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?"