Not Your Scapegoat Again

"Tsk tsk, I envy women like you," she said, swaying in. "Infertile and still so chill. I, on the other hand, need velvet sheets just to sleep."

"Get out."

She just smiled wider, hand brushing over her stomach.

"You know," she said casually, "your infertility wasn't your body's fault."

My stomach dropped. "What are you talking about?"

"Simon's been lacing your food with birth control for years. Enough to make it permanent."

She leaned in, voice low and poisonous. "It was all part of the plan. Once you couldn't get pregnant, he could toss you aside guilt-free—and marry me."

That's why it never happened.

White-hot rage surged through me. I jumped to my feet and slapped her—hard.

"You two are disgusting."

Nancy stumbled back—then let out this weird, fake laugh.

Next thing I knew, she threw herself to the ground and screamed like she was being murdered. "Ahh! Heidi, what are you doing?!"

The basement door slammed open. Simon stormed in with a crew of guys.

"Nancy!"

He ran to her, saw the red mark on her cheek—and his whole face twisted with rage.

"Heidi! What did you do?!"

Nancy clung to him, bawling like a soap opera star. "Simon, she tried to kill our baby!"

"You're lying!" I yelled. "You threw yourself down!"

Simon didn't even flinch. His eyes were ice.

"Restrain her."

They grabbed me, slammed me into the wall, tied my hands tight.

"Simon, you bastard!" I fought against the ropes. "You drugged me! You made sure I couldn't get pregnant!"

His face twitched for a second—then went flat. "So what if I did? You were never good enough to carry my kid."

He walked over, grabbed a leather whip from the wall.

"If you ever touch Nancy again, you'll regret it."

Crack!

"Ahh—!"

The first hit tore down my back. Fire exploded in my skin.

"That one's for Nancy!"

Crack!

"And this is for our baby!"

The whip kept falling. I blacked out, woke up soaked in freezing water, only to get hit again.

By the ninety-ninth lash, I was a bloody mess on the floor, barely breathing.

Simon dropped the bloodied whip like it was nothing. "Take her to court. She's confessing today."

They dragged me out, tossed me into a car.

Every lash screamed against the rough seat. I nearly passed out.

By the time we hit the courthouse, the sun was up.

Simon had pulled strings—moved the trial ahead.

The second I was dragged inside, his lawyer jumped up. "Your Honor, my client pleads guilty. We request immediate sentencing."

The judge opened his mouth—then the courtroom doors slammed open.

Everyone turned.

Clark Johnston walked in, flanked by lawyers and medics.

Sharp suit. Stone face. But when he looked at me, something in his eyes broke.

"As the plaintiff, I'm dropping all charges," he said. "And I demand immediate medical care for my fiancée, Heidi Wynn."