They were wearing them right now. Dennis and Beryl, standing in my apartment, dressed in my pajamas.

My mind went blank. The words tore out of me before I could stop them.

"Dennis! How could you bring her here? You know this is where we..."

I didn't finish. Beryl's hand was already moving. She slapped herself across the face with practiced precision, her cheek blooming red in an instant. She stepped in front of Dennis, eyes brimming with tears, and stared me down.

"Mrs. Sanchez, I just wanted to understand what Dennis's life was like before. I begged him to bring me here." Her lip trembled. "If it upsets you, I'll get on my knees and apologize. Just please stop hurting him."

Dennis looked shattered. He cradled her face in both hands, blowing gently on the mark she'd made herself.

Then he glanced at the bodyguard behind me. One look. That was all it took.

Hands clamped down on my arms. A palm the size of a dinner plate cracked across my cheek. Then again. And again. My ears rang, a high-pitched whine drowning out everything else.

I don't know how long it lasted before they finally stopped and let go.

I crumpled to the floor. Dennis looked down at me, his expression flat, utterly unmoved.

"Vee, why do you insist on making things difficult for yourself? If you're not feeling well, go home and rest. Why chase me all the way here just to start trouble?"

A bitter laugh scraped out of my throat.

"Go home? Do I still have a home? Is that place even mine anymore?"

I looked up at him, eyes burning. Tears and blood from my nose dripped onto the floor between us.

"Dennis, why did you have to bring her here?"

"You can go wherever you want to fool around. I don't care anymore. But why did you have to defile this place?"

"The Dennis Sanchez at thirty is rotten to the core. So why did you have to destroy the only memory the twenty-year-old version of you ever left me?"

Something flickered behind his eyes. A tremor, barely there.

Then it was gone, swallowed by rage.

"Rotten to the core? How am I rotten? Don't forget, Veronica, if it weren't for me, you'd have spent your whole life crammed into a dump like this!"

"And don't forget, the money you used to buy this place came out of my account! This is mine too! I'll do whatever I want with it!"

His fury twisted into a laugh.

"You think I've dirtied this place? Forget dirtying it. I could blow this shithole to rubble and it still wouldn't be any of your business."

He ordered them to drag me out.

They hauled me through the door while men wired explosives to the walls of the old apartment. A few pounds of charges, rigged to the crumbling exterior.

One command. That was all it took.

The building that held the only good memory we'd ever shared collapsed into dust and ash.

Firelight filled the sky. My tears wouldn't stop.

Dennis stared at the wet streaks on my face. The anger drained from his expression, replaced by something cold and distant.

"Veronica. What do I have to say to make you understand?"

"I gave you the title of Mrs. Sanchez. I put you in Bayshore Villa. I let you carry handbags that cost over ten thousand dollars apiece. The clothes on your back right now are couture that ordinary people couldn't afford in a lifetime. Haven't I been good enough to you?"

"You're thirty years old. You're not young anymore. Do you honestly expect me to still be in love with a woman whose looks are already fading?"

"I'm giving you the dignity of being my wife. I'm giving you a life of luxury. All I need is for you to turn a blind eye and make room for Beryl and the child. Is that really so impossible?"

I met his gaze. Every word came out steady and clear.

"No."

"Dennis, you erased everything we had with your own hands."

"I want a divorce."

Irritation and anger bled into his eyes. He looked at me for a long moment, then spoke, his voice flat.

"Divorce? Not a chance. Even if I don't love you anymore, you're still the most important person in my life. I will never divorce you."

He looked at me and spoke, enunciating every word: "Veronica, I have never wronged you. If I owe anyone, it's Beryl. I couldn't give her a proper title. She spent the best years of her life following me with nothing to show for it." "I was going to let you keep your dignity. But you had to make a scene and turn everything ugly." He turned around, dropped to one knee, and pulled an enormous diamond ring from his pocket. His eyes were soft, his voice tender as he gazed up at Beryl. "Beryl, I blame myself for not finding you sooner." "I can't give you a legal title in this lifetime, but I want to give you the grandest wedding there is. I want the whole world to know that you are the one I love." Beryl covered her mouth with both hands, eyes glistening. But she turned her head away, her voice small and forlorn: "I can't say yes. I love you, so I was willing to swallow my pride and be your mistress. But I won't let the whole world know I'm your mistress." "Unless..." She turned to look at me. "Unless Mrs. Sanchez officiates for us. Unless she stands in front of everyone and admits that the unloved one is the real homewrecker. That she is the third wheel." I met the venom in the young woman's eyes without expression. Dennis watched me say nothing, then spoke, his voice like a blade on ice: "Vee, don't forget. Your parents' ashes are still buried in the cemetery plot I paid for." "You wouldn't want them to end up like this apartment... would you?" Something inside my chest tore loose, as if a knife had carved out a chunk of living flesh. Even the air I breathed tasted like blood. I nodded, slowly. "Fine. I'll do it." Beryl's tears vanished into a radiant smile, and she threw herself into Dennis's arms. He took her to pick out a wedding gown and book a venue. On his way out, he paused at the door. For once, his tone was almost civil: "Veronica, it's just a wedding. It won't change your position as Mrs. Sanchez." My voice was level. "Okay." He studied me for a long moment, and a smile finally broke across his face. "You won't need to look after Beryl for a while. Just rest at the hospital. Once the baby's born, the three of us will take a trip together, you, me, and the child. Consider it my way of making it up to you." I said okay again, just as calmly. Only then did Dennis leave, satisfied.

On the day of the wedding, Dennis was so afraid I'd cause a scene that he had the bodyguards escort me to the dressing room early and keep watch over me.

Beryl pouted and said her gown was too heavy for her to put on her own shoes.

"Mrs. Sanchez, would you help me?"

Dennis frowned slightly and glanced at me on instinct.

I lowered my eyes, crouched down, lifted the hem of her gown, and slipped the shoes onto her feet.

Dennis stared at me with something unreadable on his face. His lips pressed together as if he wanted to speak, but Beryl nudged him.

"Babe, I'm thirsty. Could you go grab me some orange juice?"

He smiled at that, ruffled her hair, and turned to walk out the door.

The second he was gone, Beryl's foot slammed into my chest.

She looked down at me, lip curled in contempt.

"Veronica, you don't actually think I'm some kept little trophy who latched onto a rich man, do you?"

"You probably had no idea. Dennis and I have been together for almost ten years."

She saw the shock in my eyes and her smile turned poisonous.

"He said I was too young to suffer alongside him. So he dated me and married you."

"He was so worried about shortchanging me that the very first paycheck he earned, he told you debt collectors took it. The truth? He bought me a designer handbag. Every single time I felt the slightest bit wronged, he'd send people to your door to stage those debt-collection scenes, shake you down, and funnel every last dollar to me for more bags."

"One million eight hundred thousand dollars total. Oh, and a bracelet that wasn't worth much. I tossed it."

My whole body wouldn't stop shaking.

One million eight hundred thousand. That was every cent I'd earned during those years, working myself half to death to pay off Dennis's debts.

At my most exhausted, I'd collapsed right on the assembly line and nearly been dragged into the machinery.

When Dennis found out, he held me and couldn't stop trembling, telling me it was all his fault.

How pathetic that I'd actually patted his back and smiled, telling him I didn't blame him.

It was all a lie.

He'd been lying to me the entire time.

Beryl was still going, still talking:

"Then you got pregnant. I was so furious I wouldn't let him touch me. So he just staged the whole thing with a business partner, got you drunk until you miscarried. You don't even know that while you were unconscious in the operating room fighting for your life, he was on the phone with me, begging me not to be mad at him."

The words hit me like a blunt instrument to the skull. My vision went black.

Beryl's face twisted, her expression turning vicious as she glared at me:

"But even though he loves me that much, he still refused to divorce you and marry me!"

"You were only ever holding that over my head because Dennis felt guilty, because you went through hard times with him when he was starting out. That's all it ever was."

Then she laughed.

"What do you think would happen if Dennis found out you attacked the baby in my belly? Think he'd still feel any of that guilt for you?"

Every hair on my body stood on end. I spun around and bolted for the door.

Behind me, Beryl lifted the champagne bottle and slammed it into her own stomach, then let out a piercing scream.

"Dennis! Save me!"

The dressing room door flew open under Dennis's kick. He seized my wrist and hurled me to the ground.

His eyes were bloodshot as he stared at Beryl crumpled on the floor, blood spreading out from beneath the hem of her dress.

"It wasn't me..."

My words died in my throat, strangled under his hand.

His eyes burning red, he roared at me:

"Veronica! You won't even spare a child! You make me sick!"

"You made Beryl lose her baby, so don't blame me for what I do to your dead parents."

Through my tears of horror and agony, he gave the order:

"Dig up Veronica's parents' graves. Grind the bones to dust and dump them in the sewer."

"No!"

I screamed until my voice broke:

"Dennis! You're insane! There are cameras in the dressing room! Go check! It wasn't me!"

Beryl staggered to her feet, swaying, and lurched toward the window:

"The baby's gone. What's the point of me being alive? I might as well just die!"

"Mrs. Sanchez, go ahead and frame me however you want!"

Dennis went white. He flung me aside and rushed to catch Beryl in his arms.

He stared at me, his expression carved from stone, and spoke one word at a time:

"Veronica. You've used up the last shred of feeling I had for you. You hurt the woman I love and our child. I will never let this go."

His voice dropped, cold and flat:

"Put her in jail. Tell them to take good care of her."

"I don't want her to have a single good day in there."

...

Dennis ran every red light on the way to the hospital.

He carried Beryl in his arms and burst straight into the emergency room:

"Save her! Save my child! If you can save my baby, I'll donate ten million to this hospital!"

The attending physician startled, then froze when he recognized Dennis.

"Mr. Sanchez?"

He frowned, looking from Dennis to the pale, fragile woman lying on the gurney.

Then, hesitantly, he spoke:

"Your child? Mr. Sanchez, you have necrospermia. You're infertile. What child are we talking about?"