My Best Friend Is Pregnant With My Husband’s Baby, But The Dna Test Just Proved It Actually Belongs To His Father. I’m About To Reveal This At The Anniversary Gala. Should I Record Their Faces?
The Betrayal on Park Avenue
This is the story of how, after I slapped my husband’s mistress, he broke my leg and locked me in a storage room. So, I called my father, a powerful Don.
“Dad,” I said, “leave no one standing in that family.”
It was our third wedding anniversary. I wanted to surprise Alexander, so I wrapped up my appointments at New York Fashion Week early. When I opened the door to our Park Avenue penthouse, my stilettos made a sharp, crisp sound on the Italian marble floor.
In the living room, a woman’s stockings and lingerie were scattered everywhere. The trail led up to the second floor, to our bedroom. My heart began to pound, and my palms grew cold and sweaty. But foolishly, I still held on to a sliver of hope. Maybe the housekeeper was just cleaning? That hope shattered the moment I heard familiar moans coming from the room.
“Alexander, what if your wife suddenly comes back?” Clara’s voice was sickeningly sweet.
“Don’t worry, baby. Sophia is in Manhattan for the week. She won’t be back for another two days.” Alexander’s breathless response was filled with a passion I had never heard from him. “And even if she did, what could she do? She’s just some nobody who lives off my money.”
I stood outside the door, trembling from head to toe. Clara, my best friend from college, was sleeping with my husband in my own bed. My last three years, which I had dedicated entirely to that family, were reduced to nothing by Alexander, who painted me as a mere parasite.
My patience snapped. I threw the door open with all my might. The horrifying sight of two pale, entangled bodies slapped me across the face.
“Sophia!” Alexander scrambled off Clara.
Clara screamed and pulled a sheet over herself, but a defiant smirk played on her lips. “Sophia, listen. You don’t understand.”
“Shut up!” My hand landed on her cheek with full force. Clara’s head snapped to the side, her perfectly sculpted nose now crooked, a trickle of blood seeping from the corner of her mouth.
“Sophia, have you lost your mind?” Alexander leaped from the bed and punched me in the stomach.
I doubled over in pain, but I angrily raised my head to glare at him. “Alexander, how could you do this to me? How could I—”
He grabbed my hair and dragged me towards the stairs. “Who do you think you are? Just some small-time designer. Marrying me was the greatest honor your family could ever have!”
“How dare you hurt Clara? Her father is the president of the Vance Group!”
Even as I felt my scalp being torn, I laughed. “Ah, so you cheated on me because her family is richer than ours? Have you forgotten who was by your side when you were starting with nothing?”
“Shut your filthy mouth!” In a fit of rage, he pushed me.
I lost my balance and tumbled down the stairs. My right leg slammed against a decorative pillar at the corner, and a sickening crack was followed by a pain so intense my vision went black.
“Stop your acting and get up!” Alexander came downstairs and kicked my broken leg.
I screamed, my back instantly drenched in a cold sweat.
“Alexander, I think her leg is broken.” Clara rushed down, wrapped in a sheet. When she saw the unnatural angle of my leg, her face went pale.
“What a hassle,” Alexander scowled. Then he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me towards the storage room. “Leave her in there to teach her a lesson. She needs to learn her place.”
I almost passed out from the pain, but I bit my lip to keep from making another sound. As I was thrown into the damp, dark storage room, I heard Alexander tell the housekeeper: “No one gives her any food for the next 24 hours. Let her think.”
