My Husband’s First Love Beat Me into Miscarriage

Battered

Feeling in despair, I repeated the truth—over and over again.

"You're lying. Everyone knows that the ring he usually wears isn't this one," Melissa sneered, her gaze dripping with mock sympathy. "Honestly, it's like you've barely even met him to lie like this."

Grady cherished this ring, only wearing it on special occasions. Most of the time, he wore the simple ring I gave him when we first got together. Yet, I could see the picture now—Melissa would only believe what she wanted to believe, and explaining was just a waste of time.

"Just give it back, please? I'll give you whatever you want… or perhaps, we can trade? I'll give you something in exchange." I tugged at her sleeve, my voice filled with desperation.

She laughed suddenly, her eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "Are you really obsessed with this? You behave as if you'd steal his clothes to have a whiff of his bodily scent. Are you that thirsty for a man?" She covered her mouth with a giggle, pretending to consider my offer.

Then, she continued, looking at me with a sickly, sweet expression, as if the perfect solution was within view. "He might blow his top if I give it back to you. Why don't I carve your face with his name using this? Wouldn't that make you happy?"

Melissa slipped the ring onto her finger, admiring how perfect it was under the light. "You'll now have his ring on you. Call it body art if you must. I studied a bit of design abroad, so be thankful."

She grinned, motioning to her friends, who pinned me down.

The cold metal of the ring pressed against my swollen cheek, and I began to shiver. My eyes met hers, her gaze brimming with deranged satisfaction. She pressed down with all her strength, and soon, warm, sticky blood trickled down my cheek.

Blood dripped onto the floor, but I didn’t dare look down. Summoning whatever strength I had left, I fought back desperately, grappling against them.

Then, suddenly, a familiar voice called out from behind the locked door. "What’s going on in there?"

It was Grady's secretary—a male staff, Whitley Mars, that he had hired to ease my mind about him being in close proximity to someone. I’d met him many times when I visited, so he would definitely recognize me.

Hearing no response from inside, Whitley banged on the door harder, his voice growing impatient. "I heard noises coming from in there earlier. Is anyone in there?"

Melissa had to pause, shooting me a vicious look. She gestured to her friends to release me. As a result, I exhaled shakily, collapsing onto the ground, my limbs drained of strength.

"Oh, Whitley, we’re just having a team meeting to discuss our new quarterly plans. Are you really going to make a fuss over that?" Her smooth response made me grit my teeth in frustration.

Whitley was now my only lifeline.

"Help!" I managed to shout, but one of the women quickly covered my mouth, smearing the blood from my cheek over my lips and nose, filling each breath with the sickly taste of iron. Only a faint, broken sound escaped.

"What kind of meeting needs to happen in a stairwell?" He was suspicious.

"Well, you all are using the meeting rooms for your lunch breaks, so we had to settle here," Melissa replied with a casual shrug.

Watching him almost buying her story, I mustered every ounce of my strength, tugging at the hand over my mouth.

Finally, I managed to scream, "Whitley Mars!"

At the sound of his name, he pulled out his keys and quickly unlocked the door. His eyes widened in shock when he saw me sprawled on the floor, battered and bloodied.