Five years of marriage, and Elliot Sanchez pulled the plug on our dying son's ventilator just to force me to sign the divorce papers.
He drove my mother into such deep depression that she threw herself off a building.
I didn't take it lying down. I leaked confidential company files and bankrupted him. Then I grabbed a knife, ready to take us both out.
The first slash caught his left shoulder. The second aimed straight for his chest, but his little secretary threw herself in the way.
The police hauled me off. One year behind bars for aggravated assault.
By the time I saw him again, he'd clawed his way back to the top.
One arm around his secretary. The other around their son. A picture-perfect family of three, dripping with sweetness.
And me? I was wearing a servant's uniform, scrubbing floors.
Elliot Sanchez spotted me in my sorry state, and a sneer split his face. His voice dripped with mockery.
"A woman who's done prison time—what gives you the right to show your face here? I bet the Farleys have no idea about your little stint behind bars. If they did, you wouldn't even be fit to polish their shoes."
Me? Not fit?
I had never been to prison. Today wasn't just the day my husband, Dudley Farley, was being inaugurated as CEO of Farley Group. It was also my son's first birthday celebration.
I had more right to be here than anyone.
——
When I said nothing, Elliot only got bolder.
He brought his secretary right up to block my path.
"Imogen Henson, I have to say—a year in prison and your skin's still this smooth. You must have been bribing the guards left and right. But then again, you were flat broke back then. A woman with nothing to her name... what could she possibly use to bribe anyone? Unless it was—"
He dragged out the last syllable, his gaze crawling over me from head to toe.
The implication was unmistakable.
After all these years, his mouth was still just as filthy.
I reached over casually and picked up a fruit knife from the table beside me. Gladys Fox, standing at Elliot's side, went rigid with alarm.
She flung her arms wide, planting herself squarely in front of him.
Just like she had back then.
"Imogen, sweetie, I know my showing up in your life made you bitter. If you're angry, take it out on me! Leave Elliot out of this!"
I turned the fruit knife over in my hand, then reached for a pear and began peeling it, slow and deliberate, one long spiral at a time.
Once upon a time, Elliot and I had dated for four years before walking down the aisle.
My family and I had poured every dollar and every ounce of effort into propping him up, launching his career to heights he never could have reached alone.
Then, on our fourth wedding anniversary, a new secretary joined his company.
Gladys Fox.
From that point on, he came home later and later. Midnight became three in the morning, and three in the morning became not at all.
My son and I huddled together in that empty house, clinging to each other. Until the day my boy was diagnosed with leukemia.
Throughout all those rounds of chemotherapy at the hospital, Elliot never visited. Not once.
The only time he showed up was while I was overseas on business. He walked into that hospital room and pulled the plug on our son's ventilator.
I rushed back from abroad, desperate, frantic, but I didn't even get to see my child's body. All that was left for me was a handful of ashes that scattered the moment the wind touched them.
And Elliot—the devoted husband in everyone else's eyes—had spent the day of our son's funeral in a hotel room with his secretary.
The memory surged through me. I looked down at the pear in my hand, saw Elliot's face, and drove the knife straight into it.
If today weren't such a special occasion, I would have buried that blade in the bastard's chest without a second thought. Without mercy.
Elliot watched me seething in silence, and he laughed again. In his eyes, I was nothing but a Farley household servant. Even if I wanted to lay a hand on him, I wouldn't dare.
I turned to leave. My plan was to wait until the gala wrapped up, then settle the score with this disgusting pair properly.
But before I could take a step, a little boy came running at me and hurled something straight in my direction.
