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.

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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?"

Despair washed over me, a dark tide pulling me under until the air grew thin.

I opened my mouth, desperate to speak, to call for help, but only a hoarse groan escaped.

"What was that noise?" Quincy's voice came from the phone, and a desperate flicker of hope kindled in my chest.

I moaned louder, praying he would hear my pain.

Sloane shot me a wary glance, fumbling to cover it up.

"It's nothing. You must have misheard."

He didn't doubt her for a second.

"Fine. Do what you have to. I'll take care of it."

"Love you," she cooed, hanging up with a triumphant smile.

As I collapsed, tears carving clean tracks through the blood smearing my face, Sloane loomed over me with her hands on her hips.

She turned to the growing crowd and announced, "Don't get the wrong idea, everyone. I was just giving this stalker what she deserves! This woman had the audacity to get between me and Quincy. Tell me, doesn't she deserve this?"

The whispers around me were a chorus of contempt.

"I can't believe it. She looks so normal, but she's one of those women."

"She looks so put-together, but she's just a stalker. Utterly shameless," a woman sneered.

"Exactly! So shameless!" another chimed in.

"Honestly, she had it coming."

"Damn right! A bitch like that needs to be taught a lesson!"

The searing pain in my abdomen left me unable to respond, my strength draining with each ragged breath.

Sloane basked in their support, a dark satisfaction glinting in her eyes.

She straddled my fallen body, her hand striking my face again and again until my vision swam.

My hands rose shakily, a feeble attempt to shield my stomach.

"My... baby..." I moaned, my voice barely a whisper.

Sloane laughed, a hollow, merciless sound.

"You're lucky that thing isn't born yet. Otherwise, I'd teach it just how ugly this world can be."

Her friends yanked me by the hair, the edges of my vision blurring and tilting.

I could vaguely sense a shift in the crowd, a growing unease.

"Okay, that's enough," a voice finally cut in.

"This is... this is too much, don't you think?"

"Look at her face," another person murmured.

"It's all swollen and bleeding... this is going too far."

Someone spat, "Takes one to know one. Defending a stalker makes you one."

But then one of Sloane's friends gasped, "Sloane, there's blood!"

The word jolted through me.

Blood?

Trembling, I fought through the pain, struggling to focus my scattered senses.

"My baby... please, my baby..."

The crowd's tone changed, now laced with a hint of panic.

"Wait, she's pregnant? Stalker or not, this is insane! What if she miscarries?"

"Oh, now you all feel sorry?" another muttered darkly.

"If she loses that baby, you're all responsible—you were all egging her on."

Sloane's facade faltered. She took a step back, shocked but still defiant.

"Oh, please, she's faking. There's no way this could cause a miscarriage. She's not even pregnant!"

I shifted, summoning my last ounce of strength.

I reached behind me. My fingers came away slick with warm blood.

Sloane shot a look at her friends, and they hauled me roughly from the floor.

"Fine. So eager to get to a clinic? We'll give you a ride. But remember this," she sneered, "you brought this on yourself."

They dragged me out of the estate to a dimly lit sea cliff, the air thick with the smell of salt.

My instincts screamed that this wasn't the way to a clinic, but I was fading too fast to fight, my eyes refusing to stay open.

With a final surge of effort, I forced my eyes open and pleaded, "Please... my baby might still be saved... Just take me to a clinic. I swear, I'll stay away from Quincy, I'll disappear... but please, save my baby..."

A contemptuous smirk played on Sloane's lips.

"Oh, and now we're supposed to believe a stalker?" one of them mocked.

"Still worried about that little bastard, are we?"

"Oh, that's a shame," she hissed, her face twisting with malice.

"You and your baby can just rot here together."

She slipped off the shimmering stiletto from her foot, its sharp heel tracing a slow, cold line across my cheek.

"Just to be sure," she whispered, "let's ruin this pretty little face you use to seduce men."

I had no strength left to fight.

"Quincy will find out," I gasped. "He wants this baby. He'll never forgive you for killing his child!"

Sloane paused, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I'd finally struck a nerve.

But then, with a flick of her wrist, she drove the heel into my cheek, carving a deep gash.

"Don't you dare say Quincy's name, you bitch!" she roared.

"How would he ever find out?" she continued to rage. "No one will even remember your name by the time I'm done with you."

I froze, a chill spreading through me as she carved more cuts into my face.

The stinging pain became so intense that I went numb.

Seeing me so thoroughly defeated, Sloane's lips curled into a triumphant sneer.

"Look at you, Audrina. A pale ghost. You can't compete with me for Quincy now," she taunted.

"This is what happens when you cross me!"

I was a rag doll as she vented her fury on me, the sharp heel slicing my skin again and again.

I felt myself drifting away, my consciousness teetering on the edge.

Sloane's friends watched her, their faces pale with fear.

"Sloane, stop! You're going to kill her," one of them said, her voice trembling.

Sloane scoffed. "Scared? Quincy promised he'd handle everything. What are you worried about?"

Lying helplessly on the ground, a wet cough rattled in my chest, and I tasted blood on my tongue.

Finally, she stood up.

"Alright, I'm bored. Let's toss her in the trunk. If I'm not over it by then, maybe I'll come back to finish the job."

With that, Sloane and her cronies left.

I lay on the cold ground, clutching my stomach, struggling to breathe.

An empty void bloomed in my chest as my world faded to black.

"Little one... I'm so sorry. This is all my fault," I whispered, my life slipping away.

"If I live through this, I will get justice for you. I swear it."

Tears mixed with the blood running down my cheeks, each drop stinging my wounds like a needle.

Time blurred.

I don't know how long I lay there, drifting in and out of consciousness, until a faint sound reached my ears—someone was approaching.

Through the fog, I recognized Dexter Cross, Quincy's head of security.

He took one look at my ruined form and immediately called Quincy.

"Boss, it's bad. Sloane took it too far. The woman... her face is ruined."