The lock on the library door clicked. The handle turned, and the door flew open.
Eleanor stood there, her face flushed, holding her phone up like a weapon.
"Is it true?" she shrieked.
Flint turned, annoyed. "Mother, get out."
Eleanor marched into the room, ignoring him. She thrust the phone into his face. "Victoria is telling everyone the pregnancy photo was a fake! A lie you concocted to cover up the real problem! She just posted in the family group chat! She says you have... dysfunction? That you're impotent?"
Flint froze. His jaw dropped. He looked at the screen, then slowly turned his head to look at Jonna.
Jonna bit the inside of her cheek. The lie from this morning. The boomerang.
"Who said that?" Flint growled, his voice dropping an octave.
"Your wife!" Eleanor pointed a manicured finger at Jonna. "She told Victoria you have 'performance anxiety' and that's why there's no baby!"
Flint stared at Jonna with disbelief. "You told them I have ED?"
Jonna shrugged, backing toward the door. "It sounded better than 'he has a mistress and a bastard child,' didn't it?"
Eleanor looked between them, confused. "Wait. Is there a baby or not? Is he impotent or is he cheating? Which is it?"
Flint was trapped. He couldn't admit to the vasectomy (which he'd just lied about). He couldn't admit to the ED (it would kill his ego). He couldn't admit to the mistress (it would kill his marriage).
He stood there, mouth opening and closing, paralyzed by the intersection of three different lies.
Jonna saw her chance.
"I'll let you two sort out the family tree," she said.
She slipped past Eleanor and bolted into the hallway. She didn't go back to the ballroom. She kicked off her heels, grabbed them, and ran toward the side exit.
She burst out into the cool night air. She didn't call the driver. She fumbled with her phone and summoned an Uber.
3 minutes away.
She stood in the shadows of the hedges, shivering. The mansion glowed behind her, a beautiful, golden cage.
A beat-up Toyota Camry pulled up to the gates. Jonna sprinted to it, diving into the backseat.
"Go," she told the driver. "Just drive."
As the car pulled away, she looked back. Flint had come out onto the portico. He stood at the top of the stairs, looking into the darkness. He didn't chase her. He couldn't leave the mess inside.
Jonna leaned back against the worn fabric seat. Her phone buzzed.
Flint: We are not done. Come home.
She turned the phone off.
She touched her stomach.
Her husband thought he was sterile. Her mother-in-law thought he was impotent. And she was pregnant with the heir to a billion-dollar empire.
It was a comedy of errors, but nobody was laughing.
