Chapter 4

"How did you get in here?"

I stared, stunned, as Ashley Brooks strolled in like she owned the place.

"Ha, obviously, Mark gave me the key," she sneered, her voice rich with contempt. "Time for you to get out!"

The men she brought with her stepped forward immediately, grabbing at me roughly, trying to drag me off the couch.

Ashley, meanwhile, moved through the house like she was inspecting a property she planned to buy. She pointed around the room with a smug look, her voice loud and disdainful.

"God, this kitchen is tiny. Who picked that awful floor color? And who still uses showerheads like that in the bathroom? So tacky..."

It was laughable. This was my house. What right did she have to criticize anything?

She'd been Mark's mistress for who-knows-how-long, and she still didn't know that the deed didn't even have Mark's name on it?

Watching her parade around as if she were the lady of the house, I couldn't help but feel a cold amusement.

Without a word, I picked up my phone and called Greenville Patrol.

Ashley must have realized what I was doing. Her expression changed, and she lunged at me, trying to snatch the phone out of my hand.

I gripped it tightly and twisted away from her, but she was faster than I expected.

In the struggle, she shoved me hard. I lost my balance and crashed to the ground. She didn't get away unscathed either. She tripped and slammed her head into the glass coffee table. The glass was shattered, shards flying everywhere.

A stabbing pain ripped through my abdomen.

I curled over, instinctively clutching my stomach.

Warm blood poured between my legs, soaking into the expensive carpet.

Ashley froze as she saw the blood. Her face turned white with horror, and she let out a high-pitched scream.

She bolted for the door and disappeared without looking back.

The room spun. My vision went dark. Then there was nothing.

When I woke up, I was lying in a hospital bed.

White walls. The sharp smell of disinfectant. It was all cold and sterile.

Dr. Cole walked in, his face grim.

"I'm sorry, Jessica," he said solemnly. "You've had a miscarriage. You'll need to stay under observation for a week."

His words hit me like a sledgehammer. I couldn't breathe. The pain and despair crashed over me like a tidal wave.

In my last life, I wasn't able to protect my baby.

Now, I still couldn't. My child was gone—again—because of them.

I burned with a helpless fury.

I hated Ashley, her stupidity, and her cruelty.

I hated Mark, his betrayal, and his indifference.

I swore I would make them both pay.

During that week in the hospital, my parents took turns taking care of me.

That was when I realized that my family was all that mattered.

"Dad, Mom, I'm fine," I told them firmly. "Keep moving forward with the plan. As soon as I'm out, we're relocating. We can't waste a single day."

After that, I made two calls—one to my lawyer, Laura Jenkins, and another to the real estate agent, Sam Whitaker.

A week later, I was discharged.

The first thing I did was meet with Laura.

I laid everything bare—the forced marriage, Mark's infidelity, the abuse, and how it all led to the loss of my child. Laura filed the divorce paperwork immediately.

Next, I met with Sam. I listed the estate for sale on the spot and replaced every lock in the house.

Mark wouldn't be able to get through the front door, let alone to the basement where he'd hoarded supplies. All of it was now worthless to him.

Once the court issued the summons, all of our joint marital assets were frozen.

I'd once considered leaving him a way out. I hadn't intended to destroy him completely.

But after everything?

They could rot in hell, for all I care.