother to correct them. He simply wrapped a hand around Evelyn’s waist and pulled her into a deep, passionate kiss. Isabella looked at me, her face burning with shame. Expecting tears, she pulled me into a hug. "Heidi, I was wrong. I was so wrong to force you two together. I agree. You can leave." But I didn't cry. I had cried myself dry on the delivery table. "Do you want to see the baby before you go?" she asked softly. The baby. My heart clenched, a fist squeezing it tight. The precious child I had walked through the gates of hell to bring into this world. To say I felt nothing would be a lie. My thoughts were interrupted as Isabella returned, carrying a small, swaddled bundle. "Heidi, look at him. He's so perfect. The doctors said he's a healthy six and a half pounds—" "Enough," I whispered, turning my head away, my nails digging into my palms. "Don't say any more." Don't look back, Heidi. The voice in my head was firm. If you're going to leave, you can't have any attachments. Isabella froze, her steps faltering. She handed the baby back to a nurse before furiously dialing Chris's number. "Isabella, I told you, I'm on a business trip," Chris's voice came through the speaker, slick and annoyed. "Don't call me—" "A business trip? Your 'business trip' is headlining every gossip site in the country! Do you think I'm blind?" The playful tone in Chris's voice curdled into anger. "I take it Heidi has been whining to you again. I should have known. Put her on." Isabella handed me the phone. As I brought it to my ear, I could hear a woman’s soft, breathy moans in the background. Tears of rage and shame welled in Isabella's eyes. "Heidi," she said, her voice thick with regret. "As soon as you're recovered, in one week, you're free to go." 2 After I was discharged, I was a ghost in my own home. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. In a shocking turn, Chris wired me a substantial amount of money for living expenses. It was the first time in seven years he had ever made a gesture of peace. In the past, a single text from him would have sent me into a flurry of a hundred replies. This time, I declined the transfer. An angry voice memo arrived moments later. "Heidi, don't be ungrateful. Take the damn money or don't, I don't care!" That night, he brought Evelyn back to the villa. He watched my face, looking for a reaction. When he found none, only a placid emptiness, his own expression soured, and he retreated to his study for a video conference. Evelyn slinked over to me, a smirk playing on her lips. "Look at you. Childbirth has completely wrecked your body. If I were you, I'd be too ashamed to even be in the same room as Chris." She was trying to provoke me, to bait me into a fight. In the past, it would have worked. The slightest provocation from her, and I would have lunged. But now, I just watched her, my silence a mirror to her one-woman show. My direct, unblinking gaze seemed to unnerve her. Just as Chris emerged from the study, Evelyn snatched a fruit knife from the table and swiped it across her own palm. Blood welled up instantly. She shoved the knife into my hand and collapsed dramatically onto the floor. "Mrs. Astor, please! I just love Chris! I only want to be near him! You don't have to kill me for it!" It was her favorite trick. The one she used time and again. In the past, I would have dropped the knife and frantically tried to explain, to tell Chris how she had orchestrated the whole thing. This time, I held onto the knife. I let her cast me as the villain. And Chris, as always, played his part. He shoved me aside with a roar. "Heidi, jealousy has its limits! Are you trying to become a murderer?" I stumbled backward, off-balance, and fell. The blade of the knife sliced a deep gash across my wrist. I stared at the new wound, mesmerized, as Chris’s cold voice washed over me. "Apologize to her. Now." When I didn't move, he hauled me to my feet and pushed me in front of Evelyn. An apology? Fine. I picked up the fruit knife from the floor, pressed it against the fresh cut on my wrist, and dragged it deeper. Then I looked up at Chris, a faint, chilling smile on my lips. "Is this the kind of apology you were looking for? If not, I can always—" "Enough, Heidi!" Seeing the blood pour from my wrist, a flicker of something—worry? panic?—crossed Chris’s eyes. He snatched the knife away. "Have you lost your mind?" His gaze fell to my arm, and his voice trembled. He had finally noticed the dense lattice of pale, faded scars that covered my skin. "Where… where did all these cuts come from?" For seven years, he had paraded a revolving door of women through our home. None of them were simple. Like Evelyn, they all loved to play games, to push and provoke, to rub salt in my wounds. Some of these scars were gifts from his lovers. Others were from him, when he was defending them. Chris stared at my wrist for a long, silent moment. So long that I thought he might actually remember. But then, a cruel, mocking smile spread across his face. "So this is your new tactic, Heidi? When catching me with other women didn't work, you decided to try self-harm to get my attention?" He squeezed my wrist, his fingers digging into the wounded flesh. The pain was sharp, and I winced. But then I remembered. Only three more days until I was free. Suddenly, it didn't hurt at all. 3 After Chris left, I took down the wedding photograph from our bedroom wall. Seven years of marriage, and the only thing Chris and I truly shared was this single picture. How pathetic. In the photo, the groom's smile was stiff, a tangible gap separating him from his bride. I remember the photographer had to take it more than a dozen times. "Is this a wedding shoot or a hostage situation?" I overheard him mutter to his assistant. "The groom looks like he's at a funeral. I ask him to move closer to the bride, and he just glares at me. If you don't want to get married, then don't." It was the only photo of us where he was even attempting a smile. But Chris hated it. I would hang it up, he would take it down. I would hang it up again. Eventually, he grew tired of the game and let it be. I carefully removed the photograph from its frame. Suddenly, Chris's voice echoed from behind me. "Isn't that your most prized possession? You're finally willing to part with it?" He was rarely home at this hour, usually finding comfort in some other woman's bed. But there he was, leaning against the doorframe, a cigarillo smoldering between his fingers. It reminded me of the first time I caught him cheating, a year into our marriage. I had clawed at the other woman's face, leaving bloody trails. Chris had watched from the doorway then, too, his expression just as detached and bored. "Go on," he'd said with a lazy wave of his hand. "Get rid of this one. There will just be another." I used to fear that version of Chris—the indifferent spectator who made me feel like a hysterical fool in his grand, detached play. But I didn't care anymore. Ignoring him, I pulled a few changes of clothes from the closet and packed them into a suitcase. That finally got him to move. He crossed the room and grabbed my arm. "Where are you going?" There was a subtle tremor of panic in his voice that he couldn't quite hide. Blood seeped through the fresh bandage on my wrist. "I'm not feeling well," I said calmly. "Going on a trip with my friend for a few days." Chris's grip loosened. That night, he moved back into the master bedroom from the guest room, claiming it was his way of making up for hurting me. I gathered his pillows and duvet and threw them out into the hallway. "Go find your starlet," I snapped. "I don't want your pity." Chris's face darkened, a cold sneer twisting his lips. "Alright, Heidi, stop the theatrics. Is this what it's about? Are you mad that I haven't touched you in years? Fine. I'll satisfy you right now!" He pinned me to the bed, his hand snaking under my nightgown. SMACK. "You animal, Chris!" I screamed, the scent of another woman's perfume on him making me want to vomit. "Don't you dare touch me. You're disgusting!" He slammed his fist into the pillow next to my head. "Don't you regret this, Heidi." He stood, stormed out, and slammed the door behind him. Later that night, he brought Evelyn back again. I was in a hazy, half-asleep state when I heard them. The sounds carried from the study—a man's ragged breaths mixed with a woman's soft moans. The study shared a wall with our bedroom. He was doing this on purpose, punishing me. He never used to let his women stay the night. The study door was ajar. I stood in the doorway and saw them, two naked bodies entwined on the large leather sofa. A wave of nausea washed over me. Chris saw me standing there. He was watching my face, waiting for the tears, the rage. When he saw only a dead calm, a flash of fury crossed his face. He grabbed a pillow and hurled it at me. "Get out!" he roared. As I closed the study door, I felt a sharp, final pang in my chest. I dragged my suitcase to my best friend Carole's apartment. Two more days. Then it would all be over. 4 I was deep in a much-needed sleep when Carole shook me awake. "Heidi, wake up! You have to see this!" I groggily looked at her phone. The top trending topics were all about the twisted love triangle between Chris, Evelyn, and me. #AstorCEOandHisStarletInSteamyStudySession #HeidiAstorFleesMansionAfterDevastatingBetrayal The entire internet was crucifying Evelyn, calling her a homewrecker. Her social media accounts were in flames. This had her fingerprints all over it. But I couldn't understand her motive. Why would she intentionally throw herself into the fire? The answer arrived with Chris, who stormed into Carole's apartment and slapped me across the face before I could even utter a word. "I can't believe how vicious you are, Heidi," he seethed. "No wonder you were so calm last night. You planned this, didn't you? You set Evelyn up!" He grabbed my arm. "We're going to the hospital to apologize. Do you have any idea what you've done? She has depression! The stress you caused made her try to kill herself! I got there just in time. Evelyn is a kind soul. You've ruined her career, and she doesn't even blame you. All she wants is a public apology to clear her name." Clear her name? I laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. "And what name is that, Chris? You were there. Don't you know the truth?" But he wasn't giving me a choice. He dragged me to the hospital. Evelyn was lying in a hospital bed, her wrist bandaged, looking as fragile as a wilting flower. The moment we arrived, reporters swarmed the room. "Mrs. Astor, are the photos online real? Or did you fabricate them?" "Mrs. Astor, is Miss Vance really a homewrecker?" I opened my mouth to speak, but Chris clamped his hand over my wrist, his grip like iron. He leaned in, his voice a low, menacing whisper in my ear. The cut on my wrist, still healing, screamed in protest, but I had gone numb to the pain. "Heidi," he warned. "You know what to say and what not to say." I wrenched my hand free, a mocking smile on my face. "Don't worry, Mr. Astor. I'm here to set the record straight." Facing the barrage of cameras, I bowed deeply to Evelyn. "Miss Vance, I am so sorry," I began, my voice clear and steady. "You are not the other woman. Last night, you were simply at our home to discuss a business collaboration with my husband. I was the one who acted maliciously. I intentionally took misleading photos and hired bots to attack you online." I bowed again. "Miss Vance, from the very beginning, your relationship with my husband has been completely professional and innocent. It was I who, consumed by jealousy, used these despicable tactics to frame you. Please, I beg you to forgive me." With every word I spoke, the color drained from Evelyn's face. A reporter, defending her, spoke up. "Mrs. Astor, that apology seems completely insincere! Look at Miss Vance, you're terrifying her!" Evelyn, who had been scrambling for a way out of the corner I'd backed her into, seized the opportunity. She began to pull at her hair, curling into a ball, her voice trembling violently. "I'm not a homewrecker… I'm not… I just admire Mr. Astor… If it's a crime to love someone, then just let me die…" Chris, fearing she would harm herself, rushed to her side and wrapped her in his arms. "Evelyn, it's not a crime to love someone. Don't blame yourself." Then, he turned his gaze to me, his eyes filled with a chilling cold. "Heidi. Kneel and apologize to her properly." 5 At the gala, Chris had forced me to kneel for Evelyn, making me the laughingstock of our entire social circle. Now, with the cameras of every major news outlet rolling, if I knelt, I would never be able to hold my head up again. Seeing my hesitation, Chris pulled out his phone and made a call. A moment later, a text from Carole lit up my screen. Heidi, they fired me! What do I do? It took me forever to get this job. My grandma's in the hospital… I can't lose this job… My fists clenched. I swallowed the burning humiliation. As I sank to my knees, a hundred camera flashes exploded in my face. Chris was still fussing over Evelyn, checking her bandages. "Didn't they just say their relationship was innocent?" a reporter whispered. "They seem awfully close… maybe there really is something going on between them," another murmured. A bold journalist finally asked the question on everyone's mind. Chris opened his mouth to explain, but I cut him off. "Everyone," I announced, my voice ringing with a strange clarity. "The truth is, Evelyn is Chris's first love. She went abroad years ago to receive treatment for her depression. Before she left, they were legally married. She is his lawful wife." I paused, letting the bombshell land. "I'm just the woman who once saved his sister's life. As a reward, the Astor family allowed me to marry into their ranks. Chris was forced to marry me." I looked directly at him. "Isn't that right, Chris?" For the first time in his life, the sharp, domineering Chris Astor was speechless. His face was a mask of pure shock. He never imagined I could spin such an outrageous lie. But he didn't deny it. He knew it was the perfect way to save Evelyn's reputation. "So," a reporter concluded, "that means Mrs. Astor… you're the real homewrecker." "Yes," I said, tilting my head back with a self-deprecating laugh. "I am." From this day forward, I owed the Astor family nothing. That night, Chris waited for me at the villa. He paced restlessly, his mind replaying the image of me kneeling before the cameras, calmly detonating our lives. Each word I'd spoken was so serene, yet laced with a profound, chilling despair. A knot of dread tightened in his stomach. Suddenly, his assistant burst in, his face pale. "Mr. Astor, it's terrible news. Your wife… she jumped into the ocean!"
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