Chapter 3

That afternoon, I met Sophia at a coffee shop I often went to so we could talk through the next steps.

I had just sat down when a woman in a white dress, wearing delicate makeup and looking all soft and helpless, walked over with a cup of coffee.

Emily Lane.

The woman Jonathan had cherished for ten years.

She sat down across from me, looked at me with watery eyes, and said apologetically, "Claire, I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to ruin your marriage. Jon and I truly love each other. I hope you can let us be together."

Claire? Wow. She sure made herself sound close.

Looking at this polished little snake act of hers, I was this close to laughing out loud.

I took out my phone and adjusted the angle. On the surface, I looked like I was scrolling through the news. In reality, I was quietly turning on the voice recorder.

"Ms. Lane, we don't know each other like that, so please call me Ms. Bennett." I lifted the lemon water in front of me and spoke lightly.

I added, "Also, this place has high-def surveillance with no blind spots, so maybe think before you say or do anything."

The fragile expression on Emily's face stiffened for a split second. She clearly hadn't expected me to be that direct.

She had probably assumed I'd be like every other dumped wife, either crying my eyes out or cursing her out. She didn't expect me to be this calm, like I was watching from outside the whole thing.

She recovered quickly, leaned in a little, lowered her voice, and finally let some of her real nastiness show through that sweet, innocent face.

She said, "Claire, who are you kidding? You think one baby can tie him down? Let me make this crystal clear. The woman he loves is me. It has always been me. You're nothing but a substitute, a live-in bed warmer and nanny.

"Take the money and get the hell out while you still can. Stop squatting in a place you don't belong. Otherwise, I've got plenty of ways to make what's in your belly disappear."

Her words were like knives, stabbing into me one after another.

A few days ago, they might've hurt so badly I couldn't breathe.

Now, all I felt was amusement.

While she was talking, I caught sight of Jonathan's tall figure entering through the front door and heading straight toward us.

So that was the setup.

I sneered inwardly, but my face gave nothing away.

Emily had obviously spotted Jonathan too. A calculating glint flashed through her eyes.

She suddenly got to her feet, swayed like she'd lost her balance, and threw herself toward me, aiming straight for my slightly rounded stomach.

What a nasty little two-for-one move.

If she knocked me over and something happened to the baby, she could wipe her hands clean and call it an accident.

And by the time Jonathan got there, all he'd see was her collapsing in fright while I, the "evil ex-wife," stood there unharmed.

Too bad for her, I wasn't some lamb waiting for slaughter.

The second she lunged at me, I smoothly stepped aside. I was ready for her.

At the same time, I "accidentally" stretched one foot forward, just enough to catch her ankle.

"Ahh!"

Emily missed me completely and crashed hard onto the polished floor in the most pathetic way possible.

She'd committed so hard to making it look real that she hit the ground hard enough to scrape her elbow open and draw blood right on the spot.

Her sharp scream instantly pulled every eye in the coffee shop toward us.

"Em!" Jonathan arrived right on cue. The second he saw Emily on the floor with blood running down her elbow, he rushed over, scooped her into his arms, and held her like she might break.

Then he spun around, his eyes bloodshot as he glared at me and roared, "Claire, you actually shoved her? What the hell is wrong with you?"

The customers around us had no idea what was going on and started pointing at me.

"Oh my God, who is that woman? Did she really shove a pregnant woman?"

"Wait, no. Isn't the one on the floor the other woman? Is this the wife beating up the mistress?"

"Look how worried that guy is. He must really love her. The wife is kind of pathetic."

The chatter buzzed around me like flies.

Emily leaned against Jonathan and cried like some fragile little angel. "Jon, don't blame Claire. I was the clumsy one. She's pregnant, so of course she's upset."

What a sweet little snake.

Jonathan looked at the "kind" woman in his arms, then at me standing there expressionless. The rage in his eyes was about to spill over.

Holding Emily like she was something priceless, he ground out through clenched teeth, "Claire, I must've been blind to marry you. Apologize to Em right now."

I looked at the sickening hero-rescues-beauty act in front of me and let out a cold laugh.

Under the crowd's contempt and pity, I lifted my phone and hit play.

A clear recording, buzzing faintly with electronic static, blasted through the coffee shop.

Emily said, "Claire, who are you kidding? You think one baby can tie him down?

"Take the money and get the hell out while you still can. Otherwise, I've got plenty of ways to make what's in your belly disappear."

Her vicious, shrill voice came through loud and clear, every single word landing in everyone's ears.

The whole place exploded.

The people who'd been pointing fingers at me a second ago now stared at Emily in Jonathan's arms like they'd just seen a ghost.

Emily's crying stopped dead. The color drained from her face in an instant, and her body shook like a leaf.

Jonathan's face looked even better.

He went from enraged, to shocked, to flat-out disbelieving, and finally turned a dark, ugly red.

He stood there holding Emily stiffly, like a clown being publicly humiliated, soaking in the contempt, mockery, and amusement coming from every direction.

I lowered my phone and looked down at them, "Mr. Grant, next time you hire someone to put on a show, maybe pick a real actress."

With that, I turned and walked away gracefully in my heels while he watched, humiliated beyond words.

Behind me were Emily's panicked excuses and Jonathan's shame with nowhere to hide.

I won that round clean.