Chapter 2
"I'm his rightful wife. We've been married for eight years. He never died. He faked it. He's a total fraud," I yelled.
The guests started buzzing, murmuring to each other.
"That photo she's holding does look like Scott," someone whispered.
"Oh, my god, he's married to two women? That's insane," another guest gasped.
"She doesn't look like she's from money, but that photo has to be real, right?" someone else muttered.
Jassica's expression shifted, her face darkening.
She pushed Scott's hand away, then looked back and forth between us, suspicion written all over her face.
"Scott, what the hell is going on? Who is she?" Jassica demanded.
Scott didn't even flinch, just sighed in resignation.
He put his arm around Jassica's shoulders, his voice so gentle it could melt butter.
He said softly, "Jassica, don't listen to her nonsense.
"Remember that 'accident' three years ago? I was actually hit by someone. The driver's family was hers.
"We couldn't agree on compensation, and she was traumatized. Ever since then, she's been convinced I'm her dead husband.
"She's been stalking me for years, even photoshopped these pictures to try and extort me. I was trying to spare her some dignity, but she actually showed up here."
Scott lied without so much as batting an eye.
His story was so tight, one could tell he'd had it all planned out from the start.
The whispers around us shifted instantly.
"So she's here to squeeze some cash out of him," someone said.
"Figures. The Amberly family would never let a guy with two wives join their ranks," another guest scoffed.
"She does look kinda crazy, storming in here dressed like that," someone else muttered.
I looked at Scott like I couldn't believe what I was seeing.
Was this the man I loved for eight years? The one I busted my ass looking after his mom after he "died"?
"Scott, are you even a decent person? Your mom is still lying at home. She's been scrimping every penny to pay off your debts, won't even buy herself painkillers!" I shouted.
I lunged at him, trying to grab his collar.
Scott reacted instantly, grabbing my wrist before I could even get close.
His grip was so strong, pain shot straight through my bones.
"Enough!" he growled.
With his other hand, he snatched my phone right out of my grasp.
"Parading these doctored photos everywhere, trying to con people? You're seriously messed up," Scott sneered.
Crash! He slammed my phone hard onto the ground.
The marble was merciless. My phone screen shattered beyond recognition.
Still not satisfied, he raised his polished leather shoe and stomped down, grinding the phone until it was completely mangled.
"With your evidence gone, let's see you try to act crazy now," Scott sneered.
He got right up in my face, his voice low and nasty so only I could hear.
I stood there, stunned.
"You bastard!" I yelled.
I snapped and lunged at him, shoving him hard.
Splash!
Suddenly, a glass of red wine came flying straight at my face.
The crimson liquid streamed down my hair and into my eyes, burning and making them water from the sting.
Jassica held the empty wine glass, wiped her hands off, looking grossed out.
She said, "Talk about bad luck! Scott, why are you even bothering with this psycho?
"Security! What are you waiting for? Get this scammer out of here and call the cops. Don't let her mess up the kids' birthday party."
A bunch of burly bodyguards closed in on me.
They grabbed my arms like I was nothing but a sack of garbage and started hauling me out of there.
I fought back, kicking and struggling with everything I had.
I screamed, "Let me go. Scott's a liar. He's a total fraud!
"I'm his wife. I have proof."
One of the bodyguards, annoyed by my yelling, punched me hard in the stomach.
The pain was so intense that I couldn't even scream, just curled up.
But I kept my eyes fixed on Scott, refusing to look away.
He stood under the soft lights, calmly adjusting his cufflinks, not even sparing me a glance.
I was dragged all the way down a long corridor, not out the front entrance as I expected, but somewhere else entirely.
Instead, they shoved me into the hotel's cold, damp back kitchen loading area.
With a harsh clang, I was thrown onto the concrete floor reeking of fishy odor.
The sharp sound of leather shoes hitting the floor echoed behind me.
Scott shooed the others away and strode in by himself.
He slammed the iron door shut, and the polite mask dropped instantly. His gaze was icy and vicious.
"Stella Weston, you just can't stop haunting me, can you?" Scott sneered.
He crouched down and patted my cheek, not too hard, not too soft, but with just enough contempt to make me feel utterly humiliated.
I spat bloody saliva right onto his polished leather shoes.
"Scott, don't you ever worry about karma?" I sneered.
Scott laughed so hard his shoulders shook, like he couldn't believe how ridiculous I was.
"Karma? What kind of karma?" he scoffed.
"Look at me, living in a mansion worth tens of millions, cruising around in a million-dollar luxury car, married to the heiress of a listed company. You think that's karma?"
"And you? Stuck babysitting that paralyzed old lady, paying off my gambling debts for over one hundred thousand dollars. Does that make you feel like some kind of saint?"