My husband, Alastair Blackwood, chose his mistress over his parents as they lay dying from a helicopter crash.
I let him. I handled the crisis at the hospital alone.
In my past life, I had forced him to be by his parents' side, but his mistress, Blaire, died in an accident as a result.
Although his parents survived, a year later, during the late stages of my pregnancy, Alastair locked me in a burning studio to avenge his lover, killing both me and our unborn child.
This time, I let him choose.
By the time he saw the frantic messages from the hospital on his silenced phone, it was too late. He shattered.
He seemed to age ten years overnight.
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1
The emergency call from a top specialist at New York-Presbyterian Hospital came while my husband's mistress, Blaire Donovan, was lounging in the living room of our Manhattan penthouse.
"Mrs. Blackwood, your in-laws were in a helicopter crash on their way to the Hamptons," a voice said, laced with urgency.
"They're in critical condition and need to be transferred for an experimental neurosurgery. It's an emergency procedure, and it will cost five million dollars."
Remembering my past life, I slammed the speakerphone button, making sure my husband, Alastair Blackwood, heard every word.
I turned to him. His handsome face was etched with skepticism.
He scoffed. "Oprah," he sneered, "last month you were threatening to ruin me. Is this your new tactic? Making up a story about my parents just to get Blaire out of here?"
I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I just stated the facts, my voice flat and emotionless.
"This isn't a joke. They're in trouble, and we need five million dollars to save them. We need to access the family trust fund now."
His icy gaze pierced through me. "This pathetic act doesn't change who you are. Are you trying to trick me out of my money now, too?"
We had known each other for ten years. I had taken the fall for a career-ending financial scandal for him, and this marriage of convenience was my reward.
Alastair came from a Wall Street financial dynasty. I was a self-made architect. He never saw me as his equal. It was an open secret that he was infatuated with the lifestyle influencer Blaire Donovan.
When we got married, I told him he could go to Blaire whenever he wanted. I had no intention of chaining myself to his handsome face and endless fortune.
He just pushed me against the wall, kissed me hard, his voice a low growl. "Shut up, Oprah. You just need to be Mrs. Blackwood. That's enough."
After we married, a wall of ice grew between us.
It wasn't until Blaire returned and I saw the fire in his eyes as he gazed at her that I finally understood. There was no room for me in his heart, not even the smallest part.
My gaze went cold, my disappointment total. "I'm not lying, and I'm not playing games."
I looked him straight in the eye.
"Believe it or not. Your parents are in real trouble. If you have a shred of humanity, use your resources. If not, get out of my way while I handle this."
